Low-Light Photography Guide

I've written this article, if anybody is interested:

The Search for Wisdom

It has been over a year now since I left the trail. In that year I have learned much. I built my portfolio as a web developer to the point that I can now charge three times more than I used to. I have perfected one foreign language and begun working on another. I have read hundreds of academic journals and medieval italian poems. My college career and along with it the rest of my life has become an endless pursuit of knowledge.

The trail was different. It was an endless pursuit of sorts, but the goal was something different. The goal was never a mountain top or a mile marker or a state line. The objective was enlightenment, and enlightenment comes from wisdom, not knowledge. In my short stint on the Appalachian Trail, I got a taste of that enlightenment. As an atheist it is sometimes difficult to find an outlet for my spiritual needs. I agree with science because of it's fundamental ideals of the pursuit of the truth. But the truth that science seeks is one of knowledge, not wisdom. There are questions that cannot be answered by biologists and chemists. There are problems that cannot be solved with beakers and petri dishes. But these answers and solutions do not come from any of the "revealed" religions, at least not for me. In fact, they come from no religion at all but really just a philosophy.

During my time at Elmer's Sunnybank Inn, I was intrigued by the plethora of Buddhist literature available, and so in three days I devoured as much of it as possible. In Buddhism I searched for the answers to my own questions. I searched for the serenity to be happy, despite an injury that had potentially ended my hopes of achieving my life's dream. For a time, the principles of Buddhism worked well, but it soon became apparent that Buddhism was not a long term solution. The idea of numbing myself to my desires and ignoring my pains left a foul taste in my mouth. The teachings of the Buddha were just painkillers for my problems, and drugs weren't what I needed at the time.

At Miss Janet's house, seeking only to expand my knowledge and not in a search for any enlightenment, I began to read the Bhagavad Gita. Golden Boy, a thruhiker who stayed for a few days, suggested that I try the Tao Te Ching. And so I did.

There is an obvious sort of wisdom to the Tao. The principles are fairly simple. Round pegs go in round holes. Work with the nature of things and not against it. The small taste of enlightenment that I had received was tantalizing. The lessons of the literature were reinforced by my own experiences and observations while hiking. I look forward to the day when I can return the trail and finish my real education. College is teaching me how to have conversations and arguments with other Highly Educated People. It is teaching me how to perform well at a potential job, and how to write Long Boring Essays that will likely never be read. It is an education, and I think a valuable one, but nothing can compare with the wisdom of the trail. The trail can teach us how to be happy and effective people in every aspect of our lives. It's lessons help us in work, relationships, and even in dealing with getting dressed laying down because a back injury makes it impossible to do so standing up.

If you were following my progress here, you know that on April 7th I returned home from Miss Janet's House in order to heal what I thought was a simple pulled groin muscle. After two MRIs and 6 different doctors, the final conclusion was that I had a pulled Psoas muscle, which would take much longer to heal. Nine months later, in January, my pain had not gone down, and instead it was getting worse. I sought further medical attention, and was referred to a Osteopath nearby who specializes in back and neck injuries. He looked at my original MRIs from April and immediately saw two slipped discs in my spine. The discs have slid out and are pressing against the nerves, causing the intense pain in my leg which is called sciatica. It is beyond me why neither the radiologist, orthopedic surgeon, chiropractor, nor the other osteopath saw these slipped discs, as even I was able to see the abnormality.

And so in February I began several long weeks of treatment, which end this week. I am not fully healed, but I am a somewhat functional participant in society once more, and with my limited wisdom I am managing to stay positive and keep my head high. With a little luck, my injury will eventually heal and I will be left with only my lessons to remind me of the trail.

So that is what is going on with Mr. Happy. Still gimpy, still happy, and still on a wild goose hunt for something in particular with little idea what that something may be.

The End for Now

Some of you out there may be wondering where in the world is Mr. Happy (Signor Felice, Josh, what ever you want to call me). How is he? Can he walk yet? When will he be back on the trail? Others of you probably coudn’t care less. Those people probably don’t read my journal though.
Here are the short answers:
I am at home in western Massachusetts.
I am doing pretty well, if a little worse for the wear.
I can sort-of walk.
I will be back on the trail at the next opportunity. Most likely next summer. I will attempt another complete thru-hike most likely after I graduate in 4 years.

Of course, the short answers leave rise to more questions, such as “what does ‘sort-of walk’ mean?”
It means that I am definitely not 100% healed yet. Here is the story of what I have done since I came home in April.

