100 Miles on the North Country Trail in Michigan's Upper Peninsula: "A Little Pain Never Hurt Anybody"

I would like to start this blog post with an excerpt of a poem by late Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh:

My youth

an unripe plum.

Your teeth have left their marks on it.

The tooth marks still vibrate.

I remember always,

remember always.

Since I learned how to love you,

the door of my soul has been left wide open

to the winds of the four directions.

Reality calls for change.

The fruit of awareness is already ripe,

and the door can never be closed again.

Last Friday I completed a section hike on the North Country Trail from Plains Road (near Covington) to the Lost Creek Campground in the Porcupine Mountains. About 25 of these miles were hiked with my lovely mother, the other 75-ish miles were solo. This adventure was years in the making. I made something that at one point felt like a pipe dream bloom into reality. This time last year, I was preparing for college graduation; I'd gone backpacking a number of times but never by myself. And now that I've section hiked 100 miles of the North Country National Scenic Trail, 75 miles of those solo, a door has been opened that will never be closed again.

I got the the point where I felt confident enough to go on an adventure like this, something that once seemed insurmountable, by taking baby steps:

Learning how to be by myself in the forest:

This has been a lifelong process that will look different for everyone, depending on your upbringing and how naturally comfortable you are alone. For me, I started biking to a nearby park when I was in middle school because nature accepted me in a way I didn't feel accepted in other aspects of my life. As I gained more independence, I started venturing further and going on hikes by myself when I had no friends around. I didn't ever see this as odd, but recently my mother, who is the most badass outdoorsy woman you'll ever meet, told me that she'd never been hiking by herself before. She's been lucky to grow up with brothers and a husband who share her love for the outdoors and adventure. But growing up, I really struggled with social anxiety and spending time alone in the woods felt natural and safe.

I spent my first summer in college working at the Porcupine Mountains, where, with the help of my friend Amelia, I started hiking further and experimenting with camping on my own. Then during the fall of my junior year, I worked in Yellowstone National Park, traveling by myself and car camping along the way. My junior summer, I camped in Minneapolis campgrounds while working an environmental engineering internship at a landfill. If you asked thirteen year old me to go camping in the woods by myself, I would have been terrified, but taking small steps while maturing has made this kind of freedom possible: freedom to go on adventures even if I must do it alone.

During my adventures I've learned to keep my cool while I push my physical limits and encounter unexpected challenges, which makes me feel more safe because I'm confident that I can rely on myself even when things get tough.

Improving my relationship with food:

As I dreamt of backpacking by myself, one aspect that held me back was food. I was terrified that I wouldn't pack enough food and would get hungry. This fear stems from a) hearing stories from my parents about trips that turned miserable because they didn't pack enough food and b) having a complicated relationship with food throughout my teenage years. To elaborate on the latter, I, like many teenage girls, had some body image issues and turned to limiting my dietary intake to cope with that. I spent years of my life depriving myself of nourishment, and thankfully I've healed from that, but a fear of hunger has loomed like a ghost. I could remind myself that humans can go for awhile without adequate nutrition, and food is not at the top of the list of things survivalists tell us to worry about, but logic alone couldn't heal me.

Meditation has been a helpful tool to develop a healthier relationship with food. Eating meditation, essentially praying before a meal, has helped me garner an appreciation for the resources that go into getting food on my plate as well as for my body itself. Before eating a meal I will take a moment to pause, bringing to mind the Plum Village Sanghas. I will pick up the food and feel it's physical weight, smell it, observe it, then put it in my mouth. Instead of chewing immediately, I let it sit in my mouth, observing my body's natural urge to digest the food as soon as possible. Then, I chew slowly and continue to eat mindfully with no distractions. If you have no to little experience with formal mindfulness training, this might seem like an odd practice, but it has really worked magic for me and I suggest you check it out to improve and investigate your own relationship with food. This is a great introduction and how-to guide from the Plum village monastics.

