Lil Bit didn’t feel any better by the morning, still collapsing with any sort of weight placed on her left foot. “How far are you planning to hike today?,” Lil bit asked, spreading out the map. “We,” I corrected, “We are going to take a zero.” I refused to accept that she was injured, certain some time off would fix everything. I packed our packs, thoughtfully placing each item to make sure nothing was left behind. A night of fans and dehumidifiers ensured everything was bone dry. When I came upstairs a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and English muffins was served.
We debated about going to the doctor. “They are probably just going to tell you to ice, elevate, and rest,” the trail angel said. We all agreed. But in the end we decided it wouldn’t hurt to get a doctor’s opinion, as maybe they could give us an idea of recovery time or confirm that there would be no further damage if she happened to get back on trail. So we piled into the car for a fieldtrip to Two Harbors, the closest town. Forty-five minutes later we walked into the clinic. They were completely full for the day so Lil Bit sat in a wheelchair as the friendly worker walked us next-door to the ER department. They gave us a room right away and the nurses came to ask questions. And then we waited, and waited… and waited. Over an hour later the doctor poked his head in and sat down. Lil Bit described her pain as he hardly glanced at the bare foot. “Well it seems like you walked too much,” he tried to joke. “Sounds like you got Achilles Tendonitis. Rest, ice, and elevate it.” He took the words from the trail angel’s mouth. I gawked. Achilles Tendonitis? I suffered from Achilles Tendonitis, and my symptoms were vastly different from my mom’s. I knew there was variation of symptoms from person to person but there was definitely more that was going on. Numb toes? Swelling in the ankle? Pain on the bottom of the heel? The signature symptoms of Achilles Tendonitis were not present. I wanted to object but knew arguing with an ER doctor would be futile. He left the room after his 2-minute diagnosis, never once examining the foot. After he left I started giving Lil Bit my two cents about his conclusion before he popped his head back in and offered to order an x-ray in the chance of a bone spur. Yes, yes Doctor, please do. That is something that Web MD can’t do. The x-ray came back “looking good” and she was prescribed 3 days off it (as if she could walk on it in the first place), ice and elevation. No stretches, nothing mentioned about meds for pain or inflammation.
I left upset. The ER was not going to know minor foot injuries. I’m sure the doctor was very good at dealing with patients in trauma and about to die, but I highly doubted his abilities to accurately diagnose something so mild. The trail angel had waited patiently for us to get finished and we headed back to the house, grabbing some pie on the way. Pie makes everything better, especially of the chocolate variety.
I thought about how to approach the next length of trail, as the fact that my mom would not be hiking for a few days was starting to sink in. I decided it would work best if I skipped ahead and did the Duluth section. That would take 2-3 days during which she could recover, and then she could join me for the last section and complete a “traditional” thruhike, which seemed like a partial victory. The SHT has what is considered a “total” thruhike-- 310 miles from the Wisconsin Border to the Canadian overlook-- and a “traditional” thruhike, which essentially skips the southernmost section of Duluth section and starts just outside the city, therefore cutting off around 40 miles of trail. The SHT Association claims that most people opt for the “traditional” thruhike because there are no campsites in the city and finding a place to stay can be tricky, although based on the trail logs it seems like now the most common option is to travel the total length of the trail.
We tossed around a lot of ideas over the next few hours, trying to decide which section I should do and whether or not we should get the car or if I should hike to it and bring it back. The trail angel offered for Lil Bit to stay at her house while she recovered but pretty soon I would be well away from the area. My mind had slowed to the pace of the trail, and it was unable to filter through the situation and make quick decisions. After quite a few last-minute changes of plans we accepted a ride to our vehicle parked near the Southern Terminus. Night had fallen by the time we headed out.