I spent a few days recuperating, physically and mentally, from having actually left the trail. My whole family was in town for Easter, but I did not feel very social, and so mostly I kept to myself. I continued to sleep in a sleeping bag, rather than under the covers of my bed. I ate everything and anything in sight. Somehow my metabolism had never quite gotten used to NOT walking 10-20 miles each day. Within the first week I saw my physician and a chiropractor. The chiropractor adjusted my back, which was thrown out from limping, and helped me with the recuperation of my leg. My physician told me I had simply pulled a muscle and all I need was time. If it was still a problem, I should come see him in a month.
One month later I was even worse. Perhaps I should have been resting more, but I must admit that the idea of being completely bedridden did not appeal to me in the least. On the other hand, walking 3 miles to work one day was not the best idea. And so I found myself once more at my Doctor’s office. He sympathized with me and quickly ordered an MRI scan of my right thigh. It took another two weeks for me to actually get an appointment for that.
Getting an MRI is scary. I am mildly claustrophobic, but not so bad. It wasn’t the tight space that was scary. They slide you into the machine and give you headphones to listen to music on, and a call button should an emergency arise. For some reason, my music was the same 3 Greenday songs, repeated on loop. But I haven’t gotten to the scary part yet. Imagine the sound a heart-rate monitor makes when you are dying (or dead): that screeching alarm that calls half of the hospital’s doctors into the room. Now imagine that sound played at about 10 times normal volume, in a 2ft. diameter tube that you happen to be laying in. Oh, and did I mention that you are strapped down with gigantic velcro straps, and that they have something that feels like a lead blanket over your chest? Yeah. And then the part of the lead blanket near your crotch starts to vibrate, in a quite uncomfortable way. And to top it all off, right above my head there was a small glass lens with a label. The label read “Laser aperture. Do not stare!” Of course, the thing I wasn’t supposed to stare at was pretty much all I could see. And so I do my best to lay still and ignore my surroundings for the next 45 minutes (that’s how long an MRI takes). But they haven’t even started the machine up yet. All of a sudden there is a noise below me and the whole machine starts vibrating. It feels as if you are inside an old, clunky photocopier.
So that’s what an MRI is like. Nothing torturous, but not the best way to spend a beautiful summer day. Anyhow, a few days later I get a postcard in the mail that says “Your MRI came back ‘normal’.” Somewhat perplexed as to the meaning of normal, I make an appointment with an orthopedist, hoping for more answers.
Yet another week later I am at the orthopedist office, where I am told that my leg is a perfectly normal leg. No torn muscles. No broken femurs or hip joints.
“Are you sure that’s my right leg?” I ask, “’cause it sure hurts like hell.”
And the orthopedist suspects that the problem is coming from my back. He suggests possible nerve damage. Simply wonderful. A quick X-ray shows nothing, and so I am ordered in for yet another MRI. This time I come prepared, and bring a CD of music I like.
“Oh we can’t give you music this time.” the woman tells me, “you’re too far in for your back.”
Actually, since I knew what to expect, the second time was not nearly as bad, and before I knew it I was sliding out of the machine.
“Cut to the chase already!” you are probably thinking. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why aren’t you out there kicking ass on the Appalachian Trail?”
I was wondering the same things for the past 3 months.
The second MRI comes up negative. I have a perfectly healthy back, as far as magnetic rays can tell.
Finally I decide to see an ostiopath (DO). The one I saw happens to be my best friend’s Dad, but he is also probably one of the best ostiopaths in the country. I should have seen him right away. Within five minutes he determines, by poking various muscles and nerves, that I have a severely strained Ilio-Psoas muscle. He pulls out a medical text book and shows me the muscle. It runs from the lower back, through the pelvis, to the inner thigh. It’s connection in the thigh is right around the area where my pain had been originating. It’s also right where the adductors muscle connects, which is why my physician had suspected that muscle. An hour with the ostiopath left me feeling much better, and with a full knowledge of what I can and shouldn’t do.
Basically, I am restricted to walking about the house and to the car. No swimming with kicking (I can swim if I use a pull-buoy that prevents my legs from moving, but helps them float), no running, no walking far, no carrying anything heavy, etc. Hopefully, I will be better soon, though due to the position of the muscle and the severity of the strain, I don’t expect to be doing anything serious this season.
Other than that, I am doing well. For exercise I kayak or swim (with the pull-buoy). I’ve left a note with my phone number in the Hemlocks Shelter on Mt. Everett and I am occasionally called by a thru-hiker in need of a ride to town. Whenever possible I try to help them out, and I head up to the hemlocks shelter often to camp and offer any passing hikers some extra food (the shelter is a mere .25 miles from a parking lot).
School starts on August 24th. I can’t wait.

