The fire tower atop Albert Mountain represents the 100-mile mark for Northbound AT backpackers. I reached it on my 9th day on the trail.

“This is crazy,” I said glancing over my shoulder toward my two hiking companions. One was only six horizontal feet behind me, yet his head was well below my ankles. The same was true for the man behind him.

We were scaling the south side of Albert Mountain, climbing from one four-foot rock to the next. Each separated by dirt and gnarled roots, long exposed by rainwater as it made its way down the steep incline. The final 1/3-mile of the approach climbs over 400 feet of elevation. I couldn’t imagine making this ascent in the rain.

I looked up toward a clear, cobalt blue sky. Wisps of clouds high in the atmosphere offered little cover from the sun. It was almost lunchtime and the heat of the mid-day sun pounded us with each step we took. I couldn’t tell how many more rocks lay between us and the top of Albert. The steep, 70-degree climb made seeing the summit impossible. Hopefully we were close to the 5,250 ft peak where a fire tower stood, offering a view of the Nantahala Mountains and the Little Tennessee River valley.

In addition to a respite from the climb, the summit of Albert represented another, more compelling. draw for me, the 100-mile mark for Northbound Appalachian Trail hikers (NoBos). For me, the summit of Albert was the fourth mini-goal of this journey.

Before starting on Springer Mountain, Georgia, I had divided my journey into a series of smaller, more manageable chunks. My first goal was to make it 30 miles to the Mountain Crossings Outfitters on US-19. That would represent three days of hiking and would provide the critical feedback I’d need about my gear and my conditioning. It would also equal the longest trip I’d ever hiked.

My second milestone was Dicks Creek Gap on US-76, where I would meet a couple of hiking buddies who would join me for the following five days. Dicks Creek Gap is 69 miles into the AT.

Crossing into North Carolina from Georgia was my third goal for the journey. Reaching the state line would mean that I had completed one of the 14 states that the AT traverses. One down and thirteen to go, eventually.

Now, I was on the cusp of my fourth goal, Albert Mountain. The fire tower sits 100 miles into the Appalachian Trail. Reaching the top meant that I would reach triple digits. Although it’s only one mile more than 99, for me it was much more than that. It meant that I had made serious progress on my march toward eventually completing the length of the AT.

We reached the top and I was tired and hungry and thirsty and ready for a rest. Despite my physical condition, I inwardly rejoiced in the milestone. 100 miles. I sat eating lunch, content in my accomplishment.

Thirty-seven miles lay between me and my final goal for this outing, Nantahala, NC. Thirty-seven miles of ups and downs, of rain and sun, of wondering where my next source of water would be found. But, I knew I would reach it. I knew that I would build upon these mini-successes and reach my fifth goal of this 137-mile trek.

I also know that I will one day, Lord willing, I will summit Mt. Katahdin in Maine, the northern terminus of the AT, some 2,190 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia. Success comes to those who persevere through the difficulties and celebrate the mini-milestones along the way.

AT Lesson #12: Small Victories Lead to Bigger Ones

Like all worthwhile endeavors, long distance hiking takes time and effort. Too often we set ourselves up for failure by turning an ambitious goal into a boolean proposition, either we make it or we don’t. Either we accomplish what we’ve set out to achieve or we fall short and fail. That’s unfortunate and often encourages people to give up in the early stages when the going gets tough. A finish line that is too far off, dissuades people from even trying. It seems unassailable and insurmountable.

Dividing large and distant goals into more manageable pieces, allows us to easily see the next milestone and know that it’s within our reach. We have reason to celebrate the mini-successes that come regularly and our spirits are buoyed by the accomplishments. Success begets success. We build confidence. We increase our knowledge, learning as we rise to meet each new goal.

Look for ways to recognize and celebrate the smaller successes in business and in life. Structure them so that they support a longer term strategic goal. Develop and taste for success and allow it to drive you toward bigger and better things.

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The backpackers I know strictly adhere to the pack-it-in-pack-it-out philosophy. Unfortunately, not everyone does.

I scaled the four-foot dirt bank and followed the trail as it turned sharply left and paralleled the meandering stream that I had just crossed. It was almost noon and I was hungry. I considered every small clearing as a potential spot for lunch, hoping to find a site near the water. The sound of water trickling over rocks creates a nice ambiance while eating, but I had a more compelling and practical reason to eat near water. I could drink deeply from my water bottles and fill up again before hitting the trail.

As I walked, searching for a place to stop, something caught my eye, something I hadn’t seen on this trip until now.