I've also used body scan meditations to become a better steward of my body. During body scan meditations, you devote undivided attention to one part of your body at a time, noticing without judgment. There are plenty of different guided body scan meditations out there, I like to look for ones that are trauma-informed. Depending on your life experiences, it can be triggering to focus on certain aspects of your body, or at least hard to appreciate them. If you are like me, you might require a little extra gentleness, and that is okay. Specifically with regard to food and hunger, I have intentionally practiced body scans when I am hungry, breaking down the signals my body uses to get me to eat, and it makes hunger a lot less scary.

As it turns out, hunger ended up being the least of my worries on this trip, and I'm glad I did this work on myself so I would have one less thing to worry about on my adventure.

Logistics and Safety

The key to solo backpacking adventures is you want to prepare as much ahead of time so you don't need to be worrying about safety when you are in the woods. I don't want to delve into too much detail here because there is so much information out there on preparing for trips and keeping yourself safe. I'll just say, bring personal protection that you feel comfortable using, move with confidence, and know where you're going and what you're doing. "Trail Magic," or unexpected acts of generosity given to support long distance hikers, is amazing, but you don't want to be reliant on people you can't trust, especially as a young woman.

With that out of the way, I would like to summarize my trip! I will give an outline of the logistics of what I saw, but I will focus on my experience of how it was to be out there through my personal lens. I will specify locations using the mile markers of the official North Country Trail maps, found here.

Day 1 - Friday, May 9th: Plains Rd (MI-170) to Oren Krumm Shelter (MI-168)

My mom picked me up after work and we spent the evening headed to the Oren Krumm shelter. Besides being the first day, this day was special because the first portion of trail was my adopted section. I'd recently taken on the responsibility of maintaining a section of trail, I'd even been out there earlier that week, and it was rewarding to show that hard work to my mom.

This section goes by Tibbets Falls and is popular among locals; it's really worth checking out! We spent the evening at the Oren Krumm shelter, which was built in memory of an outdoorsy Michigan Tech student who passed away. The shelter serves as a place for his friends and family members to recall memories. If you decide to visit the shelter, please respect it as his loved ones continue to dedicate plenty of effort into maintaining the space.

My mother and I enjoyed watching beavers swim by, "clocking into their shift." There is certainly a lot of beaver activity in the area! I also talked with my mother about resentment, how hard it is to love some people. I was reminded of an excerpt from John Steinbeck's East of Eden, which I read recently:

Samuel said softly, "I wonder you do not feel a shame at leaving the land fallow."

"I had no reason to plant it," Adam said. "We had that out before. You thought I would change. I have not changed."

"Do you take pride in your hurt?" Samuel asked. "Does it make you seem large and tragic?"

"I don't know."

"Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as the audience."

It turns out, I'm not the only one who likes to place my hurt at the center of the universe.

Day 2 - Saturday, May 10th: Oren Krumm Shelter (MI-168) to Ford Silver River (MI-154.5)

The night was cold which blessed us with a bug-free morning. We started the day by walking through the Baraga Plains, then made our way into the Ottawa National Forest. We walked though woods that reminded of us of the spooky Mirkwood from The Hobbit. Fortunately, at least for now (foreshadowing), we didn't encounter any big, scary spiders. We eventually descended into the Sturgeon River Gorge Wilderness; along the way we enjoyed blooming forests floors and budding tree branches.

We found camp for the night on "beachfront property" along the Ford Silver River, where the weather was nice enough that we could bathe, cleaning off the day's efforts. It got so cold that night that I was scared to move for fear that it would release some of the body heat I stored in my sleeping bag. At some point I heard something splash in the river, and in my half-asleep state I worried that it was my mom. My anxiety was quenched when I noticed her snoring in her nearby tent.

Day 3 - Sunday, May 11th: Ford Silver River to Bob Lake Campground (spur Trail at MI-144.5)

The chilly day started out with a gorgeous, old growth forest, and a surprise! One of the lovely things about the North Country Trail is that there are mailboxes along the way with notebooks inside that travelers can write in. We found one of these in the middle of nowhere, far from any roads, and it was quite a treat. We were the first to write in this journal in months.

We continued our journey through logging zones, which made navigating the trail a little difficult. We passed by more beautiful beaver dams. It got hotter during the day and I craved a pina colada, or at least coconut water, but unfortunately coconut and pineapple trees don't grow in the UP.