Thank you all for reading my journal, for commenting, for your support, your emails, and advice. I’ll be back. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But sooner rather than later, I’ll be at the plaque on Springer Mountain once more, looking north to the horizon, preparing to put one foot in front of the other for as far as I can go. Hopefully, I’ll see you out there too.

Happy Trails,
Mr. Happy

Summary

The following was originally written in an e-mail to my high-school teacher Mr. Scanlon on May 1st. I have decided that it is a good summary of my hike, and worthy of publication. Here it is, with a few edits.

On January 12th I flew down to Mississippi to my girlfriend Margaret's house.  Her and her father drove me to Atlanta, Georgia, near the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.  On January 15th I began my long, long journey.  For two days, it was warm, which is what I expected so far south.  Then the Georgia mountains started to look more like the realm of Hades than the american south.  The temperatures dropped below 0 almost every night, and rarely rose above 20 (F) during the day.  A few inches of ice covered every surface.  On January 28th it got so cold (-15 degrees F with a 40-mph wind) in North Carolina that I didn't sleep at all, and in the morning I was quite hypothermic.  I walked 5 miles (it took me almost 5 hours I was so cold) to the top of a mountain, where there was a road and my cell phone worked, and I called for an evacuation.  Having had enough of winter, I got a ride back to a hostel I had stayed at in Georgia, where they allowed me to work-for-stay for a week, while things "warmed up".  During that week two feet of snow fell, and it did warm up - a little.  I set off again.  A week later, I came to the top of Shuckstack mountain near the Tennessee border, and looking back, decided that I had had enough.  It was still only 30 degrees, cloudy, dead, and desolate.  I was the only living thing for hundreds of miles.  The occasional squirrel would pop it's head out of a warm hole and look at me as if to say "What the hell are you doing you crazy bugger?  Don't you know it's WINTER?"  and so, realizing the silliness of my ways, I resolved to head home until Spring.  I took the greyhound bus, and now have a newfound respect for the Italian public transportation system.  It may not be as good as Germany, but it's cheap and you don't have to go all the way to Cleveland Ohio just to get to Massachusetts (thats about 800 miles out of the way).

While I was home in February the North East got hit with 4-10 feet of snow, depending on where you were.  I actually enjoyed it this time, since I didn't have to sleep in it, and managed to make some money by shoveling it for people.  This recovered what I'd spent to leave the trail.

On March 2nd my Dad offered to fly me back to where I had left off.  We had another little side adventure on the flight down in his small airplane, as we were rerouted by weather twice.  The whole trip took 3 days.  On March 5th my Dad hiked up Shuckstack mountain with me, and then headed back down the way we'd come.  He would go home, and I would continue.   My journey would be much improved.  It was sixty degrees out, and I had traveling companions this time -- 3 other hikers who we met the night before at the hotel we had stayed at.  Myself and my 3 companions hiked together for two beautiful days, and even formed a group which we called the "Fellowship of the Egg", a take on the Lord of The Rings.  Eggs are hikers favorite food in town, because they are cheap, full of protein, and delicious.  Sadly, on the third morning I was forced to leave the Fellowship of the Egg.  I had pulled a muscle in my leg (I thought) from hiking too hard, too far, too soon.  I had fallen out of shape during my brief hiatus, but I had expected to be able to come back to the trail and hike as if I had never left.  This was a mistake.  Sadly I said goodbye to my friends, and headed down a side trail towards the tourist town of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  From there I took another greyhound bus to Margaret's house.  She had been planning on visiting me for her Spring break, but since I was injured and needed somewhere to heal up, it made more sense for me to visit her.  After yet another week I was walking around as if nothing had happened, and Margaret drove me back to the trail.  I made it one mile before my injury represented itself and I was forced to turn around.  Determined not to throw in the towel, I tagged along with someone who was being shuttled farther up the trail, beyond Great Smokey Mountain National Park, to a hostel called Standing Bear Farm.  There I met Curtis, the owner, a genuine tennessee hill billy and a genuinely nice guy.  I spent a week there before getting restless and deciding to hitchhike farther north with another hiker.  The two of us made it to Hot Springs, North Carolina, and Elmer's Sunnybank Inn, a Zen Retreat by winter and a hiker haven by summer.  Books were everywhere, and an all organic vegetarian meal was served everynight.  It was always delicious despite the lack of meat.  Three days in Hot Springs and it was time to move on again.  Bear with me... the story is coming to a close. 