In small clearing beside the stream, logs had been arranged in the shape of a U. In the center, a small fire ring made of softball-sized rocks held ashes. It also contained several blackened soda cans, a partially melted disposable water bottle, and some unburned trash on top. Scattered around the campsite was other debris that looked to be remnants of diapers.

Taken aback I stopped and surveyed the site. Until now the trail had been nearly pristine, which is pretty remarkable given the number of hikers on the Appalachian Trail. Every backpacker I had met was meticulous about leaving a campsite better than he found it. Trash was not left for someone else to clean up. We all diligently followed the “Pack It In, Pack It Out” philosophy.

Like most other hikers, I carried a 1-gallon ziplock bag where I kept what little trash I produced until I could dispose of it properly. A few road crossings had bear-proof garbage canisters for hikers to use, otherwise we carried it until we came to a store or town.

But here, at least one camper had completely ignored the code of the trail. I shook my head in disbelief. I took off my pack and picked up some of the trash, adding it to my ziplock bag. It hardly made a difference, but I thought that every little bit helps.

Within a half mile, I came to a road crossing and understood what had happened. It wasn’t backpackers that had left this mess. It was probably locals who had hiked a short distance into the woods for a fun time camping. When the party was over, they didn’t feel like toting their discards back to their car. So, they left it.

AT Lesson #11: Don’t Feed the Stereotypes

Campers and backpackers are often seen as trespassers into the natural environment, interlopers into a world that does not belong to them. Carelessly leaving trash in their wake, they damage the unmarred habitat of nature’s fauna and flora. The stereotype of the self-centered, careless, and egotistical camper that cares nothing for the environment is reinforced with every piece of trash found.

I believe that spending time in the woods, communing with nature, actually encourages people to be better stewards of creation. In the woods you get a better appreciation of the glory of nature, and you want to protect it. As an avid backpacker, I’m aware of the damaging stereotype and do what I can to combat it. I don’t want the inconsiderate actions of a few to dictate how the world thinks of campers.

In our daily walk at work, we must be aware of stereotypes as well. IT departments are notorious for needlessly and flippantly saying no, being unresponsive and uncooperative to the needs of the business, and rudely belittling those who don’t understand the acronyms or the technology. That’s unfortunate. And it’s how “Shadow IT” becomes prevalent.

Stereotypes also invade our personal and volunteer lives. As a Christian and as a member of a local church, I know that some people automatically ascribe bigotry and intolerance to me. I know that as an adult leader in a youth development organization, some assumptions are inevitably made about me.

So what can we do?

First, be aware of the stereotype. Know that it exists and be sensitive to it. Understand that you may have a hard time convincing that business user that you’re not there to automatically quash their request but to further understand their needs and how you may be able to help.

Second, don’t feed the stereotype. As an IT professional don’t use a bunch of jargon that you think makes you sound smart. It doesn’t. Remember the quote that is often attributed to Albert Einstein, “If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.”

Third, follow Stephen Covey’s advice, seek first to understand and then to be understood. Actually while you’re at it, follow all of the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. It’s good.

I know it’s an uphill struggle, but just as getting into the woods gives you a better appreciation of nature, getting into the business gives you a better understanding of how your job affects others in the business and your customers.

“But I’m just one person and I cannot change the whole organization.” That may be true. But we can do our part and we can be an example to others. I couldn’t pick up all of the trash someone else left behind, but I carried out what I could, and I like to think that helped.

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For the past five days, I had averaged 1.25 miles per hour, including breaks. If I hiked for 10 hours, I would typically cover between twelve and fourteen miles while climbing and descending several thousand feet. It wasn’t a stellar pace but I was ahead of my schedule and it felt good. I had developed my “trail legs.” I had found a good rhythm. Each step seemed to impart a sense harmony with my surroundings and foster a peaceful contentment within. It was physically tiring but emotionally and spiritually uplifting. I was truly enjoying the trek.

Not today. Today was different. Today was hard.

It wasn’t supposed to be. I had left the top of Tray Mountain around 7:30 this morning, having slept in after arriving to camp late the night before. Reviewing my guidebook before breaking camp, I familiarized myself with what lay ahead and set my goals for the day. I thought I knew what the day held in store for me.