Then it was my turn to cry. Silent tears fell as Lil Bit and the trail angel chatted in the front seats. I half-listened as I reviewed the hike and the events leading up to the moment. What if we had done _____. Gone slower… taken a zero earlier… gone northbound… started sooner… Endless variations led to endless scenarios. It’s likely the injury still would have happened but we would have just been in a different place when it did. Maybe even a worse place. A lot of factors went into the cause: poor shoe support, overuse, and heavy burdens. I couldn’t blame myself. But I partly did, being the more experienced hiker I should have known what to watch out for.
The headlights guided us to our parked car and we thanked the trail angel profusely for all her kindness. We were both too exhausted to drive anywhere that night so decided to just sleep there in the car. The mood was somber as I lay out the sleeping pads, arranging everything for a comfortable night. Finally we lay down. I tried to play my strumstick by my fingers couldn’t find the notes. We fell asleep under endless stars, clinging to the last whisp of hope that Lil Bit’s foot would be better the next day.
Lil Bit’s foot wasn’t much better by morning. I looked out the window, thinking about what to do. Should I continue? Wait in hopes it would get better? What section should I do if I did continue? A fresh wave of tears came at the thought of continuing without her. She joined me until we fell into chokes of laughter. I had clung to this idea of a perfect thruhike with my mom, but when was a thruhike ever perfect?
I was dropped off where we had gotten off last, and waved to my mom as I set off alone. She would stay with the trail angel for a few days while I covered miles. “It was crushing,” she later told me, to see me walk off without her. I was glad I had the trail to myself so I didn’t have to explain my red eyes to day hikers.
I decided to just hike; not pay attention to time or distance. The trail was lovely and flat, running along the lake for a while on a bike path before cutting through Gooseberry Falls State Park. I followed the river, passing cascades and falls for a while, then still, dark water. It was an easy section; there were only three hills significant enough to remember. Thirteen miles later I got to the campground as the sun was setting. Bright fall colors welcomed me in, freshly fallen leaves adorning the ground. Just as I finished cooking dinner a young dude rushes in. “Any flat spots left?” he asked. I looked around, perplexed at his question. This was the flattest campsites all trail. I pointed to a dozen different areas that would make a level happy. He pitched his tent well away from me like I had cooties, on the only slope in the entire site.
I woke up late and packed without much interest. Walking along the foggy trail, I realized my “why” was gone. It is always important to know why you are thruhiking. Even if you don’t have the words for it, there is usually a scattered reason. My “why” was to share this experience with my mom, to enable her to feel the joys and struggles of a thruhike, and help her prove she could go the distance. Had she not come, I would have hiked for a different reason: as a personal challenge, speeding along the trail as fast as I could. But the truth was, I had been happy to be going slower. The downtime between meeting up was refreshing and gave me time to read and write. It was a relaxing way to hike. I had never felt like I had the luxury of stopping for large chunks of time before. Stopping was, well, a waste of time on a long trail. But Lil Bit was a perfect reason to take it easy and enjoy the quiet parts. Now without her, the hike seemed pointless. I ramped up my miles to get it done.
I started thinking of quitting. I had nothing to prove to myself by being on the trail. I had already walked longer trails. I had already seen the most beautiful sections of trail. Continuing on just seemed like a formality. I pondered that for a while.
The trail was hilly and rocky. I hadn’t studied the map that morning, deciding to just follow the blazes and seeing where I would end up. That backfired on me around lunchtime when I crossed a road and bypassed the trailhead with little glance at the detour sign. It mentioned a section of trail was closed and showed a detour on the road, but I didn’t know what road it was referring to and the trail ahead was open and well-traveled. People were unloading packs in the parking lot and I wanted to keep moving without interacting, so I took a photo of the sign and kept walking. It wasn’t until I sat down for lunch at a campsite a mile later and I studied the map that I found out the SHT was closed from the campsite on. I would have to backtrack a mile in order to walk the road around.
The road walk was long and painful. I ended up watching Netflix as I strode along the quiet road. It helped pass the time and keep my mind off the pain. Finally joining the trail again, I took a quick break to rest my aching feet. I arranged to meet Lil Bit at a road crossing ahead so we could eat dinner together. The thought of pizza drove me on for the next nine miles.
