After occupying my attention for half a year and requiring several hours each week, it’s time wrap up the blog. Over the past two weeks, I’ve distilled my closing thoughts and compiled statistics… at least when I haven’t been enjoying time off. Yes, I must admit that Florida sunshine, the Paris Olympics, adventures with family, and renewed access to video games have delayed this final update. 

There’s much ground to cover. First off, I have many people I need to thank. I’ll then offer my overall reflections. After that will be answers to your submitted questions, followed by a recap of the quiz questions (and the interesting tidbits they tie in). At the end, I’ve compiled numerical figures that frame the voyage from interesting perspectives. 

Acknowledgments

There’s no athletic endeavor that isn’t a “team sport”. Though I traveled the distance solo, I was dependent on hundreds, if not thousands, of supporters. Take the existence of the trail itself. This humble track in the woods testifies to the volunteers who’ve plotted, carved, and maintained the path over the 100 years from its inception to now. Then there’s infrastructure which makes the AT accessible and enjoyable: campsites, privies, shelters, inns, motels, hostels, churches, outfitters, convenience stores, groceries, restaurants, towns, and shuttles. Yes, I have innumerable individuals to thank for this grand symphony that spans the East Coast, straddles two millennia, and exhibits the labor of generations. Aside from the army that preserves and improves the AT for all through-hikers, I want to recognize those whose sacrifice particularly aided my journey.  

First and foremost, thanks go to my Mom and Dad. In my youth, they instilled the values and appreciation for the outdoors that led me to even consider this expedition. They assisted me in every possible manner while on-trail, mailing me supplies I left at home and making time each weekend for a call. Their encouragement and undying love have carried me through every phase of life, and this was no exception. 

Thanks also go to my colleagues in the TREC Lab, all of whom assisted with getting my thesis out the door in sufficient time to accommodate this 6-month excursion. My faculty advisor, Dr. Leonessa, graciously allowed me to defend my thesis in January, even though it meant he had to join virtually from a different continent, so I could start on time. 

And then there’s my former college roommates from the Frassati House: Brendan, Eric, Karl, and Tiernan. Not only were they cornerstones in my personal formation at Virginia Tech, but they each lent a helping hand when I was on-trail. All of them drove out to meet up, either to hang out for the day or chauffer me to a larger event. They hosted both of my large breaks, assisted with the transportation of gear, and offered generous emotional support. 

Additionally, I’d like to recognize the others who came out to meet me: Fr. David, Aunt Bootsie, and Uncle Dave. My friend from high school, Sam, gets a special shoutout for bringing his pack and accompanying me in southern Virginia. I’m ever so grateful for the time and conversations we shared. 

Finally, I want to express my gratitude to you, dear reader. Whether you’re family I’ve known all my life or a recent acquaintance from the AT itself, thank you so much for sticking with me. In discouraging moments, I remembered how there were at least 40 of you tuning in every week to follow along and cheer me on. Just by reading the updates, you gave me a reason to push through bleak times. It was a profound pleasure to bring you along. 

Looking Back

“What was it like to hike the Appalachian Trail?” 

Ah, yes. The natural yet cumbersome question that arose in my mind before I was even halfway down Katahdin. Natural, since there ought to be key takeaways from a saga of this magnitude. Cumbersome, because there are myriad interpretations of the prompt. There must be “an answer”, yet my reactions won’t crystallize into a single, clear-cut idea. Did it feel like one massive half-year trek, or 157 days strung together? The past several months are simultaneously one grand story and a collage of snapshots. I’m sure you have similar examples of this in your own life: what is it like to have a best friend, raise a family, or listen to a symphony? 

I think straight answers are elusive for these kinds of ponderings because of the variable depth disguised within. One can zoom in on minute anecdotes or soar to the heights of sweeping philosophical revelations. Take the last question in the previous paragraph: it’s scope can be narrowed to “What is it like to listen to the oboes in the first movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 36?” or broadened to “What is it like to listen?”. Thus, I’d like to iterate through the question at-hand, from general to specific, to best capture my full range of recollections, musings, and conclusions. 

“What was it like to hike?” 

No matter the trail or geography, the core of long-distance hiking is the same. Whether it’s lowlands or cliffs, desert or rainforest, sunny or thunder storming, there’s nothing to do but set one foot in front of the other. You cover 10-20 miles over 10-14 hours each day until you find the endpoint is under your feet. You bring enough food, tools, and safety measures to get by without overpacking. Apart from unique landmarks, you see the same trees, eat the same meals, and live the same day for an unfathomable stretch. 

