I was stumbling around in the middle of the night, lost in a wicked snowstorm on the Appalachian Trail and all I could see with my headlamp was a wall of white. I knew an A.T. shelter was a mile through the woods and the interstate was five miles in the other direction, but I was blinded by the snow. I pictured myself hiking in circles, eventually curling up in a ball like the man from the famous Jack London story.
My death would be humiliating, considering I was only seven miles from the nearest Waffle House. I never should’ve believed the farmer and his bean jar, I thought.
Do It: Predict the Weather (No App Required)
You’re deep into a long hike and the clouds start rolling in. This is how you interpret the signs—all on your own.
By: Graham Averill