Lucy Letcher - The Barefoot Sisters Walking Home

CHAPTER 1
Homeward Bound

CHAPTER 2
Staying in the Game

CHAPTER 3
Nobo Stories

CHAPTER 4
Spring Break

CHAPTER 5
In Which We Learn to Fly

CHAPTER 6
Hiker-Gatherers

CHAPTER 7
Old Friends and New

CHAPTER 8
Sick and Tired

CHAPTER 9
Jackrabbits Thru-hike

CHAPTER 10
Harry Potter and the Russian Mafia

CHAPTER 11
September

CHAPTER 12
The Greatest Mountain

O n a wet, buggy midsummers day in 2000, my sister and I set out to hike the Appalachian Trail southbound, from Maine to Georgia. Our preparations consisted of three or four enthusiastic telephone conversations over the past few months, a trip through the dried foods aisle of our local health food store, and a quick visit to a local sports outlet store to supplement the camping gear wed accumulated over the past few years and stored in our mothers garden shed. We carried fifty-pound packs, pared down to what we considered the absolute essentials: tent, sleeping bags, mattress pads, stove and cooking pot, water filter, first aid kit, rain gear, clothes for every temperature from ten to ninety degrees Fahrenheit, and bug nets for our heads. A slim volume of poetry for me, and a penny whistle for my sister. Our food bags bulged with twelve days worth of food, including hot cereals, dried lentils, and more peanuts than I ever want to see again in my life. As we set out on the first morning of our journey, we stuffed our shoes into the remaining few inches of pack space; wed decided to try hiking barefoot.

The Barefoot Sisters: Southbound gives the details of our southbound adventures. From the steep granite ridges of Maine and New Hampshire to the southern balds, from summer thunderstorms and fall hurricanes to the ice storms and blizzards of a surprisingly harsh winter in southern Virginia and Tennessee, our southbound journey brought us more than we bargained for. We put on shoes in Shenandoah during our first ice storm, after 1,300 barefoot miles, and shortly afterward we were wearing boots and snowshoes. Injury, illness, and hiking through deep snow for a few months slowed us down: the 2,168 miles, which hikers normally cover in five or six months, took us eight and a half. Our southbound hike was also a demanding emotional journey. The hardships that we faced revealed strengths and weaknesses we had never suspected, and, at times, sorely tested our friendship. Despite the difficulties, we stayed on the Trail. The kindness of friends and strangers and the beauty of the landscape were enough to sustain us. We reached Georgia in the beginning of March, just as the northbound hikers of 2001 were setting out.

After such a brutal winter, we felt we owed it to ourselves to see spring on the Trail. Besides, we had to get home somehow. Our original plan had been to buy a used car in Georgia and road-trip back. Instead, we decided to spend the rest of our savings hiking home to Maine. Northbound, wed be walking with the seasons, from spring into summer. All the seasonal hostels and restaurants would be open, and dozens of trail angels would be waiting to work their magic for the nobo crowd. Besides, we were trail-hardened veterans, our bodies and minds conditioned and ready for the task at hand. It would be easyor so we thought.

Besides the familiar demons of hunger, hypothermia, and quarrels wed never resolved, hiking north brought its own set of challenges. The shelters were crowded, bears and rattlesnakes were emerging from their winter dens, and winter was far from over in the Smoky Mountains. On top of all this, our barefoot hike southbound had earned us a sort of notoriety that we werent prepared to deal with; at first, many of our fellow hikers treated us as celebrities rather than friends. Wed envisioned the trip as a sort of victory tour, but we found that we were, in many ways, simply starting over.

F or the second time in a week, we stood at the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. The low, wooded summit of Springer Mountain seemed unchangedthe same bare oak limbs, dripping with cold rain, and the same glowering sky. Some obliging northbounder took a photo of us by the plaque that marks the summit: jackrabbits smiling in spite of the weather, putting on a brave face for the start of our expedition. I look glum: Lets get this over with. I dont see the point. We had our picture taken in this same spot last week, wearing the same outfits. If we dont start hiking soon, my toes will go numb.

After we finished our southbound hike, our friend Lash had invited my sister and me to spend a few days with his family in Asheville, North Carolina, while we prepared for our return to the Trail. His father and brother welcomed us graciously, and his mother treated us like long-lost daughters, cooking elaborate meals for us, fussing over our ragged clothing, and driving across town to buy us some baklava, because Id mentioned that I liked it. Lash took us to his favorite bars and cafs. It was strange to be back in a town for so longevery morning when I woke up, it took me a few minutes to realize that there were walls around me, and no trees.

The days passed in a flurry of activity. We finished our taxes; shopped for new gear to replace the things that had worn out or broken on our southbound hike; treated our Gore-Tex with a spray to restore its waterproof finish; washed our sleeping bags. I finally bought a new backpack, a light, sturdy Arcteryx model that fitted to the curve of my hips and spine as if it had been made for me. Lash took us to a huge co-op food store, where we bought enough whole wheat couscous, dried veggie chips, and organic energy bars to send mail drops to the towns with limited vegetarian options. We made a collage of photos from the last few weeks of our southbound hike to send to friends and trail angels, telling them that wed finally reached Springer and thanking them for their support. As the envelopes stacked up, I marveled at how many new friends the past year had brought us, and how many strangers had surprised us with their kindness. In all, we sent out 153 copies.