Lil Bit was peeking through a tunnel of trees as I approached the road at dusk. I collapsed into the car and we dug into pizza, salad, and pie.
We talked about our days. It seemed like it had been forever since I had last seen her. I didn’t stay for more than an hour; camp was still a mile away and Lil Bit had an hour drive back to the house. I bid farewell and set off with my headlamp on high.
It was nice to walk through the night without fear of big cats or crazy people. I considered going further but turned into the deserted campsite. Camping alone can be terrifying. From night sounds to pitch blackness with only a thin nylon wall to protect you, your mind thinks up the most gruesome and creative things. With experience I have learned to tame that fear to a quiet afterthought, though there always remains an edge. That night was different. Under the Milky Way in a cozy nook in the silent woods, I felt the safest I had ever been alone at night, and realized there was not a hint of fear clinging to me.
Until I thought of Bigfoot.
The next day was spent walking through various stages of logged areas. Signs announced when they had cut the trees, allowing for a perfect study of the succession of forests as I walked through time. The first plants the show up after forests are cleared are small shrubs, vines, and grasses, thus I spent much of the day wading through such undergrowth. It didn’t make for very pleasant hiking. Along with logged areas, the trail passed by marshes and beaver lakes. I didn’t see anyone, which was fine by me.
I was planning on meeting Lil Bit again for lunch or dinner. I still carried a decent amount of food on my back. I realized that there is a certain satisfaction when you eat trail food that you don’t get when you receive trail magic or slack pack. You put in the work to find the food, get the food, and carry the food up and down endless hills and over miles of trails. It causes your back to hurt and your brow to sweat, your knees to ache and thighs to burn, so by golly you are going to eat it. Eating a fresh meal every day takes away something deeply embedded into trekking long distances.
When I met Lil Bit at a trailhead we heated up a can of soup. Being so far from the house, she had packed up and was planning on just sleeping at the trailhead that night. I had originally planned on going two more miles to a campground, but decided 24 miles was a good enough day and set up the car for two.
It was wet outside. The trail followed flat snowmobile trails the majority of the day, only briefly cutting into the woods every now and again. My umbrella protecting me from the drips above didn’t help my feet from getting soaked as I sloshed through puddles. After 13 miles I emerged onto Martin Lake Road Trailhead, marking the end of the “Traditional Thruhike.” Next was the Duluth section, a long walk through Duluth before passing through one final state park leading to the border. We went to get some lunch. I was still hungry after a burger and fries so we headed off to a bakery and got some pastries. I had considered continuing on for a few more miles but the weather wasn’t the best and Lil Bit encouraged me to call it a day. The end was near; there was no need to rush.
I spent a good amount of time trying to find lodging for us that night. There was nothing available within an hour’s drive unless we wanted to pay $350 for a room. I was flabbergasted. What was so exciting that made everyone want to come to Duluth? We made our way to a safe spot to sleep in the car. I was so close to finishing this thing; just a few more days. I had been grinding out 25 mile days to just get it done. My happy perfect little thruhike world had been shattered, and it had ended too soon. Hiking alone, camping in cars, eating out every day… that didn’t feel like thruhiking. Yet, I remined myself it was all a part of the journey.
The next day brought perfect hiking weather, finally. The air was cool and breezy. The colors were sharp and vibrant. Although it had stormed hard overnight, the ground was not muddy or soft. The trail alternated between road walks and park trails as it wound its way through Duluth. It felt like the trail crew had a debate as whether to make the trail fast and efficient along the roads or winding and beautiful through local parks. So as to compromise, they sent hikers on a twisty path following easy sidewalks that led to parks which veered completely off course. Although not a particularly efficient way of covering ground, it was cool to have such variation of views. Happy creeks and waterfalls gave way to old mansions, beautiful houses, and busy lake walks. It was pretty amazing to walk through an entire town that way. I met Lil Bit for lunch, then pressed on. Fog settled over the city by afternoon, cloaking any views that would cause me to pause. I listened to an audiobook to propel me through the last few hours. Lil Bit picked me up on the other end of town and we ordered a pizza on our way to our stealth site to sleep in the car again. One and a half days left. I counted down the miles.
