"Never Again"

They were not the first words out of my mouth when I finally reached Lake Placid, but they must have been a close second. 

My solo hike was an amazing one, filled with some of the most memorable moments of my life - but it was also a battle against raw swollen feet, a comedy of errors, and a series of misjudgments.  I was mentally drained and physically beaten by the time I walked out of the woods, thrilled for the chance to experience it all, but promising myself never to do it again.

Of course, that was 2 years ago.

And as the time passed, so did the resolve of that promise.  The memories of the struggle slowly faded and the peaceful, poignant moments, such as when I first heard a loon call out, began to tempt me in ways I was unable to resist.  For months I continued to paint over the uncomfortable memories, and dwell on the pleasant ones. . .  until one day I found myself seriously analyzing the hike - day by day, step by step - recognizing my errors and thinking of ways to overcome them.  I obsessively reviewed my itinerary, my choice of equipment, my pre-hike preparations. . . and the next thing I knew, despite my promise from 2 years earlier, it was once again no longer a matter of "IF" I would do the hike, but "WHEN".

With a relatively free summer coming up, and plenty of vacation time sacked away, the decision was an easy one.  I settled on a Labor Day finish, closely mirroring the schedule of my solo trip from 2 years ago, and then quickly moved on to the preparations.  This time around I was determined to whip my body into shape before heading out and to drastically cut down on the amount of weight I carried.

More importantly, I wanted to share the experience with someone special.  A close friend in particular.  A person I knew would appreciate and cherish the moments along the trail as much as I would - Someone who had come to mean the world to me.  So with everything else either in motion or ready to go, there was only one thing left to do. . .  ask Jessica if she would consider walking 130 miles with me.

I met Dave the day after he returned from his first hike of the Northville-Placid Trail. He was bruised, he was bloodied, he was blistered. But he recounted his journey with unwavering satisfaction. I was intrigued. At the time, it was an experience that I could appreciate, but certainly not one that I ever imagined enduring myself.

But over the course of two years everything changed. I became an avid hiker and before I knew it I harbored illusions – or delusions – of one day completing the Appalachian Trail. With my experience limited to some weekend peakbagging and a handful of short backpacking trips, I stubbornly inserted the AT at the top of my list of “things to do before I die”. Aware of my growing obsession, Dave – ever the voice of reason – suggested I try a shorter thru-hike to whet, or sate, my appetite for distance hiking.

So when he asked me to join him on his second thru-hike of the Northville-Placid Trail, it seemed logical to say yes. I looked forward to the challenge of my first distance hike and, confronted with some life decisions I was not quite ready to face, was eager for the moments of beauty, solitude, and self-reflection that I would inevitably encounter.

The trail became my panacea. To my mind, there was nothing 130 miles could not solve.

But I was also hesitant. Many thoughts ran through my head, few of which had much to do with the hike itself.  What would two weeks alone in the woods do to us? Our relationship was fluid, forever changing, always tenuous … seemingly irresolvable. It had become a familiar dance, one of us always offbeat. But while we stumbled through our day-to-day interactions, there was one place where we were always in sync: the mountains.

In the end, the decision was easy. I would join him – my best friend – on this stroll through the woods.