AT Lesson #1: The Importance of Communication

I stood in the parking lot savoring this moment. The years of anticipation, the months of planning, the hours of reviewing my guide book, and the countless trips to outfitters and grocery stores had brought me to this moment: my first day on the Appalachian Trail.

It was 11:00 a.m. The gravel parking lot where I stood is located a mile north of the southern terminus of the AT. I had already hiked south to reach the official starting point, Springer Mountain, Georgia, to touch the plaque that every AT hiker longs to behold. Then I retraced my steps back to this parking lot. My family had made the short roundtrip with me to get a glimpse of what the next twelve days would have in store for me.

Now the minivan carrying my family was gone and it was time to continue my northbound trip. I spotted the first blaze on a tree just a few yards from where I stood. The 2 inch by 6 inch white rectangle shown like a beacon pointing the way to Mt. Katahdin, Maine. These blazes would be my constant companions as I hiked toward my destination, Nantahala, North Carolina.

I gave a slight bounce skyward and tugged the waist strap of my backpack upward so that the weight would rest on my pelvis rather than on my shoulders. I cinched the straps a bit tighter and started down the trail.

Although I had been backpacking for over 30 years, this was my first time on the Appalachian Trail. There are longer trails in the U.S; the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) for example spans 2,650 miles and runs from Mexico to Canada. There are older trails; the Long Trail in Vermont covers 272 miles along the Green Mountains and is widely considered the first long distance hiking trail in the U.S. However, the AT holds a special place in the hearts and minds of hikers and non-hikers alike. It’s the granddaddy of all trails. And I was now joining the millions of people who had walked along this path.

As I reached the first blaze, I scanned ahead looking for the second trail marker. It was visible a few hundred feet down the trail. Comforted by the site, I continued hiking. When I reached the second blaze, the third was in sight. This was going to be good.

Soon I came to a husband and wife team from Virginia. I matched their speed for a short while and struck up a conversation with the duo. The man had camped before and had even done a little backpacking. His wife was on her first outing and it was obvious that she was not convinced this trip would be all he had promised. As we talked I kept a watchful eye for each white blaze that signaled I was still on the trail.

Normally, I’m not so paranoid about accidentally straying off the trail. In fact, I’ve taken a wrong turn during several backpacking trips. However, I promised my wife that I would be especially careful this trip. She was understandably worried for my safety, especially after reading about the fate of a woman from my home state who had lost the trail a few years ago. The woman, a thru-hiker, had made  it all the way to Maine. Having spent over 5 months on the trail, she was experienced. One day while in the 100 Mile Wilderness just before reaching Mt. Katahdin, she walked a few dozen yards off the trail for private moment. When finished, she attempted to return to the trail, but headed in the wrong direction. When she hadn’t arrived as scheduled in the next small town to meet her husband, he called the authorities and Search & Rescue teams were sent out. As skilled as they are, the teams couldn’t find her in the thick, remote woods of Maine. Almost four years later, her remains were found by surveyors just a quarter of a mile off the trail. A very sad story, indeed.

After walking with the Virginians for ten minutes, I decided decided to “hike my own hike,” as the trail saying goes, and returned to my normal speed. I soon separated from the husband and wife team, though I would bump into them again down the trail.

Over the next week, my routine became second nature. I enjoyed the walk through the woods each day, seeing the beauty of creation, listening to the sounds of nature, and appreciating the blessings that allowed me to be here. Sometimes, I would walk with other section hikers and enjoy their company and conversation. Sometimes, I would hike by myself and enjoy the peaceful solitude, alone with my Creator and His creation.

The white blazes became less frequent on the trail, only marking changes in direction such as switchbacks or intersections with other trails. Long straightaways tended to be clearly defined even without blazes. This only enhanced my experience because there was even less evidence of civilization.

One beautiful and sunny afternoon, I was hiking alone on the trail. The high canopy providing speckled shade while the sun peaked through to bring a majestic illumination to the undergrowth. Although it was late June in Georgia, the relatively high altitude and a slight breeze keep the temperature comfortable. I was lost in thought, enjoying a sense of peace and calmness that spending time in the woods can bring. The rhythmic sway of my backpack with each step was relaxing despite the weight.

That’s when I came to a fork in the path. One trail continued straight; the other turned sharply left and headed slightly downhill toward a more shaded area. I stopped, looking for a blaze. I didn’t see one. That’s when I realized that in my contentment, I had been hiking for more than an hour without seeing a blaze. I couldn’t even recall the last time I had consciously looked for one. I had just been going about my daily routine, putting one foot in front of the other for hours.

Had I lost the trail? Surely not. The trail looked well worn and clearly defined. But I didn’t see a white blaze marking the AT nor a blue blaze marking a side trail to a shelter or water source. Normally side trails, especially trails that lead to shelter or water, have a sign that tells the distance. For example, Shelter 0.2 indicates that the shelter is two-tenths of a mile down the blue blazed trail. This intersection was uncharacteristically without a sign.

I looked one way and then the other, straining to see some kind of indication of where I was or the direction I should head. I walked a short way back in the direction from where I came and didn’t see a blaze. Finally, I took off my pack, drank some water, and consulted my guidebook. From what I could tell, I should be on the trail, but the book only has distances and elevations between various waypoints. It doesn’t have a topographical map that I could use to help figure out where I was.

Leaving my pack at the intersection, I continued down the straight path, guessing that to be the way. After 150 feet, I spotted it. A white blaze painted on the side of a tree. A sense of relief came over me. I was still on the trail and knew with certainty which way to go.

I retrieved my backpack, said a short prayer of thanksgiving, and continued by trek northward.

AT Lesson: The Importance of Communicating

Although I was never off the trail and was never in danger, the lack of clear direction and communication created a sense of uncertainty and doubt in my mind. The ambiguity produced nervousness and the nervousness inhibited my progress. As I hiker, I came to a standstill when I didn’t know which way to go, when the trail didn’t communicate a clear direction.

The same truth can be evident in our personal and professional lives. A lack of communication with your team, especially at critical points, can introduce a sense of ambiguity and can hamper your team’s effectiveness. At a minimum, this can result in temporary idleness or individuals working in cross purposes. Worse, it can produce unsubstantiated rumors, complacency, and skepticism within your team.

Clear, consistent, and effective communication is critical. Without it, your team, your family, or your volunteer organization will suffer an unnecessary angst and will not live up to its potential.

Remember, those things that could go without saying should often be said anyway. It’s hard to over communicate your vision, your goals, your purpose.