It rained again overnight. I slept well under the protection of the car roof. The sun was slow to rise and the air was heavy with the threat of rain when I was dropped off. The trail was overall unpleasant. Wet and slick in spots, it descended and then climbed, passed through a ski resort, along a bike path, and back to a wooded trail. There were views of Duluth scattered over the tough, rocky terrain, and evidence of glaciers past made footing difficult. I didn’t stop at overlooks or give my feet a break. I was a slave to the miles; I had to keep moving. I allowed myself almost an hour lunch break with Lil Bit before pressing on. Reaching J. Cooke State Park, the last of the parks, signaled I was near the end of a 23 mile day.
The rain that had held off all day was closing in. Finally snagging a real campsite, we pitched tents at the same campground where we had started the journey. Nearly three weeks ago we had set up under the tall pines on the drive north to start the trail. Now there we were, close to the end.
The last leg. Eight miles and then the end. A swinging bridge allowed for incredible views of water spilling in every direction. I wished Lil Bit could be there. The trail was wide and muddy. My feet got wet with the remnants of rain.
As is typical of the end, I thought about the hike. This trail held much surprise and struggle for such a short one. I learned about joys of going slow. It seems like thruhikes are celebrated more for speed, but this one proved that so much is missed if you dash past the views, the lakes, and shady spots. Sitting for a few hours without pressure of miles was different, a new way of thruhiking that I hadn’t experienced before. Those quiet moments waiting for Lil Bit were arguably the best. It was time alone that begged to be filled, and filled simply. It was an obvious contrast to the mad dash to the finish line I had done the past week. Miles might mean faster finishes, but it sure didn’t allow for as much time to sit and just be.
I was still trying to finish with Lil Bit. I wasn’t sure how, but knew somehow we would make it work. In no time I popped onto the road and met her at the trailhead two miles from the Southern Terminus. I jumped in the car to scout a way for Lil Bit to get as close to the end as possible via car and see if the trail would be navigable with the crutches she now relied on. We followed a backroad that I had spotted on my map, taking the necessary turns until the road ended. I got out to try to find the trial. Just past the roadside brush I spotted it about 100 feet down a decently steep decline. I showed the discovery to Lil Bit and pointed out the exact path she should take for an easy descent. Once she got on the trail, it would be only a half mile to the Southern Terminus.
I was dropped off at the trailhead to cover the two remaining miles as Lil Bit drove the road back to the spot we had found. If all went well I would meet her on the trail close to the end. I had given her strict orders that if she felt any sort of pain or struggled she should stop and turn around. I cruised a mile and a half until I found Lil Bit, moving along on her crutches just as she had gotten to the trail. If that wasn’t dedication I don’t know what was. “Boy, you are one brave lady.” A hunter pointed to Lil Bit’s crutches as he passed.
It was slow going, but at least it was going. I was ok with it, and Lil Bit was so happy to be back out there. Between trekking poles, crutches, and scooting, she managed to overcome the small hills and muddy slopes. I was so thankful she was back hiking with me. I don’t know if I could have finished without her. It would have felt… I don’t know… wrong. I imagined if she hadn’t been able to join me for the last little bit I would have stopped just shy of the finish line. I couldn't have crossed under the arch welcoming me into Wisconsin alone.
But an hour later, we crossed under that arch, together, finishing just the way we had started.
I want to give a HUGE thank you to my dad, for holding down the house for three weeks alone while my mom joined me for the journey. My siblings, who waited patiently as I took away a babysitter and a support system. The trail angels, whose sacrifices made this journey possible. The SHTA, whose dedication to maintaining the trail provided such an incredible experience.
Komen