During the first two miles, I would drop around 1,000 feet in elevation. After that it was relatively smooth with no more than a few hundred feet of elevation change for the next four miles. At 4,126 feet above sea level, Kelly Knob was the only significant obstacle of the day with a climb of 800 feet over the span of a mile. The other side of the knob would have a similar descent. Once I had Kelly behind me, it was a slow steady descent of into Dick’s Creek Gap at US-76, elevation 2,675. There I would meet a friend and his father around 10:00 p.m. and we’d hike another mile to a campsite.

I had all day to hike the eleven miles to our rendezvous point. Eleven easy miles. After what I had accomplished the day before, today would be easy.

Wrong.

Coming down off of Tray Mountain was hard. It wasn’t particularly steep or dangerous, but it was tiring. After 90 minutes of hiking I was only halfway down. Not to worry, once I got to the bottom the trail would flatten out and I’d find the peaceful flow again. That’s what I kept telling myself.

Going down hill sounds easier than traveling uphill, after all you have gravity on your side, right? It would seem so, but in fact, it’s can be even more difficult. Anything more than a slight grade downhill uses a different set of muscles. You have to balance the 40 pound pack on your back while leaning backwards. Often there are roots or rocks to step down from and the 12 to 24 inch drop can be jarring and disrupt the pace of your hike.

After more than two hours, I finally reached Steeltrap Gap at the foot of Tray Mountain where the trail turned sharply upward. I climbed 300 feet over the next half mile. The path leveled off for an instant, then dropped 300 feet over another half mile. For the next four miles I would repeat this pattern over and over and over again. Climb 300 feet, descend 300 feet.

The skies were grey and the lush flora had been robbed of its vibrant appeal. Rather than shielding the hot sun, the clouds seemed to invite an army of no-see-ums, little gnats whose singular mission in life seemed to be to explore every orifice in my head. Buzzing my ears and teasing my eyes with every step, they followed me for hours. I was exhausted but when I stopped to rest, the gnats multiplied in number.

My decision to skip supper last night had zapped my energy today. But there was more to it than that. Today was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t.

AT Lesson 10: The Importance of Managing Expectations

My trip down from Tray Mountain and the nine miles that followed were physically, emotionally, and even spiritually taxing. They were the hardest eleven miles of the 137 that I hiked during this trip.

On paper, the day had looked to be an easy one. But the guidebook hadn’t promised that. That was my interpretation of the elevation graph. The guidebook also couldn’t have predicted the gray weather that would permeate my surroundings and attitude, the annoying little gnats that would follow me for miles, or the lack of energy that would hamper my efforts and make even the slightest change of elevation a monumental challenge.

I had told myself that today would be easy and that’s what I expected. When my expectations weren’t fulfilled, my mood soured and my reality seemed worse than it actually was. My hiking buddy from Kentucky experienced the same let-down and it drove him from the trail.

As leaders at home, at work, and in volunteer organizations, we must set realistic expectations. That doesn’t mean we should be pessimistic and paint a dour picture of the road ahead. We shouldn’t. We should create a bright vision for the future and outline a path that will take us there. We should get people excited about that future and motivate them to forge ahead. Yet we also should give them fair warning. To get to the future we want may require effort and trials, ups and downs, challenges and obstacles. But the reward will be worth the journey. And when things get tough we must keep moving forward, keeping the goal in mind.

With clients, it’s better to under promise and over deliver. The same deliverable can be either be viewed as a success or a failure depending on what is expected. For example, if you promise to deliver in three months and it takes you four, you’ve failed. If you set the initial expectation that it will take five or six months, but deliver in four, you’ve succeeded. This is especially true if you’ve communicated progress along the way.

Expectations matter. Manage them.

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The old growth forest reaches heavenward along the peaks and valleys of the Appalachian Trail.

My headlamp shown dimly in the dark moonless night. The trees cast long shadows that faded into the blackness of the dense underbrush. Occasionally I could see a highly reflective strap from another camper’s backpack as I surveyed my surroundings, searching for a place to bed down for the night.

It was midnight and my hiking buddy from Kentucky and I had just arrived at the top of Tray Mountain. We have been treated to a majestic view of the heavenly bodies from one of the highest points in Georgia. Now, having experienced an exhilarating high from summiting such a mountain, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my hammock and sleep. Fifteen winding miles, several thousand feet of ascents and descents, and 15 hours of backpacking had left me tired. The adrenaline of the final climb had worn off and I was ready to sleep.

I found a spot with two trees 19 feet apart. Not an ideal span for hanging my hammock but it was good enough for tonight. I leaned my pack against a tree and retrieved my sleeping gear.