I hitchiked to Erwin, Tennessee, and Miss Janet's House, another hiker hostel.  Miss Janet let me sleep in the hammock out back for free, and in exchange I helped with the chores.  I stayed for half a month, and met a lot of hikers, learned how to cook a little, and made a lot of friends.  Finally, I was driven to Asheville airport and I flew home once more, my long journey over -- for now.

Doctors have told me that I can expect to hike regularly again in June.  I probably won't go back to the trail, as I won't have enough time to finish, but I will certainly be involved in the trail community.  I plan to do "trail magic" in the area where the trail comes near to my own home.  Trail magic is something townfolk often do for hikers, taking warm hot meals out to places where the trail crosses a road, and feeding the hikers, taking their trash for them, and offering them rides into town.

Beauty Spot

 This photo is from the parking lot below the "Beauty Spot". Two nights ago, a group of hikers who call themselves the "Riders on the Storm", called Miss Janet's house and jokingly asked if she could bring beer and pizza to where they were camping. They were on top of a mountain called the Beauty Spot, which was accessible via a forest service road. The 12 of us from the hostel piled into Miss Janet's van and headed up the hill, with the van threatening to quit at any minute as it chugged and jumped up the rough road. As we walked towards the riders' campsite around midnight, we started yelling in our best southern drawls "You god-damn yankees get off of my mountain. Go home you freakin' hippies!" and such stuff. Scared out of their wits, head-lamp adorned heads started to pop their way out of the tents. When the saw us, toting several cases of beer, their fears were allayed.

The Beauty spot is a bald (treeless) mountain field, hedged in by forest, but with an amazing view to the south. I headed north on my own, towards the beautiful full moon which was casting a shallow blue light on the trees. After a few hundred feet I found some firewood and shouted for help to carry it. Once we came back up to the top of the hill with several large logs, the lightening storm had begun.

From this vantage point, almost higher than the clouds, I could see where the Ancient Greeks got the idea that lightening was "thrown" from the heavens by Zeus. The bolts were raining down on Tennessee, hundreds of miles away, so far that we couldn't hear the thunder. The entire sky was illuminated on one side by the brightness of the moon and then backlit on the other side by the lightening bolts. The majesty reached me, and I sat on the fringe of the glow of the campfire.

At first, I was saddened by the fact that I was coming home, leaving wonderful experiences such as this one behind. I thought back to the pieces of the Tao Te Ching that I had read that morning, and started to try to enjoy the moment, and as I did so I came to the realization that I wasn't leaving experiences like this behind... I was having them. I was out there, enjoying myself, and I would be able to continue to do so no matter where I went. If I hadn't injured myself, I would have been long past Miss Janet's by now and never have seen this lightening storm. If I hadn't been stupid and not started in January, I never would have met Zero, who I believe to be one of the greatest human beings I have had the pleasure of meeting. If I hadn't had a moment of weakness and gone home in February for a break, I wouldn't have met Juniper, Salamander, or Backyard Boogie.

Everything, no matter how terrible it may have seemed, has conspired to send me on an amazing adventure. By going with the flow, I will not only be able to enjoy it in retrospect as I am now, but as it is happening, something I have always struggled to do. Almost all of my outdoor experiences have been miserable while I was out there, doing it, but once I finish and think back upon them, I have nothing but good memories of laughter and fun.

If I can learn to enjoy the experiences as I experience them, life could become a blissful voyage.

A Short Break

It feels strange, finally accepting the fact that I have thrown in the towel for this year. My week at Miss Janet's house last week was amazing, and on Thursday one of the hikers -- Otto -- was going to Boone. Since I have a friend at Lee's McRae, near there, I decided to hitch a ride and spend the weekend with Wentworth. I had a pretty good time and was distracted enough to keep my mind off of the fact that I wasn't going to Maine. I am so glad now that I pushed on through those hard times in January. Coming off trail due to an injury is bad enough. I now understand what people have been telling me, that coming off trail due to lack of determination is something I would never be able to forgive myself for.

