Go US: At 3,500km, the world's longest marked walking route can leave you feeling all alone – and in awe of nature. Now's the time to start planning, writes Kate Kavanagh
EACH SPRING about 3,000 “thru hikers” set aside five months to walk the Appalachian Trail, the world’s longest marked walking route. An impressive 300 or so finish it.
Nobos, or northbounders, start in the south. From April they push off from Springer Mountain, in Georgia, and walk 3,500km, roughly in line with the east coast of the US, hoping to arrive at Mount Katahdin, in Maine, sometime around early October. This way they avoid the searing heat of the Georgian summer and catch the New England autumn. (Sobos do it the other way around.)
Planning the trip starts shortly after Labour Day, this weekend. There are fitness levels to consider, camping equipment to be gathered, books to be read and portable-food research to be done. And then there’s the mental preparation. Walking in five months what must have taken early man thousands of years is quite an ambition.
Even though my call to adventure is only for a wimpy 55km over three days, I have concerns. One: bears. Two: the heat. Three: it should be snakes but is bears again. I dismiss the dangers of poison ivy, rattlesnakes, copperheads, bobcats, hyenas, Lyme disease and other hazards our quaint island nation escaped during evolution.
I am also vaguely aware of the possibility of death. This is the US, where they have a right to bear arms but, thankfully, not to arm bears. There is a real possibility of meeting one. The black bears of New Jersey, where we will be walking, were almost wiped out a century ago, but they are now thriving, and they have been seen hanging around dustbins in much the same way as urban foxes do in Ireland.
Our plan is to hike the Kittatinny Mountains part of the trail – just west of New York city – up around the Delaware River, starting at Camp Mohican and finishing at the aptly named High Point. It is undemanding compared with the thru hikers’ task, but it is challenging enough.
Most hikers plan the trip as a small group, but it is possible to hire a guide. The trail is well marked, and you can find your way down to a town from almost any place along the way. You’ll need a map of the trail, which you can buy for a pittance from most camping stores in the US (or online).
Poring over its unfamiliar terrain is part of the excitement of planning. You only have to glance at place names such as Shawnee, Namanock, Pacono, and Lake Wapalanne to be filled with a pioneering spirit. We will hike through places whose names evoke the spirits of natives and settlers who have gone before us – a hop through Rattlesnake Swamp, a skip past Buttermilk Falls and a jump over Jacob’s Ladder, landing at Mashipacong Shelter before crossing, like George Washington before us, the Delaware river.
The dominant tribe in the New Jersey stretch of the Appalachian Mountains was the Algonquin, whose people lived in the hills for 10,000 years. European settlers lived in the lowlands.
The mountains kept Britain’s colonies from expanding westwards for more than 100 years, until the Indian Wars of the 18th century and the push west for more land wiped out local tribes.
Those who so brutally annihilated native American culture couldn’t have foreseen how the power of their place names would endure. Even though the tribes are largely gone, so long as the names exist on a map their world will not be forgotten, as the land the names describe is largely unchanged.
The Appalachians formed during a tectonic-plate collision millions of years ago. When the plates separated again, parts of the Appalachians were left behind in what are now Scotland and Morocco.
You don’t need to know all this to walk the Appalachians, but after a couple of days without the noise of everyday life you appreciate, just a little, the wonder of such colossal events.
In the night sky the stars have never appeared so large, so bright or so close. Instead of feeling small and insignificant you feel part of a greater story being played out in the grand theatre of the universe.
The Appalachian Trail is basically a bushwhacked path through ever-changing terrain. Other than that, there is no sign of human habitation along the route. It is a rugged wilderness, and up here it’s mostly a forest floor of dead leaves and shrubs. In parts it gets rocky, from debris carried down by sudden spring rivers.
The route’s distinctive white blazes – or waymarkers left by trailblazers – are clearly painted on trees and rocks, so even when you’re forced to clamber over huge boulders polished smooth as glass from successive ice ages, it’s pretty hard to get lost. I imagine the place to be completely different in winter, but how wonderful it would be to see a black bear against white snow through the winter woods.
There are no shops, cafes, villages or even farms along the way. Although the trail has about 260 refugio-type shelters, we won’t be passing one, so we carry our tent, sleeping bags, food and stove. There’s no need for soap or shampoo. Grooming is neither expected nor judged. Up here you’re on your own – except for the bears.