The idea of the footstep itself is humbling. Here I am, a mere speck compared to the vastness of a mountain, continent, or planet, but through the smallest strides I can conquer a tract of its surface visible from miles into space. Though meaningless on its own, each stride attaches to a longer chain. Every footfall is a renewed oath to the course and a cry of hope for the destination. It’s a lesson that extends into all tedious or daunting life moments. Whether it’s physical fatigue from scaling a cliff or emotional wariness of a tough conversation lurking behind a door, this solution is identical: keep moving forward. Don’t think about the hardest part to come, be thankful that all that is asked of you in this slice of time is a single step in that direction. Grand feats are made of infinite “yes”-es. 

Of course, I wasn’t so laser-focused on each stride. Overall, I found walking enhanced certain mental faculties to escape the monotony. Foremost, my creativity exploded. I overflowed with ideas for a punny title for the next post, a future engineering project, or a tweak to a board game I’m designing. Whether it was the significant time off, the isolation from distractions, or some mystical property of the physical rhythm, I’m energized and inspired to take up these projects again. 

However, I would say a near-constant state of motion hindered other areas of the mind. It was near-impossible to engage in deep contemplative prayer, so I leaned on conversational and intercessory prayer the most. Though I could engage with a structured meditation like the rosary, I usually couldn’t cultivate the stillness required for the more profound states of spiritual communion. Perhaps that’s why I developed such an attachment to sitting before the tabernacle, and I’m currently striving for the modes of prayer that were less conducive to this retreat. 

That leads me to the spiritual fruits. The improvement in my relationship with God was greater trust in His providence. I learned the fine balance of prudently constructing a weekly plan while giving God permission to alter the course as He saw fit. Some logistics were problematic or impossible to secure ahead of time, so I surrendered those details to God’s hands. Examples include not being able to pack enough food to make it through the Whites (solved by bounteous platters of free meals in the huts) and attending mass on Ascension Thursday (there was an on-trail church in Duncannon, PA). I always had sufficient means (food, shelter, gear, cell signal, etc) to deal with every situation well. Despite being isolated from civilization for most of six months, I suffered no broken bones, lighting strikes, or other serious injury. My pious sense attributes my personal safety to the intercession of the saints, though of course I can’t prove it. 

As expressed in my “Why”, my overall purpose was to live my own Matthew Chapter 4. To learn self-mastery by suffering with Christ in the wilderness. Did I accomplish this objective, growing noticeably in virtue, especially in humility, mortification, and fortitude? Well, self-assessment is biased. Plus, I will only grasp the effects and lessons of the journey in time, over several months (or years). But already I notice temptations are easier to ward off and my vices have less hold on me. I think the most concrete impact is the bar I’ve raised for myself. Whenever I want to quit a challenge, I now have this thought to face: “If I could get through the AT, certainly I can get through this”.  

“What was it like to hike the Appalachian Trail?” 

I still can’t believe I actually walked the whole thing. Scrolling through the photos and skimming the posts, I recall the places and stories vividly. But  all that in one go? Impossible. It doesn’t really feel like one thing. February can’t be more the opposite of July, the marshes of New Jersey are so foreign to the ridges of Tennessee. Despite that, there’s a narrow thread that ties it all together.  

Traveling from Georgia to Maine, was a grand tour of the East Coast. I admired the deciduous and boreal biomes that compose America’s great forest. I visited southern mountain towns, quaint New England abodes, and the most populous city this side of the Mississippi. I dined in homely local eateries, loaded up on cheap gas station calories, and sought my share of fast food cravings. And how different the vibes of Georgia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Maine! 

I was acquainted with each region, though only Virginia was “familiar”. New Hampshire was the only trail state I’d say I’d never really visited before. I got to deep dive each of the 14 states, visiting many out-of-the-way sights and discovering the geography. I learned the nuances of each pocket of trail, since I had the opportunity to compare them one after another. I can picture so much more of the East Coast in my mind than I could before, as fleshed out landscapes rather than a polygon on a map. For all the wonders I encountered, I passed by so many worthwhile detours I might come back to in later years. 

“What was it like to hike the Appalachian Trail in 2024?” 

This day in age, the path is fabulously maintained. I bumped into a dozen or so crews laying stone steps, excavating drainage ditches, and sawing away blowdown. There are hundreds of shelters, privies, and campsites that volunteers upkeep and improve on a regular basis. For free. There’s a huge support network around the trail, with hostels and towns that know what hikers need. And there’s the decades of research and design that evolved the gear I used today from what adventurers cobbled together a century ago. There weren’t high-tech fabrics, compact propane stoves, detailed guidebooks, online stores, or cell phones for the first attempts of the AT. Even shuttle drivers are a more recent phenomenon with the advent of decent signal coverage in the past decade. There’s a reason why no more than a few hundred through-hikers set foot on the AT annually for most of its history. The early days were rough, to say the least. I have no idea how they got through it. 