Gusts of wind whipped through the campsite as I struggled to hang my hammock. Normally quick and easy to set up, I fought to keep my hammock from taking flight in the wind. Once it was secured, I had an even more difficult time with the rain tarp. Eventually, both were fastened and I placed my sleeping bag in the hammock.

I still had not eaten supper. I knew that I should eat. Successful long distance hiking has many facets and one of them is calories. A long day of hiking requires thousands of calories. I estimated that I was burning between 3,500 and 5,000 calories per day. Today was definitely closer to the 5,000 calorie mark, maybe more.

But I was really too tired to setup my stove, wait eight minutes for the water to boil, wait another five of minutes for the rice dish to hydrate, and then clean my cooking gear after I ate. Plus, I only had a half liter of water so all of this would necessitate a one-half mile round trip walk to the spring behind the shelter.

“Forget it. I’m too tired,” I thought. I opened a pack of peanut butter crackers and washed them down with some of my water, leaving enough for a cup of coffee in the morning. Then I turned in for the night.

AT Lesson #9: Take Care of Yourself and Your Team

Sleep came easily, despite the ruffling winds that shook my tarp and prompted the trees to call out in aching moans throughout the night. Morning arrived all to quickly but I awoke refreshed. Little did I know that it was the beginning of the hardest day I would experience on this trip.

I would soon intimately learn the folly of my late night decision. I had gone to bed the night before without giving my body the fuel it needed to recover. I had deprived it of the calories that would help my muscles restore themselves after the long hike. I had valued an extra thirty minutes of sleep over the recuperative nourishment of a meal.

In retrospect, that was penny wise and pound foolish as the saying goes. Sure I got a little more sleep, but I paid a hefty toll the next day.

Before I got halfway down Tray Mountain, I was completely exhausted. I felt like I had already hiked a full day. Checking my watch, I was disillusioned to learn that had only been hiking 90 minutes. I stopped for a snack. It didn’t help. I stopped for a short rest. That didn’t help either. Nothing I did that day could make up for the choice of the night before. I pushed on, willing myself forward despite the drudgery, despite the annoying gnats, despite the lack of energy. Going forward was the only thing to do.

And it wasn’t just me. Although I hiked alone most of the day, I reconnected with my Kentucky hiking buddy late in the afternoon. He had the same experience, only worse. For him, the day was so bad it drove him from the trail. He called for a ride to come get him and he went home just one day after what we both considered one of our best days on the trail.

When life comes at us fast and we get extremely busy, it’s easy to neglect ourselves. It’s tempting to forsake exercise, sleep, or downtime in order to get a couple of more things done. But studies have shown that longer working days do not produce more quality work.

It’s also easy to neglect our families at home and our teams at work, ignoring the personal relationships while focusing on the tasks to be accomplished. We need those relationships. We are designed to be relational and ignoring our relationships will deprive us purpose and meaning.

Sure, there are busy seasons in life when we must make hard pushes to the finish line, but it’s important to not neglect the important things. We must intentionally create margin in our lives.

I’ve also realized that there was a second reason that this day was so tough and I’ll talk about that next time.

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Streams like this were a welcomed site during my time on the Appalachian Trail.

On the far bank, a hiking friend from Georgia that I had recently met called out “Joe! You have to try this.” The blissful look of peace on his face affirmed his invitation.

The stream was 8 feet across and 10 inches at its deepest point. Someone had thoughtfully placed stepping-stones in the water to allow weary travelers to cross without getting their feet wet. Appreciative of their efforts, I had no intention of using the stones. I removed my wool socks and hiking shoes and tentatively eased one foot into the stream. It was cold and I reflexively took a quick breath. It was refreshing as the proverbial crystal clear mountain stream.

I waded across and joined my hiking companion on the other side. I swung my pack to the ground and gingerly lowered myself onto a flat rock a few feet from him. I found a deep pool and positioned my feet there. My friend was right; this was exhilarating. We sat there in silence, our feet and ankles submerged in the fast flowing stream. The cold mountain water rejuvenating our feet as well as buoying our spirits. After the many climbs and descents of the past couple of days, my feet rejoiced.

Soon, another hiker came lumbering around the trail and faced us from across the stream. We had met him the day before, a friendly music teacher from Atlanta. He looked as tired as we felt so we motioned to a nearby rock and invited him to join us. That’s when we noticed something unusual, the reason behind his odd gait as he had approached.