.. On the trail we saw moose prints, and later watched as a snake was actively killing a toad, blood seeping out of its body - pretty disturbing. I also made the disturbing discovery that plagues every long-distance hiker: even in the most scenic and remote places, your problems follow you. For a moment I turned my phone off airplane mode and saw that a coworker had texted me an unnecessary detail about work not only during a weekend, but on my vacation. This shot me with two arrows. The first arrow was the annoyance at a coworker ignoring some pretty obvious boundaries. The second arrow was the personal offense and hurt I took to this overstep. I was trying to make memories with my mother that will last my entire lifetime, and in the middle of that I am reminded of work. The day felt ruined, not just because of the text but because I couldn't stop being angry about the text, and that still makes me want to cry. Throughout the trip I would have moments where I would become overwhelmed with anger or annoyance about things that I wish I could escape, but I was painfully reminded that physically removing myself from a situation is much easier than mentally removing myself. But I found a cure in the suffering: by the end of every day, I was so exhausted that these demons couldn't get to me.

Natural Wonders

We ended the day at Bob Lake, where we met up with my dad, who biked 70 miles to pick up my mom's car, then pick her up, so I could resume my journey. We were all pretty exhausted, so we ate a late lunch together. Unfortunately they had business to attend to at home, so they had to leave relatively early. I underestimated just how difficult this would be: after spending two wonderful days hiking with my mom, I felt emotionally stripped. That night, I wrote in my journal:

I thought that once my mom left the trip, the alone-ness would get harder as the days wore on, going days without seeing another person. But now, having been left by my parents to hike all the way to the Porkies, I have an alternate prediction. After having spent 48 hours with my mother, who by evolution and action embody unconditional love and safety to me, the juxtaposition of complete solitude is borderline unbearable. This time yesterday, my mom and I sat along a river, talking for hours and working together to make hot cocoa over a fire. She reminded me that she was proud of me when I expressed doubts over what I've done with my life so far. Contrast that to tonight, burning my fingers to make hot cocoa, not because I want to, but because I need the calories. And I think about my mom's hair turning grey, her running her last long race soon, and I cry. This is exactly what I wanted this trip to be.

I felt so many uncomfortable and confusing and desperate emotions that evening, but I wouldn't have set out on a solo backpacking trip if I didn't want to confront these things. I found out later that my mom was similarly feeling hard feelings on the drive home, on the other end of the situation. But in the end, we now feel more bonded than ever, and that I am thankful for.

I spent the rest of the night letting these emotions marinate, and as I sat in my tent, the sky turning pink and the sun descended. Then, I heard a gnawing sound. I looked outside, and about thirty feet away I saw a rectangular blob next to a small tree that started moving. A beaver! Just two nights ago my mom and I were dreaming about seeing the reclusive beavers at work, and here I was now, seeing it first-hand! I watched the beaver chew through a small branch, then swim with it over to its worksite for the night.

This experience, along with some quotations from the book I brought, A Dirtbag's Guide to Life, brought me some comfort that lonely night:

"Most men live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." -Henry David Thoreau

"Screw picket fences. Live your best life. Sleep in the dirt." - Tim Mathis

Doing these hard things, facing these hard days, is were I sing the loudest, and I will sing until I can't anymore.

Day 4 - Monday, May 12th: Bob Lake Campground to Middle Branch Ontonagon River (MI-130)

Early that morning, I was gifted by a full moon and the experience of watching three beavers swim back home after a busy night at their construction jobs. It also had been a warm night, which was comforting in the moment but soon became concerning as the mosquitoes stretched their legs and set out for their equivalent of a morning cup of coffee: my blood. I'd attempted to schedule this trip for the short period between when the last snow had melted and when the bugs wake up, and it was today when my luck had finally run out. I prepared for my day hastily and I was off.

The coolest part of that day's hike was passing through a creek that genuinely felt like a complex beaver society. I'd never seen such an extensive damming system before! Who I assumed was the alpha beaver alerted me that my presence was known and unwanted with the slap of its tail. Unfortunately the trail literally went over the beaver dams so I did my best to respect the space by treading quickly and lightly, receiving two more warning tail-slaps in the process.

