Days 188-189 (The Final Post)

My name is Dirty Rotten Liar. 

For the last 189 days, I have trekked more than 2,189 miles across 14 states on the Appalachian Trail. I have hiked through rain, and I have hiked through snow. I have hiked through 20 degree blistering cold, and I have hiked through 90 degree sweltering heat. I've walked through the streets of New York City, and kayaked across rivers, and even stayed with a cult for a few days. I have had incredible days, and I have had days so difficult that I thought about quitting and going home.

Today, on December 22nd, I completed my journey. This will be my 89th and final post.

I can't tell you exactly what happened in the last two days leading up to my summit of Springer Mountain, the very end of the Appalachian Trail. Everything from those past two days is blurry. All I know is that the miles simply slid away as I spent much of my time in quiet thought, reflecting on the last six months of my life that I've spent in the woods. 

And all of a sudden, on December 22nd, I was there. One mile away from Springer Mountain. It was a dreary, quiet day. I was alone on the Trail. I turned off my music-- I wanted to be fully present for this moment. I walked the final mile of the Appalachian Trail very slowly, making sure to take it all in and cherish each of my final steps. I had walked over five million steps in order to get to this moment.

And then there I was, standing on top of Springer Mountain, with the final white blaze of the Appalachian Trail next to my feet. It was.... nice. 

But it didn't really feel like an ending. 

There were no tears. There was no grand feeling of elation at having completed something so difficult. 

You see, I had made the decision long ago to hike the extra 8.9 miles of the AT Approach Trail down to the parking lot of Amicalola Falls State Park, home of the largest waterfall east of the Mississippi. 604 steps wind their way down Amicalola Falls to a large stone archway that marks the beginning of the Approach Trail. That was where most northbound hikers begin their journey, and that was where my true ending would be.

Therefore, standing on Springer Mountain was nice, but it wasn't actually the end of my journey.

I zoomed down the Approach Trail, and when I hit the beginning of the 604 steps in the final mile of my journey, that was when it finally hit me: I was done. The only thing left was 604 steps and a short walk to the archway. My victory lap.

I walked down several flights of stairs and stood on the bridge in front of the majestic Amicalola Falls, marveling at its incredible beauty and watching the water cascading down the rocks.

People who had walked up from the parking lot joined me on the bridge, laughing and taking selfies on their phone. They were wearing jeans and cotton t-shirts, a stark contrast from the dirty, disheveled hiker next to them. But we did have one thing in common: we would all be going home tonight. 

Nobody questioned my backpack, nobody asked me where I had come from, and I didn't care to offer any conversation. This was a moment for me to enjoy alone. 

I left Amicalola Falls and followed the remaining steps downward to the final .3 miles of the Trail.

And that was when all of the pent up emotions within me finally broke through to the surface. 

Remember the scene at the end of Pursuit of Happiness where Will Smith walks through the crowded streets crying because he finally achieved something he had been striving toward for so long? That was me. Tears brimmed my eyes as finally, after so many years, the stone archway of the end of the Approach Trail came into sight, marking the end of a dream I have thought about for over 10 years, and the beginning of the next great chapter of my life. On the other end of the archway stood my parents, clapping and cheering. I crossed the archway, and overwhelmed by emotion, my knees buckled. My father caught me and hugged me. I cried like a baby. My Appalachian Trail journey was over, and what an incredible journey it had been. It was time to go home.

Of course, my parents made me throw all of my smelly gear into thick garbage bags the second we got to the car. I'm surprised they didn't wear HAZMAT suits.

Yes, that's my mom, cringing away from her poor son, right after he had hiked over 2000 miles just to see her. She definitely wasn't cringing because I was waving my putrescent boots in her face or anything.

There are many things about the Appalachian Trail that I will miss. I will miss the innumerable beautiful sunsets and jaw-dropping views that I had been blessed to have the opportunity to witness. 

I will miss hitchhiking into and out of towns and meeting the most incredibly interesting, strange, kind, and unique characters. 

I will miss the genuine peace and serenity that only nature can provide. 

I will miss the amazing and selfless kindness shown toward me by strangers who quickly became close friends. Extra special shoutout to the Dresser family, who went far out of their way to take care of me and treat me like a member of their own family. I will always cherish that amazing dinner we had together.

I will miss my fellow hikers, with whom I've shared my blood, sweat, and tears with, and who shared their blood, sweat and tears with me for the last 2,189.2 miles. 

All of these people, all of these experiences, helped turn this Trail into more than just a dirt path through the woods, but into the absolute adventure of a lifetime. And I'm sure that as I begin to transition back to the real world, there will be so many more things that I will miss about my six month little jaunt through the woods.

The Appalachian Trail taught me many lessons, about how to be a truly good person, and how to be fully present in the moment, and how good things typically happen the more we step outside of our comfort zone and say "yes" to various opportunities instead our letting fear guide our hearts. It taught me lessons about how hard work and dedication always pays off, even if you can't always see the end result. It taught me lessons about struggle, and how struggle truly makes you stronger. But, more than anything, the Appalachian Trail taught me that the most important parts of life, beyond wealth, beyond power, beyond our own success-- the most important parts of life are the people we allow to share our life's adventure with us and the wonderful memories we make with them. 

I would like to thank everyone who called, wrote such kind letters, sent messages, came and visited, fed me, and just overall sent me so much love and encouragement over the last six months. You shined light on me during my darkest moments, and it was because of you guys that the completion of this dream was made possible. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I would like to leave you with a song from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, song by Bilbo and Frodo at different times throughout the course of their own epic journey:

The road goes ever on and on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

The road goes ever on and on,

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandering have gone,

Turn at last to home afar.

The road goes ever on and on,

Down from the road where it began,

Now far away the road has gone,

Let others follow it who can!

Let them a journey now begin,

But I at last with weary feet,

Will turn toward the lighted inn,

My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

Farewell, everyone. Thank you for reading. It's been the absolute adventure of a lifetime.

And that, my friends, is the damn dirty rotten truth.

Sincerely,

Josh Gaisser
AKA
Dirty Rotten Liar
Appalachian Trail Thruhiker '15