After three days of fun in Boone/Banner Elk, I got a ride with some of Wentworth's friends back here to Erwin. I'll be staying here and helping out Miss Janet for another week, and on Saturday I'll be flying home. I chose to go home for several reasons. First and foremost, I need medical attention. I picked this Saturday so that I could be home for Easter and see some of my relatives, as I've essentially been absent for the past two years. Finally, and this one is mostly just a bonus, I'll be going to an open house at UVM, something I couldn't do last year, and as icing on the cake, Margaret will be going to an open house at Middlebury, 30 minutes down the road, so we'll get to see each other.

I'm going to treat this trip similar to when I went home in February -- I'm visiting, not returning. I'm going to regroup and then head out on another adventure. What that adventure is, I don't know.

Currently I am reading the Tao of Pooh, and I think that for the next few months I shall embrace the Taoist principle of going with the flow.

Miss Janet's House

Please excuse the recent lack of updates. I have been taking a crazy emotional ride the past few days trying to come to terms with the fact that my thruhike is basically done for this year. I know I said I'd accepted the fact in a previous post, and I had, but it still comes back every now and then (read: 50 minutes out of every hour). Even if I was healed right now and started walking, I would have about 120 days to hike 2000 miles... and that's just not a speed I want to maintain. It would suck all of the fun out of hiking.

Right now, I am at Miss Janet's House in Erwin TN. I hithchiked here from Hot Springs on Saturday morning. Miss Janet's house is a trail legend... it's one of those places that is not optional: You MUST go to Miss Janet's. I have an arrangement worked out with Miss Janet: I can stay as long as I need to, to heal. In exchange, I help take care of the hikers while she is out running shuttles. She is also practically forcing me to ice my leg and take ibuprofen regularly. I've got an ace bandage wrapped around it and the swelling is finally starting to go down. I check on WebMD.com: the injury I have best fits a "Class II Groin Strain", which often takes several months to heal completely.

Miss Janet's house really is amazing, and I understand why it is such a destination. Miss Janet herself is one of the kindest people I've met, and she pulls hikers in. It's hard to leave. Most people end up staying for 3 or more days. Every morning we wake up (i've been sleeping on the couch or the floor because the place is so packed) and cook breakfast. Usually a few hikers and locals help out. There's this one local guy, kind of old, who rides his bike up in the morning and then helps set the table up and serve the food. He stands up while we all eat and runs stuff back and forth from the kitchen, telling old jokes the whole time. It's absolutely hilarious. He was thrilled to hear that I was from Great Barrington, as he'd skiied there before. After breakfast, I clean up, and the hikers head out to their various slackpacking routes. I sit on the couch all day with an ice pack and a book. I don't really get bored though because there are so many people coming and going all day.

What about the future? Well, if I heal up quickly, and am able to do small miles, I may do a little bit more hiking before coming home to the Berkshires. And just because I'm not thruhiking this year doesn't mean i'm through hiking this year. I may take a few short trips in New England, on the AT or possibly a thruhike of the Long Trail in Vermont.

I really can't say how thankful I am for all of the support I have received. I feel terrible about letting all of my fans and supporters down. If I had been a bit stronger and not gone home in February, or if I had been less stubborn and quit hiking when I got the blister in the Smokies, maybe this wouldn't have happened. There would have been a lot of ways to avoid it, but I try not to focus on that. I had invaluable learning experiences so far (and I still am), and I will have many chances in the future to come back and try again, which I fully intend to do. As for the finish date pool... one person said they wanted to revoke their bet. That's fine. I'll send back all of the bets.

Thank you so much to all of the people who sent me donations and care packages. I leave you with two options:
1) I'll give back the donation, with the promise that you may donate again next time I try, or
2) I will use the money for trail magic, to help out other hikers.

Also, to any hikers reading this, if you're ever on the AT in northern Connecticut or southern Mass, give me a call or an e-mail and if I'm in town I would love to come hike with you, maybe arrange some slackpacking and some home cooked meals. If i've met you and hiked with you, your presence is requested. Everyone else is welcome too.

So thanks again for all the support. I may not be going to Maine, but the adventure is far from over, so don't stop reading! If you're browsing around for something to read and I haven't updated, check out the Grease Frightening Saga (the link is on the upper right).

You, my readers, rock. You're the best.

Happy Trails,

Mr. Happy