On the way out i found a beaver skull which I was about to take with me, but I had a moment of reconsideration: these beavers clearly value their privacy and secrecy, and it didn't feel responsible to remove their ancestral remains from their territory. So, I placed the skull on top of a downed tree, with dignity.

The warm night turned into a warmer day, and I was relieved to arrive at the East Branch of the Ontonagon River for lunch. I ate while I filtered some water. Unfortunately many of the water sources from here on out were pretty silty, which significantly slowed my water filter, which will soon become an issue. But I managed to get a relatively bug-free break and replenish myself before the final push of the day. I was originally going to try to spend the night at O Kun de Kun Falls, but I ended up finishing the day five miles short at the Middle Branch of the Ontonagon River. I'd become dehydrated again and decided that replenishing myself for sustainability of the trip was more important than making it to a certain endpoint. I tucked my tent under the beautiful suspension bridge, hidden to passers-by by bushes. It was now when I realized that I had left my pen at Bob Lake, which was a little devastating because I couldn't spend time journaling in the afternoons, but I recognize that I could have left behind something much more essential to my survival. I spent the afternoon doing some recovery yoga and reading. I also spent a lot of my down time purely devoted to recovery. I recognized how essential proper rest and nutrition were to the success of my trip, so I made sure to start the slow process of water filtration right away every night, ate dinner early, and spent a lot of time just laying down and resting, even before sleep. It's not that often that we get to just lay down and think about life, and I did my best to appreciate the sometimes-boring past time.

Day 5 - Tuesday, May 13th: Middle Branch Ontonagon River to Old Victoria Shelter (MI-117) via the High Water Bypass

When I woke up, I discovered that my tent was covered with very ~interesting~ insects, thanks to the sandy river environment I was camping in. For the rest of my trip I devoted time every afternoon and morning to killing all the ticks that crawled onto my tent to diminish the chance of getting a tick bite. I winced as I brushed the other odd bugs off my tent, made breakfast, broke camp, and was on my way. I had a big day-every spring, Victoria Dam releases a bunch of water, making a section of the trail impassible, requiring hikers to take a high water bypass that is quite a trek. The first portion of my hike was straight uphill, then five miles jumping over downed trees and breaking spider webs to get to O Kun de Kun falls, where I filtered water and washed my hair and face in the waterfall while fighting off gnats.

O Kun de Kun and Konteka Falls

The high water bypass involved taking US-45 north to Rockland, then taking Victoria Dam road back to the trail, which leads to the Old Victoria shelter. I was actually looking forward to this section, hoping to get a break from the bugs, but I was sorely mistaken. During this lengthy road walk, I had to wear a bug net because I was getting swarmed by gnats the entire day, and it was also over 80 degrees Fahrenheit while I had no cloud or tree cover. Not to mention vehicles driving by at 70 miles per hour. That kind of exposure for hours on end is exhausting. But I was ended up in a mindset of determined high spirits that day. During this entire adventure, I never listened to any music or podcasts, partly to preserve phone battery, but mostly because I wanted to fully feel everything that there was to feel. I think it was on this day that that feat is most impressive, because the hiking got pretty boring, and there were some huge hills. Driving back after the trip was over, I got some real satisfaction out of showing my mother how far I walked. Besides, I think there is something so special about traveling slowly along a road that is normally only experienced at high speeds. Sure, there is the occasional stench of roadkill, but I saw some scenic streams and really appreciated how different road signs appear when you are on foot versus in a vehicle.

Thankfully, there was a roadside park right before a huge uphill where I could rest and refill my water, and I stopped at the Rockland Library where a kind old woman named Marcy let me fill up my water and told me I could "bathe in the bathroom sink" if I wanted to (trail magic!). The final road walk up Victoria Dam road was also very steep, I had to dig really deep to keep stepping up that black-asphault hill while the sun beat down on me. During this time a local told me that it was late enough in the year that the water was low enough on the West Branch Ontonagon River that I could have avoided the bypass, but it was too late now and I believe I experienced some real growth that day.