To say his hiking boots were not up to the task would be an understatement. His left boot had completely come apart. Dirt encrusted duct tape wrapped around the toe and soul was the only thing holding the two together. Another worn loop of tape encircled the ankle and heal. Paracord reinforced the duct tape in some places. His right boot was only marginally better.

My friend and I gawked at the boot and stole a quick glance at each other. We both thought it was hilarious but weren’t sure that the music teacher saw the humor in it. Not wanting to offend him, we stifled our laughter. He carefully removed his boots and joined us in the stream.

A short while later, my hiking buddy and I got ready to go. Before we left, my friend offered the music teacher some duct tape and I extended him a length of paracord to help patch his ragged footgear. The last time I saw him, he was sitting with his feet in the stream reading a hardback copy of The Barefoot Sisters Southbound: Adventures on the Appalachian Trail. (You can image how hard it was not to laugh we he retrieved that from his pack!)

AT Lesson #8: Have the Right Tools

After parting with our young music teacher, my hiking companion looked over at me and said “I hope Frankenshoe will be alright.”

The young man’s gear failure had left him in a very difficult situation. It was a day and a half hike northbound to reach an outfitter situated directly on the trail. Their gear is very expensive due to their prime location and the acute needs of their clientele. His other option was to backtrack at least one full day to a narrow road we had already crossed and hope to catch a ride to a nearby town to replace his worn hiking shoes. Neither option was very good. And I felt for the young man.

He had the drive to complete his goal. He seemed to have the knowledge and experience required. He certainly had the desire. Yet, he lacked the tools he needed to accomplish his task. Drive, knowledge, experience, and attitude can overcome a lot. These are important qualities to be sure. However, without the right tools, our abilities are compromised and suppressed.

Similar setbacks can happen to our teams. Creativity, drive, and attitude can go a long way toward accomplishing a goal. In fact, without these, little will get done. However, without the right tools, your team’s job will be much more difficult.

Whether its access to the right software and hardware, a subscription to training sites, or availability to external consulting/coaching resources when needed, your team will be put into a really tough spot.

Do your best to give them the tactical tools and strategic insights to effectively do their work.

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If not for this message scrawled on the trail by a friend, I would have missed a beautiful overlook.

Do.

That’s all the message said. A single two-letter word, a command really, scrawled in the loose dirt on the trail. An arrow primitively drawn beside the word directed my attention toward a sparsely wooded and vine carpeted underbrush bisected by a narrow path. Tendrils encroached onto the trail, obscuring much of the footpath and dissuading potential travelers.

I looked around for the author of this monosyllabic directive. Nobody. I was alone.

I had started the day just four miles from here. I had camped with a newfound friend from Georgia at a small and secluded campsite that overlooked a beautiful valley. We had begun the day’s trek together, but my long-legged hiking mate was a long distance runner as well as an avid backpacker. His brisk pace and extended stride allowed him to cover much more ground with each step than me. Within twenty minutes, my hiking buddy was out of sight. That’s the custom on the AT; everyone hikes their own hike. I knew from the prior day, that he would stop within an hour or two for a break, allow me to catch up with him, and then we’d repeat the process.

Now two hours into the day’s journey, I hadn’t caught up with him. But there was this message in the dirt.

I pondered my options. I wanted to catch up with my friend. He was a nice guy and I enjoyed talking with him. While hiking together, the miles passed beneath our feet almost unnoticed. A trip down this side trail may put even more distance between us.

Yet, what lay at the end of this narrow trail was so compelling to someone that he didn’t want those who came after to miss it. So he left this message in the dirt.

Was this message meant for me? Or was it intended to guide someone else down the neglected path?

I checked my guidebook. There was no mention of this blue blazed trail. Nevertheless I decided that the cost of traveling down the path was probably pretty small, perhaps 30-minutes of elapsed hiking time and only a mile or so out of my way. That, I thought, is a minor price compared to the possibility of missing something grand. So, I shifted my pack and started optimistically down the small side trail.

AT Lesson #7: Be Aware of Informal Communications

The winding trail beneath the thin canopy of trees soon opened into wide knoll with a vast panoramic view of the rolling hills, the deep valleys, and the vivid foliage below. The cobalt blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds that created a spotted masterpiece of shadows on the green canvas below. It was majestic. It made me feel tiny and insignificant, yet simultaneously alive and full of vigor.

And I almost missed it. My official guidebook made no mention of this trail. If not for the impromptu and informal message of someone who had passed this way before me, I would have traveled within yards of this site never the wiser.