“What was it like to hike the Appalachian Trail in 2024, after graduating from Virginia Tech?” 

I was at a crossroads. My whole life, I’ve been a student. Now it’s time to go forth and contribute to society in the working world. There was abundant time to reflect on how I want to structure the pillars of my life: my spirituality, family relationships, friendships, career, volunteer work, physical fitness, and recreation. I wouldn’t say I underwent an overwhelming epiphany and unlocked the secret to mastering every aspect of my life. Sure, I learned a good deal through prayerful meditation and self-analysis. But the predominant effect of lacking a regular routine was an amplified motivation to live these things well. 

Queries and Quizzes 

General 

Are you going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT)? 

Running 2,600 miles from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon, and Washington State, it’s the AT of the West Coast. There are stark differences, including but not limited to grizzly bears, farther away towns, desert hiking, sections requiring ice picks, less rain, and gentler slopes. Throw in the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), and all three are regarded as the “triple crown” of North American backpacking. 

Months before the AT, I was already getting this question. My answer has not changed since that time: “Probably not”. The AT was 100% worth it, but I am so glad to be past it. Now, the hostel owner in Maine chided “Wait two weeks, and the bug will bite you again,” but so far no such sentiment has arisen. The desire that did grow is to move to North Carolina and start building my new life. I had a bunch of reasons for a long-distance hike, and I’ve satisfied them all. I’d need similarly profound reasons to take on the PCT, none of which I have or could even speculate right now. Also consider the physical, monetary, and temporal cost. Mission accomplished, time for other endeavors. 

While I won’t say “never”, I confidently posit that if I were to walk the PCT, that would be decades from now. However, that doesn’t mean I’m done with backpacking altogether. Between the PCT and a weekend trip are intermediate excursions. On the scale of a few hundred miles and mere weeks to complete, these medium-size trails balance adventure and commitment. They often sprout from one of the legs of the Triple Crown. In fact, I mentioned one in this blog: The Long Trail, which spans the height of Vermont. Other examples include the John Muir Trail (intersects with PCT), the Colorado Trail (intersects with CDT), the Florida Trail (less mountains, more gators), the one in North Carolina that goes from the mountains to the coast (I can never remember the name), and even the Camino de Santiago in Spain (a Catholic religious pilgrimage). The odds are vastly greater I will pursue one of these once I miss trail life enough. Aside from backpacking, there are several long-distance biking trails that seem like awesome, low joint impact fun. There’s even a canoe trail across the lakes of northern and central Maine. 

In short, if I do head out into the wilderness for an extended period, it will almost certainly be a shorter trail. Obviously, those are not as exciting to read about as the AT, but I would consider resuming the blog in such circumstance. But that’s conjecture, I have no further plans at this time. 

What will happen to the blog? 

This is the final post, the conclusion to my AT saga. I chose a URL suitable for my general-purpose personal website, but even as I migrate to a wider focus this blog will remain. I have no reason to take it down. As discussed in the last section, if you want to be notified should I decide to send updates on a smaller trail, remain subscribed. 

Are you going to write a book? 

I already have. My previous updates total over 60,000 words, the length of some shorter novels published today. I’ve captured my time on the AT in words to my satisfaction. I do plan on one final editing review before printing it all out and storing it in a binder, but I haven’t the faintest notion publishing it. There are so many folks who want to sell you a book after hiking the AT, and I just don’t see where I have something terribly unique to add to the conversation in that format. Plus, getting published is murder (just ask my Mom). Writing is at most a hobby for me. Nonetheless, I’m so glad I had this blog to keep myself accountable to journaling my day-to-day experience. 

However, I do plan on giving back to the trail in other ways. Where there are not many practicing Catholics who through-hike, there’s at least a handful every year. The ones I met had no idea it was possible to get to mass every weekend. There’s a website that has basic info, www.campanarius.com, but it could use an updated layout and extra planning tools. I’m going to reach out to the site owners about pitching in with my software skills. I have a whole host of ideas for improving the site and advertising its resources. I would love to help future hikers access the sacraments. 

Also, I want to help with trail maintenance. I’ll be living 3 hours from the trail, close enough to lend a hand every now and then. Usually the clubs have one or two weekends where they pool together volunteers to knock out a big chunk of tasks. I’d like to join a few of those and play my small part in keeping the trail enjoyable, as was done for me. 

How did your expectations compare to reality? What was the most and least surprising? 

As I’d been acquainted with general backpacking for a few years beforehand, I had a grip on the gist of things. The AT was all I’d hoped it would be. 

