Rewilding
By Greg Pastore
The peace I felt walking through the woods in Maryland was inexplicable. Maybe it was the joy of being close to the Northeast after surviving “close calls” down south. Maybe I had come so far and was closer to home in Connecticut. I’m referring to my section hike on the Appalachian Trail (AT), which I started in Tennessee and ended in Pennsylvania. During this hike, I developed an intimate relation with Nature and camp-life.
When a stroke paralyzed me six months later, this connection was severed. Being in hospitals with a loss of agency and peace contrasted severely with the freedom I felt on the AT; returning to it was necessary. The challenges I experienced made me stronger; they were the moments that prepared me for the road to healing.
After my recovery a group of friends organized a trip to Bull’s Bridge in Kent, CT – an attraction near town which intersected the AT. The hike in, therefore, was a short distance to the trail section. We gathered on a wide footpath, which ran parallel to the Housatonic River. Even though I could walk, my friends were wise to transport me in a wheelchair (considering a walk to camp would take most of the day.)
We arrived at the camp and immediately started pitching our tents. It was nice when my friends Tom and Geoff helped me set up my compact tent – which I used on my section hike. The material preserved the smell of sweat, dirt, and bug spray which combined in a familiar but offensive scent. To keep the experience of hiking and camping authentic, meals were prepared on backpacking-friendly jet-boils. These are compact metal burners which attach directly to a small canister of propane. The burners had several collapsible prongs which allowed a pot to be heated over a controlled flame. Meals mixed with water were typically ready-to-eat within ten minutes, making them easy for hikers on-the-go.
I would be lying if I said no alcohol was involved. After stuffing our faces, we took our drinks with us towards the edge of the river. Here, we sat on a log and shared laughter while skipping stones across the water. Careful not to over-indulge, we walked back to the campsite where a campfire was waiting to be lit. We continued the party over warm light until night. All the excitement from the day urged us into our tents for a rest.
Camping is leaving your comfort zone. I tossed and turned all night searching for comfort. I managed to wedge myself between two rocks. This was sufficient for sleep.
I awoke to the smell of cooked ham. My friend Tom was sizzling food with coffee already prepared. I was incredibly grateful for this warm food which lifted my spirits in the damp morning air. The fuel was necessary for my walk that day.
After filling our bellies, we walked to the AT. Stepping foot on it was magical even if I stepped over roots and uneven rocks. I was instantly flooded with warm memories, only those memories were from a time I was walking twenty miles per day. My speed was significantly worse; that didn’t discourage me. What discouraged me was a long hill where the footpath twisted around slippery boulders.
We did not continue walking forward. Instead, we turned around towards the campsite. Even though my time on the AT was brief, I got to relive the memories of hiking – and got necessary exercise! The moments I shared camping with friends were no less cherished. They formed memories that will never leave me, and they serve as a reminder to persevere when I am feeling lonely or forgotten.
Artwork by Greg Pastore titled, “A.T.” 16 x 20 acrylic on board.
