In May, I came home to New York after almost two years abroad on the other side of the world. Thrust back among once familiar sights and sounds, immersed again in the English language, awashed in American culture and media, I felt extremely lost. I had always heard about the culture shock one experiences when living in a foreign country. It was mentioned during a Fulbright conference that actually it was the re-culture shock that was far worse than the initial culture shock. I didn’t realize until I moved back home just how right this was.
To re-acquaint myself with my old American life, I decided one day to go for a walk in Harriman State Park near my house in New York. The woods felt comforting and familiar, a place I had walked through since I was as child. With vivid, bright, new spring greens enveloping me, I felt once again grounded, a connection between a place strongly anchored to my sense of “home,” and an activity I did frequently in Hong Kong, China and the US: hiking.
Along the trail, I found a signpost jabbed into the ground stating that I was actually walking along the Appalachian Trail. The “AT” is that famous trail which runs an unimaginable 2175+ miles, give or take, from Maine to Georgia. It was amazing to think that if I stayed on this trail, I could end up in either of those states. Then I began imagining actually trying to hike the whole trail, and how I would do it. How much food would I have to bring? How would I ever carry enough stuff for this exponentially long hiking trip?
In June, while helping to clean out old books at my father’s house for a yard sale, I found the copy of Bill Bryson’s A Walk In The Woods, a travel memoir of the author’s experience along the AT. I had bought the book for Dad a few Christmases ago (although he presumably never read it), and I decided to re-gift it back to myself and find answers to all my AT questions.
Bryson had the crazy idea to hike the entire AT after a day hike on the portion of the AT trail that ran near his house in Hanover, NH. Bryson too had just returned to the US after having spent 20 years in England. He was going to hike the trail to re-discover the country of his birth.
The book got me laughing from the start.
"So I decided to do it [hike the AT]. More rashly, I announced my intention - told friends and neighbors, confidently informed my publisher, made it common knowledge among those who knew me. Then I bought some books... It required only a little light reading in adventure books and almost no imagination to envision circumstances in which I would find myself caught in a tightening circle of hunger-emboldened wolves, staggering and shredding clothes under an onslaught of pincered fire ants, or dumbly transfixed by the sight of enlivened undergrowth advancing towards me, like a torpedo through water, before being bowled backwards by a sofa-sized boar with cold beady eyes, a piercing squeal, and slaverous, chopping appetite for pink, plump, city-softened flesh."It also brought back memories of my grizzly bear encounter in Yellowstone Park in May too.
"My particular dread--the vivid possibility that left me staring at tree shadows on the bedroom ceiling night after night--was having to lie in a small tent, alone in an inky wilderness, listening to a foraging bear outside and wondering what its intentions were. I was especially riveted by an amateur photograph in Herrero's book, taken late at night by a camper with a flash at a campground out West. The photograph caught four black bears as they puzzled over a suspended food bag. The bears were clearly startled but not remotely alarmed by the flash. It was not the size or demeanor of the bears that troubled me--they looked almost comically nonaggressive, like four guys who had gotten a Frisbee caught up a tree--but their numbers. Up to that moment it had not occurred to me that bears might prowl in parties. What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of those unrolling paper streamers you get at children's parties--I daresay it would even give a merry toot--and bleed to a messy death in my sleeping bag."Bryson also balances his personal narratives with interesting side-stories and history abou the Appalachian Trail. I learned many interesting things about America I never knew.
Did you know....?
1. What happened to the American chestnut tree?
2. What is largest job the US Forest Service undertakes?
3. What do you do if you see a bear?
The best part about the book for me was that Bryson, like myself, is not an extreme hiker or mountaineer. He is a simple every-day man, attuned and accustomed to the convenience of modern day life, in all its fast-food, shopping mall, parking lot filled glory. The second best part of the book is his equally hilarious companion, Katz.
I read the book on my commute between New Jersey and New York City. While rather ugly industrial landscapes, land flat as the eye could see, and suburban sprawl in 360 degrees rolled by the bus window, I was transported to one of my favorite places to be: lost among the trees of a New England forest.
Just this past weekend, inspired by the book, I took to the woods once again. Armed with an old hiking book with trail maps (circa 1971) I also found in my Dad’s collection, I set out on a four and a half hour hike through Bear Mountain. I walked the Appalachian Trail for a few hours, and thought about how Bryson described it. Hiking alone was a new adventure ( I admit I was slightly worried about getting murdered), but I also at once felt calm and peaceful, despite the sounds of gunfire practice from West Point and the rip-roaring bursts of noisy motorcycles that broke the silence. I spotted a pair of wild turkey, saw wild raspberries, a bright orange shelf-like tree mushroom (Laetiporus), and a wasp nest. Sweaty and tired, I was a hiker again, and I was at home.
"Four hundred vertical feet above, where the summit was still washed in bright sunlight under an immaculate cobalt sky, my compadres dallied to memorialize their arrival at the apex of the planet, unfurling flags and snapping photos, using up precious ticks of the clock. None of them imagined that a horrible ordeal was drawing nigh. Nobody suspected that by the end of that long day, every minute would matter." Chapter One, p. 9
