近距离内射合集

Three years ago, I reached the summit of Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, or AT. It was the end of a six-month hike that started at the trail鈥檚 southern terminus, Springer Mountain, in Georgia. It was a moment of mixed emotions that included a sense of triumph and elation, but also a tinge of regret. The regret stemmed largely from the realization that this amazing experience was over and partly from the realization that it was not entirely complete.

Technically, I thru-hiked the AT because I had completed at least 2,000 miles of the trail within a calendar year. But there is an asterisk in my mental record because I took a brief side trail at about the midpoint to help my wife relocate our household from Vermont to New Mexico.

It was only a 10-day hiatus, but when I got back to Waynesboro, Virginia, to pick up where I鈥檇 left off, I felt as though I was starting at mile zero all over again. After one day back on the trail and fewer than 12 miles gained, I decided to shuttle ahead to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, and join my so-called 鈥渢ramily,鈥� AT speak for a small group of fellow hikers with whom you travel. I鈥檓 not a big fan of this term or many of the other AT-isms out there, but I鈥檒l use the lingo for this article.

Tramilies aren鈥檛 just good for morale; they are also a logistical advantage for planning and cost-sharing. I felt my odds of reaching Mount Katahdin would increase substantially if I wasn鈥檛 spending the next several hundred miles overexerting myself trying to catch up with them. I also was mindful that the window of opportunity to reach Baxter State Park, the home of Mount Katahdin, before the first snowfall was beginning to close. The 10 days I had lost to the move put me in jeopardy of arriving at Baxter in early October. Snowfall in interior Maine in early October is hardly unprecedented.

I rationalized that, having summited Mount Katahdin, it would be relatively easy to make my way back to Virginia and fill the hole in my hike. I hadn鈥檛 anticipated that I would be a full 40 pounds lighter 鈥� I started the hike at a pandemic-inspired 215 pounds and finished at 174 pounds, a number I hadn鈥檛 seen since high school almost four decades earlier.

Nor did I anticipate that the occasional discomfort in my right knee would balloon into a lemon-size lump because of an overused iliotibial band, or IT band. Fortunately, this cleared up soon after the hike concluded. I also hadn鈥檛 anticipated the dozen other physical, psychological and financial challenges typical at the end of such an adventure.

In short, by the end I was gassed and ready to go home. The thought of another 150 miles of trail at that point was just overwhelming.

Three years later, I have an opportunity to finish this hike. While this mopping-up, anticlimactic trek won鈥檛 transform my 2023 effort into an official terminus-to-terminus hike because it鈥檚 not the same calendar year, I expect it will bring me some solace and closure to know that, finally, my hike is complete.

This time, I will carry the label 鈥渟ection hiker,鈥� not the revered title of 鈥渢hru-hiker.鈥� I don鈥檛 expect this drop in status will materially affect my enjoyment or ability to finish, but I do wonder whether it will be noticeable in more subtle ways. Socially, I imagine it will. I was surprised the first time around by how quickly friendships formed. In retrospect, it makes perfect sense that when you share such a singular and substantial goal with a large group of strangers, they don鈥檛 remain strangers for long. Hiking the AT makes you part of a nomadic community, and bonds form quickly.

I embarked on this journey three years ago with the expectation and desire to be largely alone with my thoughts. Instead, I made some of the best friendships of my life and found that, without that support, I鈥檓 not sure I would have made it very far at all. I came for the solitude; I stayed for the company.

As a hedge against being a social outcast this time, I鈥檝e invited 鈥淗igh Def鈥� 鈥� a veterinarian from Tennessee in whose company I hiked from somewhere in New Jersey to the summit of Katahdin 鈥� to join me in Harpers Ferry. Always ready with a passable Harry Caray imitation or other such silliness, HD鈥檚 company is a sure remedy for any low points I may experience. High Def is my friend鈥檚 trail name, something most thru-hikers acquire at some point during the experience. I wasn鈥檛 a big fan of this convention and eschewed having one for nearly half of the hike, but eventually a tramily of young men in their 20s who called themselves 鈥淭he Crusty Crew鈥� dubbed me Greybush because of my shaggy gray beard. Much to my chagrin, it stuck.

Preparation

I was in my early 50s in 2023, and I鈥檝e crossed into my late 50s now. I need to be just as mindful of the limitations that come with middle age as I was the first time, even if this will be a far smaller effort. Now, as then, my ligaments and muscles are not conditioned for the punishment of consecutive weeks hiking 15 to 20 miles a day over rough terrain with 30 pounds on my back.

The best preparation I know is simply to mimic those conditions, slowly ramping up both miles and carried weight. In July, I hiked at least twice a week with no pack, averaging about 5 miles per outing. I did one overnight backpacking excursion in the Pecos Wilderness to gauge my starting point and was instantly aware that I had more work to do.

In August, I鈥檝e increased the frequency and duration of my hikes, logging about 100 miles this month. I鈥檝e lugged my backpack into San Pedro Parks and to the top of Wheeler Peak, and I鈥檝e become a regular in the Sandia Foothills near my home in Placitas. Most recently, I hiked up the La Luz Trail 鈥� something I try to do at least once a year 鈥� and, for the first time, that hike felt easy. I鈥檝e lost about 10 pounds in the process, and I estimate I am close to the same fitness level at the beginning of this hike as I was around mile 200 of my 2023 hike. I鈥檓 confident in my body and my gear.

Before consumables such as food, fuel and water, my pack weighs about 26 pounds.

It may seem sparse for the two-week hike I鈥檓 about to undertake or for the six-month hike I did previously. Backpackers know that this is a game of ounces. I don鈥檛 want to carry anything that isn鈥檛 necessary to achieve my goal.

Additionally, it鈥檚 a mistake to think of an AT section hike or thru-hike as a single backpacking trip. With few exceptions, it is a long series of two- to three-day hikes with ample opportunity to resupply in between. A Walmart is often within hitchhiking range, and even more abundant are gas station convenience stores or hostels with resupply options, usually at a premium. There are also reliable springs and other water sources every few miles. With proper planning and a quality filtration system, I generally won鈥檛 have to carry more than a liter of water at a time.

Hitting the trail

For better or worse, the Appalachian Trail is logistically easy for most of its length. For this reason, it is the most accessible of the three famous U.S. thru-hikes that make up the Triple Crown, which also includes the Continental Divide Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. Barring serious disabilities, the AT is eminently doable. It has been completed by blind hikers, amputees and people in their 80s, to name just a few exceptional people.

That鈥檚 not to suggest it鈥檚 easy 鈥� only about 20% of people who start the hike finish it, and fewer than half reach the midway point. That said, with the right gear, a few thousand dollars, six months of free time 鈥� less if you are young and fit 鈥� and a strong desire to take the next step (about 5 million steps in total) are all you need.

During the next couple of weeks, I鈥檒l submit updates on my progress, share memories of the 鈥渂ig hike鈥� this trip triggers and explore any insights they provide along the way. My hope is to give readers a glimpse at what an AT hike feels like and, ideally, encourage anyone who has considered taking on this or a similar adventure to jump in and give it a shot. Whether you finish all 2,200 miles or just the first five, I predict you鈥檒l be glad you went.

I met hundreds of people from all over the country and world in 2023 but not a soul from New Mexico. With our high-altitude hemoglobins and outdoor culture, we should be much better represented on this iconic trail.

Jeff Buell is a former journalist and current public relations consultant. He and his wife Laura live in Placitas.