Warnings are everywhere. Posters instruct you, if confronted by one, not to run away and, for God’s sake – my interjection, not the posters’ – not to look it in the eye. But how will I know where it is if I can’t look at it? Other advice includes staying calm, speaking quietly and waving your arms in the air – all while banging every pot you have to hand.
The main thing to know about bears is that they have a terrific sense of smell, so on no account leave any trace of food around after dinner. That includes not burning off leftovers – especially meat – on the fire, and packing everything, including your minty toothpaste, away in the "bear boxes" provided in the clearing where you set up tent. And the worse the berry season, the more aggressive the bears become. I curse my lack of knowledge of berries – and after a day pretending to be Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the MohicansI am itching to see a bear.
After a 20km trek the pleasure of taking off a laden rucksack is in proportion to the pain it caused in the neck. We set up camp among trees pasted with Bears Are Active in this Area posters, including one that elaborates: “A bear who enters a campsite should be considered predatory.” I haven’t spotted anything yet, and I am beginning to wonder if all this isn’t just a bit of American nannying.
After pitching tents, sharing dinner – beans, of course – and drinking a little Irish whiskey to make some of us feel like cowboys, we do a Walton’s Mountain goodnight chorus.
At first I wonder if someone in another tent is snoring. The unfamiliar sounds that wake me are a cross between a grunt and a cough – a bit like a pig with a sore throat looking for truffles. I sit upright, and it dawns on me: a bear is outside the tent. I nudge my comatose partner, but I don’t really want to wake him and risk a sudden reaction. “Shh,” I whisper, “there’s a bear outside.”
In the silence the snorts and grunts from outside amplify. My heart thumps so loudly I worry the bear can hear it through the thin nylon wall of the tent. I can sense his bigness. The tall man goes into denial and back to sleep, which I feel is probably for the best. I sit listening.
It would be cool to see a bear, but I don’t want to startle it. What if I inadvertently make eye contact? Can he smell my sweat? Did we leave the whiskey outside? Can he smell it? Would this give the bear a sore head?
I just about think myself into quietly unzipping the flap of the tent and chancing a peep when the penny finally drops on the sleeping giant. He jumps up, grabs the torch and flays around, shouting as if he’s evacuating a torpedoed ship. “Bear in the camp! Bear in the camp!”
I’m terrified. The bear’s not going to like this. But it works. Maybe sometimes it’s better not to overplan a reaction. The snorting recedes into the woods, and all is quiet. There’s a bit of shifting in the other tents, but we’ll leave the postmortem until morning. I’m fired with the excitement of a survivor, and I don’t sleep much. In fact I’m a little disappointed.
The next morning we spy what might be the same bear spying on us as we eat breakfast. There he is, just across the trail, his giant body fully upright as he sniffs the air like Yogi. That’s the trouble with bears: they’re gorgeous.
By the time I get my camera he’s turned away, and I’m shocked at the ease with which I’ve become a groupie. I abandon all warnings and find myself foolishly running into the woods after the bear. Luckily for me, the graceful giant moves swiftly and, in seconds, has disappeared into the undergrowth.
For the rest of the trip I am sure I’m being not only watched but followed by a bear.
Hiking the trail: what to remember
Getting started
Lots of shuttle services will take you to the trail from the closest airport or bus or train station. The Appalachian Trail Conservancy (appalachian trail. org) publishes a list of them. Click on Getting to the Trail in the Trail drop-down menu on its home page.
Going alone?
Don't, even if you're an experienced hiker. Many start out to do the trail alone – but hook up with other walkers.
Guided trips
A Walk in the Woods (awalkinthewoods.com) knows everything there is to know about hiking and backpacking along the trail. It can provide everything from basic shuttle services to all-out customised backpacking trips.
What to remember
The best time to go is between April and September.
Carry everything in with you, then carry it all out.
If you're planning to walk for more than two days you will need a small gas stove, not least for making tea. Hikers cannot live on blueberries and whiskey alone.
Don't carry too much, bring a water filter, divide your route into comfortable day-long hikes – and don't look a bear in the eye
Go there:
Aer Lingus (aerlingus.com) flies to Kennedy Airport, in New York, from Dublin and Shannon. Continental Airlines (continental.com) flies to Newark Airport, in New Jersey, from Dublin, Shannon and Belfast. Delta Air Lines (delta.com/ie) flies from Dublin to Kennedy Airport.