Back to the Trail: My Post-Injury Hiking Journey
I'm back on the Appalachian Trail, and it's a whole new adventure. After a devastating fall last year that left me injured, I'm now facing the challenges of post-injury hiking. This time, I'm determined to take it slow and steady, acclimatizing to the elevation and enjoying the beauty of the trail. But let me tell you, it's not always a smooth ride.
The first week of my hike was a test of endurance and patience. I started with a short, less than a mile hike, but even that was a challenge. The air was thin at 11,000-12,000 feet, and every uphill climb was a struggle. I was stopping to gasp for breath every 20-50 feet, and it took me over 8 hours to hike just 7 miles. My usual pace of 2.5 miles per hour was reduced to less than a mile an hour, and even the descents were challenging due to the steep slopes.
One particular day was particularly frightening. I was climbing out of a valley to go over an unnamed pass when the trail was washed out. The missing section was more than 3 feet wide, and the edges were just as loose. Somehow, I managed to cross it, but I stood there for a full minute shaking. It was a moment of sheer terror, and I'm still not entirely sure how I did it.
The rest of the trail was solid, if narrow, and I finally reached the top of the pass. But the view was breathtaking, and I saw a good-sized herd of elk in the valley below. I noted that the trail was about a mile to the next pass, but it skirted the end of the valley along the top without going up to the ridge. There was one large patch of snow that looked like it covered part of the trail, but the slope below it looked passable.
However, when I looked directly at my feet to the start of the drop-off, it was exactly that - a drop-off. The trail went straight down steep enough that I couldn't see the first switchback. It was loose, sandy, rocky, and wide with no footholds and few scrubby plants to slow your descent. It was like sliding down a steep dune at the beach with the base of the dune hundreds of feet below you.
I decided that the safest way to get down was on my bottom. I figured I could keep my center of gravity closer to the slope to be safer. So, I did. I would occasionally have to lift my butt and pack off the slope enough to dislodge the larger rocks I was scraping along with me. I used my poles to slow my slide and tried to anchor them into the base of the few scrubby plants along the outer edges.
After more than 50 feet, I finally felt the trail was switching direction enough that I wasn't facing directly downhill. It wasn't firm trail yet, but at least I wasn't heading directly down anymore. But it was also narrow. The mile to the next pass took me over an hour, and as I approached the top, the soil became loose again. But at least this time, there were plenty of larger rocks firmly set in the trail that I used as footholds, as well as scrubby plants to anchor my poles.
When I got to the top, a hiker was waiting to descend. I'm really glad, because there were few places along that mile that we could have easily passed each other! He looked a bit trepid about the descent and asked about the section. I gave him my truth, without trying to scare him. I had seen six hikers the day before who must have come through without issue! I told him to take his time and even offered an alternate for the washout on the other side of the pass.
The rest of the section wasn't easy, but not nearly as perilous. But my plan to hike through the altitude acclimatization seems to have backfired a bit. I have had a few bad headaches, and one night I had no appetite and then got dry heaves. I'm gasping for breath when I walk up a slightly sloped sidewalk in town, and my resting pulse is elevated. Of course, I've also been exhausted, between the altitude and not having trail legs yet. I've been nauseous and then, I puked the day after I got to town. It sounds like altitude sickness to me.
Fortunately, a fire started early this week about 40 miles south that closed a good section of trail. I'll have to skip that section, but that gives me a few extra days I can spend here before I head out. I would stay in Leadville, which is just east of the fire, but the elevation is over 10,000 feet and that may not help me acclimate. Plus, it's probably crowded with other hikers who had to get off trail. At least here, I'm sitting at just over 9,000 feet.
In my opinion, post-injury hiking is a whole new challenge. It's a test of endurance, patience, and mental fortitude. But it's also a chance to appreciate the beauty of the trail and the challenges it presents. I'm determined to take it slow and steady, and I'm excited to see where this journey takes me next.
