“Tomorrow, I’m gonna hike up to McAfee’s Knob, hang a dip, and have a talk with Jesus.”
His trail name is Hatchet. It's dark when I arrive at his shelter. I'm cold and tired and the wind is picking up with the incoming front, shuffling the fallen leaves. I spot his fire first. He's sitting beside it with a old Appalachian Trail thru-hiker named Carpenter. Carpenter doesn't talk much. I get the sense that he's running from something. He doesn't stick around to say what. Hatchet remains with me by the fire. He tells me he's been hiking mostly alone for three weeks. He tells me everyone he knows thinks he'll be hiking for seven weeks. He tells me he bought a greyhound ticket home for tomorrow and hasn't yet told his family or friends or girlfriend. He tells me he's 21 and has never been outside of Alabama before this trip. He tells me his first time on a plane was to the beginning of this hike. He tells me he had a good talk with Jesus yesterday and decided he loves his girlfriend and is going back to school and wants to teach and coach and live with the people who love him and made him - that's how he knows it's time to go home. He stops talking and looks into the fire. As I watch the light flicker over his face and inside his fixed irises, he tells me all the things he's afraid to say out loud.