When I got to the shelter I had to take a rest before preparing for the night. That evening, I read through the shelter log entries all the way back to 2014. I was so inspired by hikers who were doing longer trips than me, even someone who was thru-hiking the entire North Country Trail! I found strength and inspiration in their stories, something I would need in the coming days.

Day 6 - Wednesday, May 14th: Victoria Shelter to Norwich Road Parking Lot (MI-103.5)

First thing in the morning, I walked the half mile down the road to the artesian well to fetch some water. As I walked and admired the gorgeous sunrise, I heard a rustle in the trees and saw the silhouette of what I thought was a bear cub in a tree. I was terrified because of mother bears' reputations for being over-protective, but I quickly realized that it was just a silly raccoon; it was honestly impressive how such a big animal could climb up such a small tree.

My hike started out out passing literally right through the Old Victoria historic site, the trail goes right through the old Hoist building (whatever that means).

The trail then ascended to Lookout Mountain, which overlooks the Victoria Dam reservoir, and continued along a ridge as I entered the Trap Hills. While the distance I was going that day wasn't particularly long, there was a lot of steep uphills and downhills. Due to the absolutely stunning views, I was mostly distracted from this fact until near the end of the day, when I was (you guessed it) dehydrated and exhausted.

By this point I'd realized that, especially with the heat, in order to stay adequately hydrated during a day of hiking, I needed to refill my water bottles at some point during the hike. Unfortunately, the bugs were now getting bad enough that taking long breaks to carry out an increasingly slow water filtration process was unbearable, so I would get up early, hike for four to seven hours, then spend the remainder of the day recovering from dehydration. Naturally, I ended my days pretty desperate, not great for overall enjoyment or sustainability, but the only time I could stand waiting for my water to filter was inside my tent.

By the time I was making my final descent down Norwich Bluff, I was hoofing it, despite a tweaked knee and my body's depletion, and in my haste I slipped in a muddy spot and almost took a mud bath. Fortunately I caught myself and only my hand got dirty, but my patience reserves were running dangerously dry. When I finally got to my water source and the water looked nasty and in the middle of a bramble-y swamp, I had a mental breakdown. On top of all of this, I had absolutely no service so I felt even isolated in a very dark moment. I'd agreed to text my parents at least once a day and I hadn't found good enough service to text them yet, and that made me more anxious. Fortunately, my parents made it very clear that if I needed rescuing, they would come and get me as soon as they could. And if I had service, I may have quit right then. But I didn't, and I was forced to quit screaming and sobbing instead and find a solution quickly. Which is how I ended up camped out in a seldom-used parking lot nearby.

While hiking that day, I thought about how life mimics hiking: if things feel hard, like an uphill, sometimes you just need to keep on going and soon you will come out at a beautiful view, or at least a downhill. And sure enough, an hour after I was in unbearable physical and emotional discomfort I was set up in my tent, recovering. I even figured out how to use the SOS feature on my iPhone to point at a satellite so I could text my mom! It makes me tear up now knowing the relief that brought me. And she even agreed to hike in and camp with me on what was to be my final night of the trip, and knowing that I would get to see her soon gave me so much hope and strength. I also found interesting wisdom in the fact that, while I was experiencing such intense discomfort, the world went on around me. I was likely in great contrast with my environment, full of the new life of spring.

That night I cried again, an expression of my yearning for my mother, a primitive desire that I hadn't felt since I was a little kid. I honestly think that if I got nothing else out of my adventure, this trip was worth it just to feel that deep yearning, to crave the safety and love of my mother so, so deeply in a time of solitude and hardship. That night I used my tears to wash my dirty face,

As if I had not been through enough, I heard thunder approaching as I began to wind down for the night. I began to worry, but I was able to reach back into my memory from the summer I spent living out of my tent in Minneapolis. There I slept through so many thunderstorms that they became comforting, and I tapped into that wisdom to stay calm throughout the night.

Day 7 - Thursday, May 15th: Norwich Bluff Parking Lot to Bush Creek (MI-93)

This day was shorter than I wanted it to be, but with no reliable water sources after Bush Creek, I had to play it safe and set an early goal. And, after how difficult the past couple days had been, I needed an easier hike. I started out the day cruising through a swamp, wanting to get to higher ground as soon as possible. I tried to take off my bug net and immediately something went straight down my windpipe. During today's hike, I dreamt of my next long walk I'm planning; the thing is, no matter how hard this trip is, how hard every walk ends up being, I feel the need to do more, and that is something special. It makes me believe that my life holds real meaning.

