NOTES FROM CAPTIVITY: HIKING THE AT

Originally published in “Boy’s Life”,  the August, 1950 swimsuit edition

Though I’m not really an outdoorsman, I’ve always wanted to be one with nature, so I bought an ax, some beef jerky and a New England-English phrase book, and went to hike the Appalachian Trail (or the AT, as we hikers call it).

A good friend had been hiking it in 3 week ‘sections’ (or sectioning as we hikers call it) for a decade, and I was to join for his final 100 miles, culminating at Mount Katahdin.  The final stretch is in Maine and called the “100 mile wilderness” – aptly named, I might add – but the promise of cocktails at the end was too much to pass up, so I eagerly joined. There were 4 of us hiking together, going mano a Maine.

If you are like me, you might have imagined hiking to involve smooth and wide trails where the four of us would link arms and “ease on down the road”. That image turned out to be another hallucination born from college social activities. The trail was basically tree roots and rock faces, making one wonder why we hikers call it a trail, and whether cash strapped Maine had sold the actual trail to the Chinese.

I fell early and often. There were at least 3 occasions where passing hiker’s mouths fell open and they asked “What happened to him?”, one of which was prior to my first fall, so it might have been my haircut. My trail name was “Contusion” which fit. I made a decent amount of money charging passerbys to see some of the more spectacular bruises. Oddly, one of them formed a map of the AT.

By lunch on day one I knew I wasn’t cut out to hike, but the lure of cocktails at the end remained powerful, so I soldiered on. By lunch on day 2 we decided to get me back to the start, as I had eaten all the beef jerky. The only member of our party to have a Maine ax permit was picked to be my escort.

Days 3 and 4 were what I imagine a death march to be, and I knocked a few years off Purgatory/Limbo. I chanted “I do believe in spooks” incessantly, but to no avail – we never reached Bataan. There are a number of foods which I gagged down during the slog, and I may never eat French cuisine again.

Once back to the beginning, I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t yodel. I ended up in the Eastern Maine Medical Center in Bangor (or EMMC as we kidney patients call it), where I learned I had suffered kidney failure – essentially a perfect medical storm of excessive dehydration, excessive ibuprofen and creepy banjo music. A few rounds of dialysis fixed it and I was sent home. The staff was very nice, and presented me a 10% discount coupon for my next visit.

EMMC did a great job of restoring me to health; it is a teaching hospital that is very proud of involving the surrounding community. In fact, they have a Maine Black Bear nursing program, where bears are recruited and given basic nursing training. One of them actually removed my catheter, which was a memory maker. Needless to say, we’ve kept in touch.

It took a few weeks, but my kidney function returned to normal. A lot of my other organs ain’t what they used to be, but that might just be age and lack of use.

Hiking is officially off my bucket list. But the experience ended happily on two fronts:

One – Our litigation is going very well. We sued the state of Maine, Arthur Treacher, and the estate of Daniel Boone, the founder of the AT, for damages. We will soon find out what we won, but they have at least agreed to pay me for lost overtime and to provide two tickets to a UM football game.

Two – I have written a screenplay based upon my experience, the “Death of Hope”, and it has been optioned by Sony Pictures. I will be played by the exhumed remains of Bing Crosby, while Gentle Ben’s grandson will play the nurse trainee.

What did I learn from this experience, you ask? Besides ‘to never hike again’, I learned that to be truly safe, only trust sports that can be paired with beer: Grilling, bowling and fencing.

But then, I just read about a man who nearly lost his hand bowling after catching it in the ball return. I guess my Captor and the man she calls “The Governor” are right – the only truly safe activity for these times is sitting on the couch.  

TO ENHANCE YOUR READING ENJOYMENT, PAIR THIS POST WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGS:

Proud Mary    Victoria Williams

“That what you fear the most will meet you half way” “No L-O-I-T-E-R-I-N-G”

Old Folks Boogie  Little Feat

“You know you’re over the hill, when your mind makes a promise that your body can’t fill”

One Sunday Morning  Wilco

“Outside I look lived In”

Say I had a Lovely Time   Miracle Legion

“Just as long as you say you had a lovely time”

Fallin’ and Flyin’  Jeff Bridges

“Funny how falling feels like flying – for a little while”

Land Ho!   The Doors

“Land Ho!”