I would say I was most surprised by how much other hikers were part of the experience. I thought by starting in winter that fellow hikers would be rareand opportunities to chat even scarcer. But I tended to stick to well-known shelters and campsites, and there was not one day on-trail where I did not see another person. Around campfires, inside lean-tos, and about the hostels, I encountered so many interesting personalities and minds. While I mentioned some in the blog, especially when folks were sparser early on, I could never relate all the fascinating characters. 

I was least surprised by how awful hiking in the rain is. From the frigid showers of February to the week-long deluge of July, it’s not fun any way you look at it. Everything’s heavier when wet, and soaked feet undergo accelerated wear and tear. When you’re covered in a rain jacket, it’s hot and stuffy. Any terrain becomes slippery and mucky. Thankfully, storms rolled in far less than I feared they would. 

What are you going to miss the most from the trail? 

The taste of pure, sweet spring water. Best drink on the planet Earth, hands-down. 

Has it been difficult re-integrating into society? 

Not really. I entered bustling towns and grocery stores every weekend, and the AT was crowded in sections like the Whites. The airport didn’t feel that strange to me… except for the noise. Raised voices or phones blasting a YouTube video in public irritate me far more than previously. My day-to-day schedule has been entirely my prerogative, so I need to grow a bit more in being patient with others around me, as well.  

How will the AT affect you in your day-to-day life when you start your job at Garmin? 

As I touched on with the overall reflections, the way I grew on-trail will gradually reveal itself in everyday life. I don’t feel like a drastically different person, and I imagine my day-to-day routine will largely remain unchanged. I think I’ll be a bit more disciplined about remaining structured in my activities: I really want things like working out and holy hours since I haven’t had access to them. In short, I think I’m more motivated to be less lazy and pursue excellence in all the areas of successful adult life… though this is hard to assess since I’ve been in vacation mode recently. 

What was the moment when you felt most insignificant due to the nature around you? The moment you felt most at peace? 

I would say the Great Smoky Mountains were the most overpowering. They also produced my most peaceful surroundings when two inches of snow graced the ground during my final day there. 

Quiz

I want to go through all the quiz questions (that I haven’t indirectly covered already), since each recalls a unique aspect of the journey. But first, I need to announce the winner. With a score of 187 points, the victor is none other than my very own mother! I gave her no extra help, but I always had the sense she’d remember the most of my tales. Second and third place go to my friend Karl and my father, respectively. 

Which was my favorite state? Which was my least favorite state? 

Entirely subjective and not discussed in the blog, this was worth 10% of a typical question. In effect, wild guess questions like these served as tiebreakers.

Beyond my most and least favorite states, I ranked all of them! I took their size into effect as I judged them based on “best bang for buck”. 

14. New York

Best spot: Bear Mountain (picturesque peak with well-cultivated paths)
This is the one state I didn’t enjoy. It was oddly challenging, with some climbs needlessly steep and taxing. The trail was, frankly, poorly designed in many places. While fine folk were to be found in the towns like Greenwood Lake, there were some sketchy characters in the woods. I stumbled upon some activities best kept private and not noticeable from a public trail… and I’ll leave it at that. Moving on. 

13. Maryland 

Best Spot: Gathland State Park (most history, water spigot)
Even though I account for smaller states, Marlyand still lands towards the bottom. Generally flat and easy, with occasional historical plaques to break up the monotony. Nothing too adventurous or memorable, compared against the others. 

12. West Virginia 

Best spot: Harpers Ferry
The only reason West Virginia edges out Maryland is Harper’s Ferry. It’s a major trail icon, and the approach along the river valley was beautiful. Though the Roller Coaster was tedious, it was bookended by amusing signage. 

11. Georgia 

Best spot: Blood Mountain (stone shelter is a CCC original)
A balanced introduction to the months to come. Challenging, but well graded. Perhaps if it hadn’t been during the chilly and gray February, I would have remembered it a little more fondly. 

10. New Jersey 

Best Spot: Wallkill River National Wildlife Refuge (lots of birds!)
One of the easiest locales, dominated by lowlands. The swamps and bogs were most prominent in this state, imbuing it with a unique character. Notable climbs, such as the Stairway to Heaven, were well-routed with ample switchbacks. 

9. Vermont 

Best spot: Stone’s Throw Farm Stand (fantastic lunch)
The lowest ranking of the northernmost 3, it was an okay time. The heat wave came through when I was in the southern half, and the deer flies were particularly pesky. However, I walked up a ski run and stayed at my first hostel since Virginia. Looking back, Vermont was the beginning of the final crescendo, overshadowed by later grandeur and magnificence. 

