The NET is unlike any other long trail that I have ever hiked in that large portions of it are near residential areas. There are stretches of at least fifty miles with no designated campsites and thru hikers are expected to stay in hotels. At least one of the two major river crossings requires either a long walk around or a car to transport you. And there is a spur that goes off in one direction and dead ends, requiring yet another shuttle to get around. Before I left home I took care of what I could for trip details. Trusting the rest will work out when I need it to, I set off north from Long Island Sound in Guilford Connecticut.

The first four miles wound along paved roads, which are not easy for me to walk on. I find the pavement hard on the bottoms of my feet, especially when I carry a pack. Whenever I could, I walked on the grass along the side of the road. Since there were not great views from mountain heights I focused on finding the beauty in small things. I passed by many lovely gardens including one with a bunch of signs about kindness which warmed my heart. I noticed birds nests in trees and flowers poking through the pavement. I have a special fondness for these city flowers which seem to defy concrete sidewalks.

When the trail arrived at a train station I became completely lost. I found the blue rectangle marking the trail, but it led me to a dead end. I knew I had to cross the tracks but all I could find were signs telling me it was illegal to do so. It was only when I went into the train station that the way became clearer. Eschewing the elevator, I climbed a flight of stairs and found a walkway over the tracks. This was certainly looking like it was going to be unlike any of my other long backpacking trips!

When I finally left the pavement and entered the woods I realized yet another challenge I would face.The trail was more like a boulder field than a trail. I had to pick my way over and around these rocks. I want to learn more about the geology of this area but can’t do so while I am juggling the details of hiking this trail.

I noticed some old cellar holes, stone walls and other remains of white people’s lives. Seldom have I found remains of native people, though I know in some places of the country there are piles of shells or stray arrowheads. I thought about how the more technologically “advanced” we have become, the more remains of our lives we seem to leave behind. Future generations will not have to look far to find plastic. It has already been found in the snow in Antarctica.

I found myself focusing on “making miles.” I have never ascribed to this kind of hiking and started to admonish myself, remembering that I want these journeys to be about finding the beauty in each moment I am in. I thought about a book I just finished reading called “Deep Survival” which mentioned that when you get hyper focused on getting to the end point you are more apt to have an accident.

But then I started to feel how good it felt to move my body. The hills near the coast were not big and the exertion I felt in navigating them felt great. I realized that I was enjoying the feeling of “making miles” and maybe my pooh poohing it all these years had been a little amiss. Certainly marathoners enjoy feeling the miles fly by. “Why,” I asked myself, “is is so wrong to just focus on making miles?” Then I realized the answer for me lay in the one little word “just.”

I realized that it was okay to focus on making miles if that was feeling good to me. It is a valid pleasure to enjoy the feel of my body moving over rocks and downed trees. But when it became all I focused on, and when I started to hate the journey, then I needed to refocus my attention. The trick, I realized, came in finding balance. It was not right for me to judge other hikers who pushed to walk forty or more miles in a day, even if they seemed to be hating it. Perhaps the sense they were hating it was my projection. Whatever it was I learned in that moment to be more focused on ” hiking my own hike” whatever that may be, even if it changed from moment to moment and sometimes focused on “making miles.” I vowed to work on finding more balance in all areas of my life, on or off the trail. I want to remember that it is okay to sometimes focus on reaching the end goal as long as I also take time to notice the gifts and beauty in the present moment as well.

As I thought about how much I enjoyed feeling my body I felt sad that so many people seem to have lost the connection to their physical body moving in space. We are trained at an early age to move away from feeling pain through sugary treats or drugs. We force young children to sit still when they want to be moving their bodies. Before Covid hit we were encouraged to go to work even when we were sick. Much of the food industry has created foods with certain fat, sugar and salt ratios to fool our brains into eating more even when our bodies have had enough. People learn to distance from a body society tells them is the wrong color, shape or gender. So many people have experienced traumas, causing really deep bodily disconnects. Staying connected to how my body feels is one reason I seldom take pain killing drugs. I want to be sure I listen to what the pain is trying to tell me and not push too far beyond it into a place of permanent bodily damage.

Knowing that many water sources along the trail had dried up due to severe drought conditions, Christal left water for me at spots where the trail crossed a road. With the temperatures in the nineties and the humidity really high I was sweating much more than usual and was grateful for these water caches. This allowed me to drink plenty as I hiked. I even spared a few precious drops to wash the caked-on salt off my sweaty face. This felt like such a luxury and I was reminded how trail living helps me appreciate small things even more.

As evening approached I found a place I could camp for the night. After I set up my tent I set about cooking dinner. It had started to rain and I broke a cardinal rule of hiking; I cut corners when setting up my stove. As a result it was a bit shaky and long before the water was boiling my pot fell off the stove. I lost a precious quart of water. Rather than taking too much time admonishing myself, I sent a grateful prayer into the night, knowing that trail angels had left water for me not too far away. I would leave camp dry but it would not be long before I reached water. I divvied up the remaining water I had with me, leaving out just over a cupful for breakfast. I steadied my stove and poured the remaining three cups into the pot. I would not have a full cup of tea but I still had plenty to rehydrated my dinner. Life was good enough. After downing my meal I snuggled into my tent for a well earned rest.