Alone in Wonderland by Christine Reed

Author:Christine Reed [Reed, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rugged Outdoors Woman, LLC

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In the following days, I realized that my face, so much like my mother’s, was more of a painful reminder than a comfort to my father. The second time he called me by her name, I started to think about going back to the trail.

I stepped back on the Appalachian Trail at Gooch Gap only ten days after I had left. It felt as if a whole lifetime had passed since I had last seen this place, and in some sense, it had. There was no trail magic that day. The sky was dreary, and a chill hung in the air. I hopped from the shuttle and, without much pretense, headed north. It was fortunate the trail left nothing to the imagination: walk north, stop when you are hungry, stop when you are tired, continue north.

The next few days passed blankly. I walked alone and set up my tent close enough to shelters to ensure my safety among dozens of other hikers but far enough away that I didn’t meet them. My mind was empty, each sound of the trail entering through my ears and echoing hollowly in my head until a new sound came along. I had no thoughts for days on end, only the reverberation of my surroundings.

A week or so later, I walked eight miles in the rain. My clothes were soaked, and my skin stung with the cold. It occurred to me that this was a particularly difficult day, but only objectively. To me, it was no different than the other days I had had since coming back to the trail. I noticed other hikers taking breaks—they sheltered under rock outcroppings to eat their snacks and hang out, reminding themselves this was supposed to be fun. I trudged by, peering out from beneath the low hood of my obscenely bright turquoise rain shell and sloshing through deep mud puddles, placing my feet deliberately on the trail to avoid losing my footing in the thick slop. When I reached the shelter, it was packed, and tiny tents surrounded the modest structure. I searched for a flat spot to claim and planted myself a hundred yards uphill from the main gathering area.

I dug my food bag and camp stove out of my pack and headed down the hill to prepare my dinner. The one picnic table was occupied by a group of boisterous hikers dressed in either $2 ponchos or $200 rain jackets. They compared stories from the day's walk and discussed their mileage thus far. I cringed at the idea of sitting down with the group and hung my bear bag without eating. When I got back to my tent, I curled up in my sleeping bag and turned on my phone. I had a strong signal and scrolled through my messages, trying to decide who to contact. I wanted to feel connected, to know somebody cared about my day. I read each name on the list. No, not them. They were too busy. They had their own life to think about.

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