By Jennifer Harnish
Reprinted from "Baylines Express," November 22, 2023.
On March 8, 2023, my daughter Celia and her boyfriend Jasper began their 2,198 mile thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail (A.T.). In A.T. lingo, they were doing a Nobo (Northbound) thru-hike, beginning at Springer Mountain in Georgia with the goal of ending at the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine. Not until she was a week into her hike did I realize fully that, as a mother who happens to be blind, I would have to figure out creative ways to stay tuned into her adventure.
Our iPhones played the largest role in keeping us connected. Most days I would hop on the "Find My" app to see what town she was in and how many miles away she was. If I had time I Googled away, inevitably finding websites that gave great detailed descriptions of the town and its relationship with the A.T. The many detailed blog posts by other thru hikers elucidated specific features of the flora, fauna, and hike challenges they might encounter. My anxious friend even thought to send me links to news posts about the impact of flooding on Nobo hikers in Vermont.
Being raised by a parent who encouraged and modeled the use of detailed descriptive language, Celia texted me well-narrated videos with exhilarating nature sounds like loons, waterfalls, rushing rivers they had to cross, and 50-mile-per-hour wind gusts as they crested Mount Moosilauke in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Unfortunately, recordings could not capture sounds of the snakes, bears and moose she encountered along the way. When I was feeling a bit of sadness over the extent of our separation, I would read a variety of books from BARD, Bookshare and Audible on thru-hiker adventures from the past. The most well-written being Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods," which detailed his own Nobo hike in 1996.
Celia, known by her A.T. trail name "Pickles," called us every week or two when battery charge and cellular connections allowed. I enjoyed her tales of "trail magic" -- food set out by trail angels with her favorites, including fresh grilled cheeseburgers, ice-cold Southern sweet tea, a pile of biscuits with red-eye gravy, and a bucket of fresh blueberries she picked as a swap for sleeping in the angel's enormous metal airplane hangar during a lightning storm. Calls and messages included justifications for the many strangers they met when hitching rides, the favorite being squeezed in the back of an electrical company bucket truck to nearby towns to restock supplies. Hearing her asthma pick up while in the Carolinas sparked a bit of worry for her health, but she got the chance for some adulting when figuring out how to get her doctor to call in a prescription to a small-town pharmacy they reached a day's hike away after a rough night with little sleep. She also shared trail news about "Shades," the blind hiker a month ahead of them who was hiking with her guide dog. On July 7th, I called her to sing Happy Birthday as she celebrated her 19th birthday on the trail. A Venmo gift soon arrived on her phone direct from my Massachusetts bank account.
Our virtual connections did not outweigh the one time I got to wrap my physical arms around her when she returned home for one-and-a-half days in early August after calling for a rescue while in western Massachusetts after days and days of continuous rainfall. The hug ended abruptly, though, when I inhaled the horrible stench of two weeks of accumulation of sweat and grime on her body, hair and clothing. Off to a hot shower with lots of soap she went.
The eventual availability of Be My AI provided detailed descriptions of many photos she sent later in the trip (included) and Aira agents used their talents to describe maps and photos I came across on blog posts and websites. An agent's description of an artist's ten-foot-long rendering of the entire trail almost got me to "buy now." I was tempted by the idea of having the puff paint and other tactile materials adhered to the map arriving at my home. I did not order that item, but it still remains in my Etsy shopping cart for a potential family project.
On Sept. 11, I experienced my favorite part of the trek when picking up the kids at the end of their hike in Maine; Jasper's ("Sticky's") father and I and my guide dog, Lisa, picked them up in Millinocket, ME, where thankfully they had showered and done laundry after arriving at the hiker's hostel after conquering the trail. I even had my own chance to provide some "trail magic" to them and one of their hiking friends (trail name Podcast) when I treated them all to dinner at DuckFat, one of Portland?s famous restaurants. I made more use of my iPhone by navigating to the eatery with the GPS and reading the menu on the phone.
After Celia's return home, there were more non-visual elements of the hike to experience. I am still finding clumps of A.T. mud in our shoe baskets and under her bed. Her calves still have a muscular tone. The hole in the sole of her last pair of hiking shoes signifies the many miles of trail they suffered under her feet. Her hair has grown back to chin length; her friends shaved her head entirely before her departure. Now, that was a tactile experience to behold! Personally, I can't wait to set foot on the A.T. in a future hike of my own, likely as a lowly day-hiker who will enjoy a comfortable bed and hot meal at the end of my trek!
* Caption:
Celia and Jasper, standing atop the Mount Katahdin sign, hold their arms up in the air in victory. The wooden sign reads: Katahdin, Baxter Peak, Elevation 5267 ft., Northern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Two other hikers stand next to the sign, perched on rocks, arms and hiking poles up in the air as if to say, "We did it!"