Informal communications, such as this, happen in every area of our lives. At work, we have official communications in the form of meetings and emails. At church and in volunteer organizations, we have the same thing. Yet there is always a back channel that provides near instant information when the official communication is lacking. As leaders, we must be aware that these channels exist.

Sometimes, these channels can be beneficial and enhance productivity, creativity, and growth. When our team turns to informal communications to do their jobs effectively, we must look for ways to embrace and support them. For example, if they are sharing how-to information, look for ways to formalize that through a wiki or a series of lunch & learns.

Other times these channels can be harmful, destructive, and lower morale. To combat the pernicious scuttlebutt or politically charged gossip, we must offer sufficient communication and clarity. We must invest in our teams and build individual relationships beforehand so that they will trust us despite what the rumor mill is circulating.

People are curious and relational by nature, and as such, they will find ways to communicate what is important to them. Be aware of that.

And by the way, when I caught up with my friend from Georgia later that day, he asked if I had seen and followed his message. I thanked him and told him that I’m glad I had.

The post AT Lesson #7: Be Aware of Informal Communications appeared first on The SERO Group.

Sitting on a log beside the trail, I took off my pack and reached for my water bottle. I estimated that I had an hour before the final remnants of the day gave way to darkness. It was just enough time for a short break before setting up camp, walking 0.2 of a mile down a blue-blazed trail for water, and cooking dinner. I would need a restful night of sleep and recuperation before tackling the steep rocky terrain of Tray in the morning.

It had been a good day. I had hiked over thirteen miles and had scaled two notable mountains, Blue Mountain and Rocky Mountain, since leaving Low Gap shelter that morning. The descent into Indian Grave Gap and back up to this campsite at the old Cheese Factory had taxed me. Satisfied with today’s progress, I was ready for a meal and a hammock. I had accomplished a lot and it had prepped me for a good tomorrow.

“Joe!”

I turned to see a hiking buddy that I’d met just a couple of days before. We had camped together the prior night but had gotten separated early in the day. He dropped his pack and took a seat on a log opposite me.

Pointing toward to the blue blazed trail, he asked, “Is there water?”

“I don’t know. I just got here 5 minutes ago,” I replied.

“Are you stopping here,” he asked.

“Yep. This was my goal for the day,”

“You know,” he said with a grin, “we’re only a short way from the top of Tray.”

“Yeah but it’s a long way up,” I countered.

“Wouldn’t it be great to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise from up there? Just imagine the beauty.” His grin widened.

Ever the pragmatist, I began voicing the reasons why that was a bad idea. It would certainly get dark before we made it to the top and, although I like night hiking, this wouldn’t be the ideal path for it. What if we ran out of energy and couldn’t find a place to camp along the steep trail? What if there was no water up there? What if, what if, what if. My list continued.

He listened patiently.

“All that’s true,” he said, “but just imagine how great it could be.”

We locked eyes for a brief moment, our steely gazes challenging and spurring each other.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

AT LESSON #6: Dreaming Big is Contagious

It was midnight before we summited Tray Mountain. The hike was arduous and we had to rest often along the way. But every step forward, every foot of elevation change, was well worth the effort.

When we reached the top of the mountain, the “Green Tunnel” opened up. On that moonless night with no man-made light pollution for miles, countless heavenly bodies dotted the black velvet sky. There were more stars than I’ve seen. It was an incredible sight that words cannot adequately describe. We stood in awe as we took in this view of creation and its majesty.

When the sun rose the next morning, we were once again treated with an equally incredible, yet very different, view. The sun peaked just above the distant mountains, its light streaming down and slowly bringing color to the grey world below.

That night and the following morning were among the most enjoyable highlights on my trip. I was exhausted, but I felt a great sense of accomplishment. Sitting here typing this, I am so very glad that I didn’t miss that experience. I’m thankful to my fellow traveler for spurring me on and challenging me to do more than I had planned, to achieve a higher standard than I had set for myself. The reward was worth it.

At work, at home, and in life, we can help one another achieve more. We can encourage each other to dream big, to not count the obstacles in our way but to set our sights on the goal. We can even take the journey with our colleagues.

Opportunities abound all around us. Just look for them.

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The Appalachian Trail in Georgia and North Carolina is replete with incredible vistas such as this. Of course, it’s a long uphill climb to get to them.

“We’re almost there,” my hiking buddy panted as he continued his slow gait in front of me. For the past couple of hours, the rhythmic clicking of his trekking poles had set the pace of our ascent like a metronome meters a slow, melodic song. We had already climbed well over a thousand feet as we sought to conquer yet another mountain along the Appalachian Trail.