Still moving through the Trap Hills, I had some serious ascents, which meant some seriously rad views. I passed by streams too small to be added to the map with delicious looking water, but as that day was already short, I felt the need to keep pushing to Bush Creek. I've observed that I find it much more difficult to be flexible with a plan when I'm backpacking alone. For example, when I'm with my mother, I'm always wanting to make sure her needs are met, whether that means extra rest or the day ends early, and I feel safer and more willing to change plans. When I'm alone, however, it takes a lot more effort to actually consider how I'm feeling and exit my tunnel-vision. This will be something I work on more in the future, as I was clearly willing to put my well-being to the side for the sake of miles on this trip.

When I arrived at Bush Creek, I was not impressed by the quality of the water, but not willing to keep going and hope for an unmarked stream and have a repeat of the day before. I set up near a cluster of ramps and enjoyed the extra long afternoon. As I sat in my tent, I could smell the wonderful ramp smell when the wind blew in the right direction. With my extra time, I re-read my book and decided to build a small fire. I was so consumed with the activity that I barely noticed the only hiker I saw the entire trip go by! I found out via a hiker's log-book that the guy is actually pretty well-known within the NCT community, it was cool to have a close encounter.

The set-up

This evening was more pleasant, especially knowing that now, I would get to see my mom the next day! But there were a lot of miles and hours of hiking between now and then, so I made sure to take proper care of myself. I ended up sleeping terribly that night though, for unknown reasons but also because there was a thunderstorm so severe that back at home, my family was worried about me. Fortunately I'd made sure to place my tent somewhere where branches and trees weren't likely to fall on me, and I didn't get any of the hail that some areas got. But during the night, what I assumed was a mouse kept scampering around the vestibule between my rain fly and my tent, making it impossible to drift off even if I didn't feel any danger. Eventually, I found some form of rest.

Day 8 - Friday, May 16th: Bush Creek to Lost Creek Campground (MI-73.5)

I was only supposed to make it to Big Iron River tonight, but as you'll see, that's not what happened. But we will need to start from the beginning. If you'll recall, early on in the trip my mom and I were grateful for finding no scary spiders as we ventured through real-life Mirkwood. Well, my luck had run out. You know that rustling sound I heard throughout the night? That was actually a massive wolf spider!!! While I was picking off all the slugs that had sought refuge on my tent during the thunderstorm, I looked down and saw the biggest spider that I had ever seen in the wild, a woodland tarantula. Maybe in an alternate universe I would have recognized this creature as a friend, but that is not what happened. I screamed Get off!!! and kicked leaves at it so it would get off my tent. What can I say, we all have room for improvement. Meanwhile, the water filer was being so slow that morning that I was starting off with less than a liter of water. I figured, I can tolerate a lot of suffering if I know that soon I will be with my mother, who will take care of me.

I started off the day's hike trying to get over the fear that the wolf spider was hidden somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to lay its eggs inside my flesh (I don't think they actually do that). But overall, I was looking forward to the day: I would be passing by some really cool places that I'd been before with some really cool people! I hiked up to Hacking site, which I've shared some really special moments at. Then I moved to the Gogebic Ridge trail, which I hiked on winter solstice two years ago. My last big climb was up Bergland tower, which I visited with my good friend Rory on that same trip. As I summited the peak and made my way through the swampy decline, I was comforted by our memories together. It was also at this time when I started to lose my mind, because even though it was windy and I was at the top of a large hill, I was swarmed by bugs and couldn't take an adequate rest. I found strength in telling myself Only five more miles until you're with mother. I was once again hoofing it through swamps. It was at this point when images of a faucet dispensing clean, cold water started replaying in my mind. I even tried breathing through my nose instead of my mouth to conserve the little moisture left I had left.