8. Virginia 

Best spot: Hightop in SNP (best sunset photo, scavenger hunt left behind by my friend Johnathan)
Containing a staggering 500 miles, it makes sense Virginia averaged out to the middle of the pack. The Merry Inn in Marion was the best hostel on the AT, in my opinion. The Virginia Triple Crown, the James River, and SNP were the geographical highlights. But there were plenty of mundane ridge walks that balanced out the better parts. As my previous home state, the familiarity was comforting yet hampered my sense of adventure. 

7. North Carolina 

Best Spot: Clingmans Dome (highest point on AT, great vantage of GSMNT) 
Great Smoky Mountains National Park was phenomenal, introducing me to evergreen forests and providing my only dusting of snowflakes. But since NC splits GSMNT with Tennessee, the two states are neck-and-neck. In reality, I’m ranking the sections of the AT that aren’t along the border. Southern NC was very similar to Georgia, with Standing Indian and Nantahala Outdoor Center as the most notable sights. 

6. Tennessee 

Best Spot: Roan High Knob Shelter (highest elevation shelter, old fire watchmen’s cabin, a door to keep bears out)
North of GSMNT, Tennessee kept up the energy. The Roan High Mountains were equally rugged and breathtaking. I was especially captivated by Laurel Falls. Plus, it’s the home state of Pal’s Sudden Service. Few complaints, many fond memories. 

5. Pennsylvania 

Best spot: Duncannon (Steve the trail angle, only Catholic church on the trail) 
A quirky state that flips the physical challenge on its head. By far the flattest terrain, yet prolific rocks make it some of the slowest. PA tested different modes of endurance than the other states, containing many dry sections and pushing my ankles to the limit. On the flip side, this was the first time towns were close at hand, with the most on-trail out of any state. Plus, the side trips to Lancaster and Brendan’s wedding were welcome detours. 

4. Connecticut 

Best spot: Ten Mile River 
Short and sweet. The pristine trees and rocky banks of the Ten Mile River had me thinking “Wow! The trail is getting really good again.” Softly sloping, yet affording pleasant views. 

3. Maine 

Best spot: Katahdin (hardest climb on the entire trail) 
Each of my three weeks in Maine was the exact same: above average challenge for the first half, miraculous flats for the second. With such a vacillating hiking experience, it makes sense Maine ranks as the middle of the Northeastern states. At times as challenging as northern New Hampshire, at others easier than Vermont or Connecticut. With all the lakes, I just have to say it: 7 out of 10, too much water. 

2. Massachusetts 

Best spot: Mt Greylock (first big mountain in a while, veterans memorial) 
For an objective observer, Massachusetts won’t rank this high. Sporting the first 4,000-footers since Virginia, it’s the transition buffer to better alpine landscapes to come. But precisely because it was my first taste of truly rugged mountains for over a month, it was a dream come true. The nearby towns meant easy access to creature comforts and the most trail magic per mile (#2 for total occurrences). Coming off of the low point, New York, Massachusetts reminded me of all the blessings of trail life. 

1. New Hampshire 

Best spot: Franconia Ridge (favorite view)
The state I was least familiar with stole the show. Even accounting for quality per mile, the White Mountains still capsize the scales in New Hampshire’s favor. The northern chunk was just sublime. At so many points, I muttered “I’m so glad I didn’t quit and rob myself of seeing this”. The weather cooperated fabulously that week and for my whole stint in NH. The southern half more than held its own, with fabulous quartzite ridges that were a clear step-up from Vermont. Finally, NH had all the trappings of a top-tier state: quality hostels, a family meet-up, a trail town, and a dash of trail magic. If I’m revisiting any spot on the trail, it’s the Whites (and possibly the Smokies). 

What where the national parks, and where were they located? 

There were scores of national forests and state parks, but only two national parks. The southernmost was Great Smoky Mountains National Park (GSMNP), located in between NC and TN (either were marked as correct). The northernmost was Shenandoah National Park (SNP) in VA. Yes, “The She-nay-nays” was an acceptable answer.  

Which of these did not make it into my “Greatest Hits” list? 

Grayson Highlands, while cool in their own right, didn’t strike me enough to make it onto my shortlist of best sights. Here’s the list, in order of appearance: 

• Wayah Bald, NC (first panoramic view, fun name, great shelter on the northern face) 
• Clingmans Dome, NC (cool observation tower that showcased the phenomenal Smokies) 
• Laurel Falls, TN (best waterfall, neat path cut into the cliffs just above waterline) 
• Hightop, VA (best sunset photo, scavenger hunt left behind by my friend Johnathan) 
• Bear Mountain, NY (picturesque peak with well-cultivated paths) 
• Sage’s Ravine, MA (gorgeous cascades, one after another) 
• Mt Greylock, MA (first big mountain in a while, veterans memorial) 
• Franconia Ridge, NH (limiting myself to just one from the Whites, walking this alpine zone was truly indescribable) 
• Katahdin, ME (including the grand finale is cliché, but how can I deny the wild climb, pair of bald eagles, and the Birches backcountry banquet a spot on this list?) 