The dense canopy of foliage that had obscured our view for much of the morning yielded momentarily and we could see daylight through the trees ahead. Daylight that promised the summit of the mountain was near. Daylight that meant the end to our rigorous trudge uphill was at hand.

We paused momentarily to sip from our water bottles, rehydrating before our final push to the top of this nameless obstacle in our path. Then we set out again with a renewed vigor, knowing that the end was in sight. Click. Click. Click.

The path turned sharply, another switchback along our ascent as we pushed on. A steep slope upward was on our left; the mountain gave way to a abrupt drop-off on our right. Keeping an eye on the path, we chose our footing carefully.

The trail curved further to the right. Every step taking us further up the mountain and further away from the distant light we had just seen through the canopy

“Ugh! You’re kidding me,” my companion groaned in exasperation. I stopped and looked ahead. The trail continued upward toward a summit that we could not see before, toward a summit much higher than we had previously thought. Just when we thought that our uphill trek was drawing to an end and a beautiful vista was within reach, the finish line had moved. The newfound vigor we had garnered just ten minutes ago evaporated.

Our energy depleted, we were now skeptical about this new “summit.” Was it the real peak of the mountain? Or was it another false summit?

Dispirited, we continued climbing.

Half an hour later when we finally crested the mountain, we were rewarded for our efforts with a stunning view of the Smoky Mountains. We dropped our packs and enjoyed a well-earned lunch break. The stunning landscapes made it all worthwhile. Yet we wondered just how many of those mountains we would climb in our circuitous trek northward.

AT Lesson #5: Beware of Moving Goals

In our trek up this mountain, we had fallen victim to what is commonly called a false summit. What we thought was the top of the mountain and the end of our uphill journey turned out to only be only a ridge line. Disappointingly, the real summit was still a quarter of a mile away and several hundred feet above us.

Likewise in the office with our teams and at home with our kids, we can easily and inadvertently create false summits. When our expectations are not clearly communicated, when their goals are not clearly understood, disappointment is sure to follow. We view it as their fault for falling short of the standards we’ve set. They view it as a moved goal or as if nothing is ever good enough. Future goals are understandably seen with a suspicious eye.

When working with your team or with kids, take great care to ensure that everyone understands what is expected. Clearly communicate your requirements for the quality of work and the timeline for delivery. Help them create or identify metrics that can be used to gauge progress toward the goal. Offer feedback frequently. Celebrate minor successes. If circumstances change and the summit must be moved, work with them to adjust. Help them to understand why the change is happening.

False summits are disheartening but easily avoidable. Don’t inadvertently create them for your team.

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Did I hear the faint gurgling of a small creek? Was it the sound of a narrow stream of water as it washed over small rocks and dampened leaves? Or was it just a slight breeze tickling the canopy above me, teasing me with the hope of water?

Before leaving camp this morning I had consulted my guidebook, a morning ritual that I had adopted early in my trek. I reviewed my plans for the day. How far would I hike? How many mountains would I climb? Would I cross any roads or other recognizable waypoints? How far to the known water sources?

Calculating the amount of water to carry requires that you balance two competing goals. Carry too much and you’ve needlessly added additional weight to your pack. This is especially important at the foot of a long and steep climb, of which there are many. Carry too little and you risk running out before finding replenishment. The effects of dehydration while walking along a steep trail in Georgia in the middle of summer can be dangerous.

I had considered the sketchy reports from the few southbound hikers that I had met and decided to purify 3 liters of water before leaving camp. It’d been an unusually dry spring in northern Georgia and many of the water sources listed in my guidebook were dry. Few things are as disheartening on the trail as the sight of a dry water source.

Now, I was down to just half a liter. I decided to walk a little further along the trail, hoping that the sound was indeed liquid in origin. If I didn’t find water within the next ten minutes, I would drop my pack and check my guidebook.

As a rounded a slight bend in the trail, there it was! A small rivulet of water trickling from a magnolia leaf that someone had wedged into the stream to create a spout. Water! That clear, odorless, tasteless, liquid that is so very rejuvenating on a hot summer’s day.

AT Lesson #4

Before I set foot on the AT, I had reviewed my guidebook countless times. I knew the distances to the first seven shelters. I knew where the road crossing were that could take me to nearby towns for resupplies. I knew the number of miles that I expected to cover each day of the trip. And I knew where the water was supposed to be. All of these were important metrics for a successful trip.

