In June of 1977, I was on a break from West Point, and would return for my Firstie (Senior) year in July. I decided to spend some time on my own, and hiked the 105 miles of the Appalachian Trail (AT) in the Shenandoah National Park. You can always hike or camp with friends, but I distinctly remember wanting to do this sojourn alone.

I would graduate as a Second Lieutenant in a year. Cathy and I were already engaged and would marry after graduation. I don’t know I consciously thought it in ‘77, but looking back, I think I wanted a bit of time for reflection.

I’d studied the AT for a while. Most people take six months to hike the 2,190 miles from Georgia to Maine, and that wasn’t going to happen for me anytime soon. Instead, I realized I could do a small chunk of the trail and finally settled on the 105 miles running through Shenandoah National Park in Virginia. I decided to start at Rockfish Gap near Charlottesville and hike north, finishing just outside of Front Royal. I allocated one week to complete the hike, meaning I needed to average about 15 miles a day.

Departure day arrived, and Cathy drove me to Rockfish Gap. We went over where and when we’d meet in seven days. The agreed meeting point was mile marker xx on route 55 at 1PM, or something like that. It’s a bit funny to think back on doing the meet-up planning in the pre-internet/cell phone days. I kind of chuckle at the thought process now.

I kissed Cathy goodby, put my pack on, and started hiking north on the trail. I carried 30-35 pounds, and among my supplies were a sleeping bag, tube tent, small Svea 123 stove (I still own it), first aid kit and change of clothes. For food, I had freeze dried dinners, oatmeal for breakfast, and gorp. The four canteens I carried contained a gallon of water, both for drinking and cooking. At eight pounds to the gallon, the water was the heaviest thing in my pack. It was critical to have enough, as the only water along the way would be in creeks or springs I passed. I had marked all of the known water sources on my map and there were a couple streams each day, although I’d hoped for more. Iodine tablets were a must, to ensure the water was safe to drink.

I kept a small journal on the trail, and as I look at it now I find it interesting not so much for what’s there, but for what’s not. There are no big thoughts or revelations, no self defining statements, and no insightful reflections. Instead, it’s a collection of what I saw or passed along the way, or what I did on a particular day. And so, there were journal entries recounting the animals encountered; the two hawks I watched circling and hunting, while I ate my lunch; almost running out of water one day, before getting to my camp location; the light rain falling one evening; passing, or being passed by a few through hikers who had started in Georgia the previous March; hanging my pack from a rope in the trees so bear couldn’t reach it at night; and several other anecdotal stories or comments. I saw a few other hikers over the course of the week, but not many.

At about the half way point, I hiked into Big Meadows Campground. There were showers, along with a concession stand. After cleaning up, I ordered a cheeseburger and a Michelob beer. The cheeseburger tasted incredibly good. And the Michelob? It tasted pretty damned good too. You need to remember in the pre microbrew beer time frame, Mich was the best beer in America in ‘77, unless you had a friend who was visiting out west and could bring back a case of Coors from Colorado, or Olympia from Washington State.

On the last full day, I hiked up a strenuous section of trail to arrive at the top of Hogback Mountain. To my amazement, there were people running off a cliff, launching themselves into space. They were hang gliding, and it was the first time I’d ever witnessed it. I pulled out my lunch and watched them take off and fly over the Shenandoah Valley. As with the hawks I’d observed earlier, they circled the valley for seemingly hours, before finally landing miles away. I remember thinking at the time this must be what freedom feels like.

The next day, I woke early, and started my final day’s hike at dawn. I eventually arrived at route 55, an hour or two before the appointed time and hung out on the side of the road. A couple of cars stopped and the drivers asked if I needed a ride to town. After thanking them, I explained I was waiting for my girlfriend. Cath eventually arrived, and we went to Shenandoah Park for a couple more days of camping, before returning to her house.

A few days later, I reported back to West Point for my final year. I don’t know that I gained any great clarity from the hike. I do remember a sense of peace and confidence after the adventure. In retrospect, I think reflection can be more a feeling, rather than a big decisive moment. At least it was for me.

Since the hike in ‘77, Cathy and I have backpacked a fair amount including in Alaska, the Grand Canyon, the Trinity Alps, Yosemite, and yes, the Shenandoah National Park. It’s a few years since our last trip, and we’ve gotten a bit softer now. Doing day hikes and staying at a B&B seems a pretty good compromise.

I still think about the AT and maybe one day doing the whole thing. I know it’s mostly a pipe dream, and yet….