In which state did I receive the most trail magic (visits from friends and relatives do not count)? 

Though I didn’t relate every occurrence, PA offered the best hospitality with 5 distinct occurrences. And that’s with a tight definition of “someone handing out edible refreshments”. Add in the best trail angel (Steve in Duncannon), multiple parishioners offering me a ride after mass, and two separate meet-ups with friends, I had good company to break up the struggle of Rocksylvania. Massachusetts was a close second with 4 instances under the strict count. 

Which state contains the official halfway point? 

The precise halfway point by mileage is solidly planted in Pennsylvania. Harpers Ferry in West Virginia is considered the “spiritual halfway point”, where many flip-floppers start their hike and then jump back to complete the other half. 

Which is widely accepted as the hardest mile of the AT? 

With nonstop rock scramble and several tight squeezes, most anyone you talk to will identify Mahoosuc Notch as the most difficult singular mile. Mt Mousilauke is one of the steepest climbs, being the southern gatekeeper of the Whites, but it won’t slow you down nearly as much as Mahoosuc Notch. The Rollercoaster was the most surprisingly hard, a series of 7 hills at moderate grade and no taller than 1000 feet, yet it took all day to master those 13 miles. Clingman’s Dome, while being the tallest point on the AT, was surprisingly gentle around the summit. 

Which is not a name for the wooden structures for overnight hiker use? 

Most people call them “shelters”. Maine refers to them as “lean-tos”. SNP calls day-use structures “shelters” and overnight locations “huts”. In the Whites, shelters are shelters and huts are lodges with bunks and a kitchen. But nowhere will you find any construction referred to as a “shack”. 

At which hut in the Whites did I work-for-stay? 

Carter Notch Hut. All the other huts offered much-needed sustenance, but I performed two hours of chores at Carter Notch in exchange for a bunk and two meals. With good company, sublime hospitality, and an epic Scrabble show down, it was the best day on the whole trail. 

Which form of transportation did I not use? 

I rode public buses on several occasions. Uncle Johnny’s Hostel had bikes for guests to ride into Erwin. In Duncannon, PA, trail angel Steve let me borrow his car to drive to the pizza parlor. But while I did see operational chair lifts, I never had the need to ride one. 

How many home states did other long-distance hikers (not day hikers or locals) come from? 

29, so about half the nation. Here’s the breakdown: 

• Southeast: 7/12 
  • Florida, Georgia, Arkansas, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia, Kentucky 
• Northeast: 8/11 
  • Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine 
• Midwest:  6/12 
  • Ohio, Nebraska, Iowa, Minnesota, Illinois, Michigan 
• Southwest: 2/4 
  • Texas, New Mexico 
• West: 6/10 
  • Colorado, California, Oregon, Washington State, Alaska 

How many foreign nations did I meet long-distance hikers from? 

8: Scotland, Canada, Mexico, Japan, France, UK, Germany, and The Netherlands 

Name one of the two trail states I didn’t meet a long-distance hiker from. 

Because of the expenses involved, it makes sense I met no one from one of the poorest regions in the country, West Virginia. Furthermore, Connecticut was too small to be represented in my sample size. 

What kind of long-distance hiker did I not meet? 

In New Jersey and again in Baxter State Park I met Rocky, a Catholic and soon-to-be seminarian for the diocese of Pittsburg. I met several youtubers and social media influencers, including all the way back on Day 2. In Tennessee I bumped into Cyncity, a fellow Hokie and engineer, and we crossed paths again in Pennsylvania. To my knowledge, I did not meet anyone who was sponsored by any outdoor brands. 

In how many states did I meet up with a friend or family member? 

4! 

• Virginia: VT Friends, Sam, Brendan, Fr. David 
• Pennsylvania: Tiernan, VT Friends again 
• New York: Met my mother in NYC 
• New Hampshire: Aunt Bootsie and Uncle Dave 

Which of the following was I mistaken for? 

No one took me for a youtuber, though some told me I got a passing mention in a video on someone’s channel. Though they knew I wasn’t a counselor, I was nonetheless invited to briefly speak about to the AT to 40 middle school campers I crossed paths with. Thankfully, no one mistook me for a janitor. But with my smelly clothes and shaggy hair, I was pegged as a homeless guy on a few occasions. For a while, I jokingly referred to my trip as “Homeless Man Simulator 2024”. 

There was a hiker that started on the same day and that I met up with again later on. What was their trail name? 