What I didn’t know beforehand was that the area had been stricken by a drought that had left many of the water sources dry. Water had become the most critical resource for me on the trail. Recognizing this allowed me to make adjustments along the way.  It would influence how far I hiked each day, where I camped each night, and how much weight I carried while hiking. It would factor into decisions such as whether to take a 0.5 mile side trail to a potential water source and how fast I hiked.

In life off the trail, it’s equally important to know your metrics for success. What factors influence your ability to meet your goals and objectives at work? Can you negotiate with your boss to help set those goals and objectives? What are your most important assets and resources and what can you do to protect them? How will you know when you’re doing well and when you’re at risk of failure? If you don’t have clear metrics, can you create surrogate metrics to measure and approximate progress?

At home, what are your values? Are your activities consistent with your values? Are you making progress in the right areas? For example, how many hours a week do you watch television, play video games, do chores, or play with your kids? How many nights per month do you go on a date with your spouse?

Being able to separate the wheat from the chaff, the important from the unimportant, is crucial in all areas of life. And it starts with knowing what is important.

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This backpack contained everything I would need for the next 7 days on the trail, including my food, shelter, and clothes. I carefully scrutinized everything that went into this pack.

In one fluid motion, I raked the spine of my knife down the length of the firesteel propelling a steady stream of sparks toward the small metal can. The denatured alcohol in my homemade SuperCat stove instantly ignited into a translucent blue flame. In less than 10 minutes I would enjoy the steaming, bold, liquid of life that some irreverently call just a cup of coffee.

I had awakened 30 minutes earlier, but had lazily remained snug in my sleeping bag, listening to the sounds of the world around me come to life. Birds greeted the morning with song, squirrels rummaged through the underbrush, and a gentle breeze stirred the canopy above me. Eventually the call of nature drowned out all other voices and I emerged from my hammock.

Placing a small titanium pot on my stove, I began heating water for breakfast. My breakfast this morning would be a couple of packets of Maple and Brown Sugar instant oatmeal with a handful of walnuts stirred in to make a complete protein. For additional carbohydrates, I added some raisins to the mix. Compact and lightweight, this breakfast was nutritious and filling. As Napolean said, an army marches on its stomach and I planned to cover some mileage this day.

The Virginians joined me at the wooden picnic table carrying several bags. The husband retrieved a white gas camping stove and assembled the components while his wife unpacked their breakfast supplies. From the food bags she pulled a box of pancake mix, some freeze dried sausage patties, a large bottle of syrup, some powdered sugar, a can a Pam cooking spray, a full-size spatula, a full-size frying pan, two bottles of apple juice, among other things.

It was no wonder why these two nearly collapsed as they came into camp the night before.

A few days later, a hiker friend told me that he had recently camped with the husband-wife team. They had made some delicious tacos using freeze-dried ground beef, a can of re-fried beans, and jar of picante sauce. They had extra so he enthusiastically accepted their offer to share.

The pair were eating very well. And truth be told, their pancakes and the thought of tacos on the trail still invokes a Pavlovian response in me. However, I can’t imagine the weight they had to carry to support such a dining experience.

AT Lesson #3: Learn to Say No

It’s easy to make a series of individual decisions in insolation, without considering the larger picture. In the case of the Virginians, each cooking utensil and food item didn’t add a lot of weight by itself. The frying pan only added 1.5 pounds, the can of Pam another 1/2 pound, the spatula, 4 ounces. However when considered in totality, the extra weight and bulk added up. And as a result their time on the trail may not have been as enjoyable as it would have been with a smaller pack.

The same thing can happen in life off the trail. Accepting just one more responsibility, agreeing to undertake just one more small project, may not seem like a big obligation when considered individually. However, when you look at the collective impact of your choices, you may be left with very little margin in your time or in your finances.

A series of decisions can distract you from your overall goal as well. When coaching others, I remind them to consider each decision carefully. Will your choice take you a step closer toward the goal you’ve identified as important to you? Will it be a step sideways, which could be ok or even fun? Or will it be a step backward and jeopordize your progress? Don’t lose sight of your goal when making decisions.

Learning to say ‘no’ to individual opportunities is tough. This is one of those lessons that I continually struggle with. I’m an optimist at heart. But I’ve learned that, in saying yes to a good thing, I may accidentally be saying no to something better.

(In fairness to the Virginians, they may have considered their culinary luxuries worth the added weight and bulk. It was their decision to make and their packs to carry, not mine. On the trail, as in life, everyone must hike their own hike.)

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