Thanks so much for juxtaposing the historical information on A.T. beginnings with articles from more recent hikers [in the Fall 2021 issue]. I learned more about Benton MacKaye than I knew before — and appreciated the spirit of the Trail that still draws hikers of the 21st Century. The collection of articles in this issue will be an inspiration for the next 100 years.

The Fall 2021 issue is absolutely stunning! I loved the extensive history on the A.T., especially all the background detail of Benton MacKaye’s fascinating life. I feel blessed to have so much of this national treasure in my backyard.

The Fall 2021 issue of A.T. Journeys arrived and it is a keeper. The cover is exquisite. The content bears reading closely. You did a marvelous job noting the first century of the Trail and blending the historical with the current. I have been hiking on the A.T. for a half-century myself and have the sort of reverence for it as one has for a family member. Thanks to all those who keep it going. What will its second century bring?

Thank you for the Fall 2021 edition of the magazine and its rich and thorough history of both Benton MacKaye and Myron Avery. I was especially intrigued by David Field’s piece on the two men, and particularly his observations regarding technology. While I never wore earbuds and was always somewhat dismayed to encounter many younger hikers who did, I nevertheless had a cell phone with me during my entire hike. It was comforting to my wife to get near-daily text messages assuring her of my safety some three thousand miles away in northern California while my son and I pursued our dream of an A.T. thru-hike. I was somewhat amused that, as David was lamenting the overuse of technology on the Trail he advised readers to “Google” ‘Carrington Event’. It only goes to show why seeking out the solitude of the Trail is such a challenge, but such a necessity in this digital age.

The Spring-Summer issue of A.T. Journeys was maybe the best ever.  We tend to view the A.T. remotely through video and photographs, but your showing it through the eyes of artists was wonderful.

Wow! When I began reading “Trail as Muse” [Spring/Summer 2021], I was struck with how art was infused into this edition. I was both thrilled and inspired to let you know how much it meant to me. I was transported back to my high school Girl Scout days (1950s) in Silver Spring, Maryland, where our Troop “88” planned hiking and camping trips nearly every weekend. Hiking short pieces of the A.T. was my way of immersing myself with all that nature had to offer, and the beauty surrounding me in all seasons was something I never forgot. Later, while teaching at Penn State University, I had the opportunity during several summers to hike Mount Monadnock before a more challenging Mount Washington in New Hampshire where I enjoyed the Ammonoosuc, Jewell, and Tuckerman Ravine trails. Every mention of Mount Washington and the White Mountains brings a smile to my face, especially when captured in any aspect of art.

Nice job to the A.T. Journeys team on the Spring/Summer issue. I was excited to read it cover to cover, and I just wanted to thank you for the hard work.  It’s a keeper for sure.

The below-the-fold headlines of The Washington Post on Saturday, September 18, 2004, read: “Ivan Leaves its Mark on Nine States,” “Tornadoes Pound Washington Region.” Not exactly the best weather for an outdoor wedding ceremony along the Appalachian Trail.

Miraculously, that Saturday morning still dawned crystal clear, the world scrubbed to a high shine after the Friday deluge. Like with so many of our A.T. adventures before, and after, we just had better stories to tell, thanks to Mother Nature.

Although my Appalachian Trail thru-hike was completed forty-three years ago, I can recall aspects of the journey as if they had occurred yesterday. In my memory, the elements of the adventure — star-flecked night skies, stiff ascents culminating in grand vistas, open-faced shelters set beside cascading brooks, the musky aroma of rain-dampened forests — are inextricably linked with the friends who shared in these experiences.

I spent much of my honeymoon in 1980 singing the Temptations’ “My Girl” and Marvin Gaye’s and Tammi Terrell’s “You’re All I Need to Get By” to my newlywed, Michelle. The location was no Parisian boulevard, Caribbean isle, or California oceanfront suite. I was doing my best Motown imitations deep in Baxter State Park in Maine while backpacking over roots and rocks and in muck and streams to get to pond campsites where moose munched in the shallows. And while ascending Katahdin, the terminus of the Appalachian Trail.

THERE IS AN ACUTE SENSE OF WITHDRAWAL that intensifies in the days, weeks, and months after finishing a thru-hike. Some call it post-hike blues. Others experience it as low-grade depression. For me, it started with numbness. I was unable to accept that an experience, which fundamentally transformed my life, was over. The transformation I went through during my thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail in 2015 was so intense that it compelled me to toggle between two, discrete lives. There was life on the Trail: wholly connected to nature and to a simple, restorative experience. And there was life off Trail: completely divorced from these things.

I found myself comparing the experiences provided by these discrete lives. On the A.T., I woke up to the sound of whip-poor-wills or a fellow hiker shaking the dew off their tent. In Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I live now, I wake up to the lazy groan of a garbage truck barreling down the street at six in the morning, ambling out of bed just as the coffeemaker burps out the final drops of Ethiopian blend. On the Trail, I distilled my life to the basics: nourishment, hydration, navigation, and destination. Off the A.T., I am enmeshed in a complexity that forces me to organize my life through apps and meeting requests.