Pyro and I became fast friends. He was part of the group I met on Day 2. We walked most of Day 3 together, then reunited in central Virginia. He pulled ahead of me for good after Duncannon, PA, and finished two weeks ahead of me. In fact, he’s located in the Raleigh area. We exchanged numbers and are planning to meet up in a week or two to swap trail stories and have a Catan rematch. 

Did I see more airplanes or helicopters? 

Since this question was a guess on your part, it was worth only 1 point. If the question asked which one I’d heard more, that’d definitely be airplanes. The thing is, because they fly so high up, they were near-impossible to spy through the tree cover. Even near busy airports like Atlanta and Newark. Notable fixed-wing craft I saw were seaplanes (which accounted for half of all sightings) and a low-flying C-130. Though far rarer, helicopters are much easier to spot given their slower speeds and lower altitudes. In all, I saw 9 helicopters and 8 planes, though the score was 9-4 when I entered Maine. The seaplanes nearly reversed the result. 

Which of the following animals did I not see (in the wild)? 

I saw so many animals with my eyes in the wild that I’d only found in zoos or just heard about: armadillos, river otters, beavers, porcupines, black bears, and wild ponies. Though I had reason to believe one was in the area just south of Pearisburg, I never saw a Moutain Lion with my own eyes. Aloof and nocturnal, they are rarely sighted. Some biologists claim they are extinct on the East Coast, but enough reports trickle in that it’s presently debated. 

Which of the previous animals was my favorite sighting? 

The armadillo. I thought they were an Australia exclusive, so it rocked my world to see one snuffling along the Georgia forest floor. Plus, it was the first animal on that list that I met. 

What was the most dangerous animal encounter I had? 

Though the River Otters of Baxter State Park made an aggressive advance, they did not compare to the rabid dog in North Carolina. None of the 3 bears I saw were dangerous or even curious, minding their own business or hauling out of Dodge. As stated previously, I didn’t face any Mountain Lions. 

Which animal did I loathe the most? 

Bears and snakes require caution, but once I knew the situation was safe I was fascinated by them. Only one shelter rat made an appearance, and rodents never harassed me. However, the latter half of the trip brought a plague of insects. Worst of all were the mosquitos and deer flies, though thankfully the black flies were absent. 

How many towns are located on the trail itself? 

10: Hot Springs, NC; Damascus, VA; Harper’s Ferry, WV; Boiling Springs, PA; Duncannon, PA; Port Clinton, PA; Dalton, MA; Chesire, MA; Norwich, VT; and Hanover, NH. 

Which of these hosts the largest trail festival? 

Many of those towns and others just off-trail hold festivals scattered throughout the year. But the most notorious is Trail Days in Damascus, VA. Hundreds of current and former through-hikers descend on the place for a week, occupying sprawling tent cities in the surrounding fields. Many “alumni” will go to Trail Days the year after their through-hike. But the whole affair seems like a major hassle, so I’m not inclined to participate. 

Which of these does not describe a town I visited? 

Hanover and Blacksburg are both college towns. Rangeley, ME, is situated perfectly between the Equator and North Pole. And I’d certainly classify New York City as “as busy port town”. But Atlanta, the headquarters for Coca-Cola, was not on my itinerary. 

In which state did I not stop in a town? 

Home to just 40 miles of trail, there’s one town in Maryland one can feasibly visit. But I pushed through into Pennsylvania. Of course, I spent a few hours in West Virginia’s Harper’s Ferry. 

What gargantuan meal did I devour in one sitting? 

I didn’t go far any large burgers, nor the Half-Gallon ice cream challenge in Pennsylvania. And while I made several batches of pancakes at Boots Off Hostel in Tennessee, I ate at most a dozen at one time, not 24. But at Moon Dog Brick Oven in Marion, VA, I consumed one of the finest large one-topping pizzas I have ever tasted, all in one go. 

Which diner had the better chicken sandwich? 

The very first: Smoky Mountain Diner in Hot Springs, NC. I meant to evaluate many more establishments by their chicken sandwiches, but I forgot to keep this going after Damascus. 

Which town had the best pizza? 

As previously mentioned, Marion, VA. 

What was my favorite food to cook in the hostels? 

Pancakes. A $5 box of mix supplied me with an all-you-can-eat buffet, as long as I had kitchen access. I made the other foods I mentioned only one or twice. 

Which of the following is not a baked good I purchased from a hut in the Whites? 

While cornbread, “world famous” coffee cake, and chocolate cake with buttercream frosting were all to be found, there was no such “muddy fudgy brownie”. 

Which item did I proclaim to be “my new seceret weapon” out loud in the grocery store? 

Carnation Breakfast Essentials, Nido Dry Whole Milk, and Skippy Natural Peanut Butter were all S-tier members of my weekly resupply. But upon calculating a staggering 2600 calories for a small tub of couscous, it provoked an audible acclamation from my lips. 