Passing through a swamp didn't help for my sanity. I passed a snake that had eaten a toad and was so blissed out he didn't even move when I passed through. I then saw a snapping turtle who fortunately didn't try to attack me; it probably saw that I was already going through enough. I thought about how glad I was not to be an animal that lives in a swamp, relying on swallowing toads whole to survive and thriving in muck. I know this is an ignorant world view, but cut me some slack, I hadn't showered in a week! I thought about how humans are not supposed to be in swamps, they are not particularly easy to pass through. And it infuriated me how dry my mouth was when my boots were waterlogged from stepping through mucky puddles. The unfortunate truth is that the UP is just one big swamp and passing through them is a necessity to as a long distance walker.

As I approached the Big Iron River, I mentally prepared myself for the fact that even though I'd used my mother as motivation to keep going for days at that point, she likely wouldn't be at the river yet; it was too early. Sure enough, an hour and a half after I summited Bergland tower I sat alone on the Big Iron River bridge, sipping and savoring the last of my water before I proceeded on, knowing I would need to dig even deeper than I already had.

In my dazed state I decided that the best thing I could do was keep walking until I met up with my mother. If I made it five more miles, all the way to the end, I would be out of the woods a day early, and if I met my mom soon, I will have spared her some pretty gnarly trail sections full of tall grass and downed trees. So, I kept walking. But as I moved forward, I became more paranoid: what if somehow I had passed her? I obsessively checked the mud in front of me for boot prints but there were never any. As I neared South Boundary Road, I wondered what I would do if I got there and hadn't met my mother yet. I figured I would beg the next person who drove by for water while I waited to be rescued. Even as my brain and organs felt the affects of extended physical exertion and dehydration, I worried that somehow I had missed my mother and she was out there alone. During my exhausted paranoia, I had a moment of self-awareness. By continuing to walk when I was clearly in need of help, I was relying on my mother to rescue me, and that was not a responsible thing to do when I was carrying the means of rescuing myself on my back.

There, only a mile away from the Porkies, I stopped on a bridge, set up my water filter, and drank precious sip by sip as the clean water slowly dripped out of the filter. This is how my mother found me, looking so rough that she didn't even recognize me until I saw her, feeling the most relief I'd ever felt in my life. We were going to be okay! I was going to do it. I was going to finish this backpacking trip!

We sat for awhile on that bridge, finally giving me time to rest, rehydrate, and refuel with blueberry muffins that my mom brought! I simply cannot over-emphasize how beautiful this moment was, and it only went up from here. A hummingbird buzzed by, a sign for good things to come.

We hiked the final two miles back to Lost Creek Campground, and immediately made a pit stop at the Porkies convenience store where the cashier gave me an ice cream cone with two massive scoops on the house because he was impressed at what I had accomplished. We spent that night at Union Bay Campground and after a week of some seriously intense hardships, this felt like the best evening I've ever had. I got to see a ranger that I knew from working at the Porkies a couple summers ago, I got to take the best shower ever, and I picked out a book from the free library that I read to my mother that night about two French guys and some Ottawas who underwent hardships in the 1800s that made my past week look like nothing! We made dinner over a fire, hung out at the lake, and celebrated my successful completion of one of the hardest weeks of my life.

As I laid in my sleeping bag that night, I wished that every day felt like this. As hard as the past week was, I didn't look forward to going back to the "real world." And the next day, when I entered my apartment for the first time in over a week, it didn't feel real, like I had only known it from a dream.

If it's not yet obvious, I've been incredibly moved by this entire experience. Even writing this post and recalling certain moments brought me to tears again, meaningful tears. This journey will certainly inform my life moving forward, and I still have plenty of lessons and realizations to work through.

If you've made it this far, thank you! I encourage you to do the hard things you dream about, for the sake of your beautiful soul. Don't let big hills or hard feelings scare you off, and if you are in a difficult spot, maybe all you need to do is keep walking on your path!

I'm so grateful for the countless volunteers who make the North Country Trail possible, and I'm looking forward to volunteering more. I'm also so grateful to my parents for believing in me and supporting me even if they get worried sometimes. They are the ones who taught me to find lessons in the suffering and have always fostered a sense of adventure. And thank you, North Country Trail, for teaching me wisdom that will last my whole life.