What recipe did I cover on “The Trail Trough”? 

For my attempt to adapt backcountry cooking into a Food Network show, I presented chicken and rice. At the hostel in Gorham, a hiker had left behind pounds and pounds of dehydrated chicken. It was a fabulous delicacy for that week’s meals. 

What is my favorite item of gear? 

Trekking poles, hands down. Need to fight off an angsty critter or improvise a camera tripod? They’ve got you covered. My tent uses trekking poles as vertical supports, replacing dedicated tubing that isn’t multifunctional. Most importantly, poles give you two additional points of contact with the ground aa you walk. They can speed you up on flats, lessen the impact on your knees while descending, steady you when you trip, and can push against distance holds while climbing. The epitome of versatility. 

Which piece of gear did not stay with me all the way? 

Most of my equipment served me well without replacement. However, rain jacket issues persisted all the way until my break at Virginia Tech. I sincerely wished I’d checked out my rain gear before departing from home, since researching and shipping replacements was a debacle and a half. Other articles I shed to reduce weight, like my massive multitool and spool of paracord. A few wore down, such as the water filter, bug netting pants, and rain pants. 

Which two are the colors of my pack? 

A spiffy mix of orange and black. While I never spent extra money for it, I generally stuck to this scheme for all of my gear: trekking poles, water bottles, rain jacket, etc. 

Which artist had the most songs in my head? 

This is the only question where the key was incorrect. Upon further review, the ruling on the field was overturned: Billy Joel and Willie Nelson both tied for the most songs, rather than just Billy Joel. I can’t update your scores, but it didn’t affect the standings. 

Complete the following: 🎶“Believe it or not, I’m …”🎶 

“… walking in a Frigidaire!”. When I thought of this pun in Week 2, it gave me the idea of using the technique to sign off all my posts. I like wordplay and mulling over song lyrics, so it seemed to be a unique and entertaining (for me, at least) approach. 

How many species of bird did I sight? 

91! Of these, my favorite was the Scarlet Tanager. 

Which of the following obligations did I not have to fulfill while on-trail? 

I submitted the final draft of my Master’s thesis and filed my taxes from my Robbinsville motel room. Writing a best-man speech occupied much of my time in Virginia and Pennsylvania. Thankfully, Garmin was willing to wait to send me onboarding tasks until I was back with my parents in Florida. 

How long does it take to read a post?

4 minutes. My only “joke question” refers to the expected reading time listed for each post. It always gives the same number, either due to a bug or default template element I never tracked down. Or maybe I’m just a slow reader. 

By the Numbers 

Distance from Springer to Katahdin, as the crow flies: 1,117.5 miles, 5,900,292 feet, 70,7083,500 inches, 4.49% of the Earth’s circumference, 16.16 degrees across the Earth’s surface. 

Time from Springer to Katahdin, by route: 157 days, 3,768 hours, 13,564,800 seconds, 173 calendar days (47.27% of 2024), 500 hours by fastest walking route (1,358 miles), 6 days by bicycle, 22 hours by car. No known direct flights. 

Number of steps on-trail*: 4,537,396 steps, 28,900.6 (14 miles) per trail day. 

Total distance traveled (between Springer and Katahdin)*: 4,897,262 steps (94% of the last 365 days), 2,374.5 miles on foot, ~1,010 miles by automobile, 3400 miles total. 

*You may notice discrepancy from the trail updates, as the Garmin watch step estimate was noticeably inaccurate. Here I’ve mitigated the error, but for the trail updates I took the raw readout at face value (unless you’re reading this well into future, where I’ve gone back and cleaned up the numbers). 

Average compass bearing: 50 degrees, nearly due Northeast. Perhaps it should be called EABO, not NOBO. 

Closest distances achieved: 15 miles to the Atlantic Ocean, 35 miles to Canada, 325 miles to the Gulf of Mexico. 

Total elevation gain/loss: 460,000 feet, 88 miles, 16 Mt Everests. 

Elevation extremes: The bear cage in the Trailside Museum at 177 feet and Clingmans Dome at 6,658 feet 

Expenditures (airfare and previously acquired gear not included): $5069.66 

Pounds of oatmeal consumed: 48 

Pairs of Shoes: 4 

Bird species sighted: 91 

Hail Marys prayed: 2226 (one for every mile, entirely by accident!) 

Audiobooks read: 10.25 

Hours of podcasts: No idea, easily in the mid to high hundreds 

The End of the Road 

So there you have it: all of the closing remarks and amusing notes I have to share. Again, thank you so much for the role you played in my journey. Now there’s only one thing left to say… 

🎶 So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu 🎶, 

Maxwell “Frassati” “Oatmeal” Stelmack