Appalachian Trail

By Jeff Santos

Discover the thrilling journey of a fearless Brazilian who embarked on an incredible odyssey across the United States. In Appalachian Trail: walking across the United States , you will be transported into the captivating adventure of a determined man who walked the challenging 3,540 kilometers of this legendary trail, spanning 14 American states. Prepare to marvel at the wild beauty of the natural landscapes the author encountered with every step. From majestic mountain peaks to picturesque valleys, you will be immersed in a unique and unforgettable journey. Follow along as he ventures through lush forests, crosses rushing rivers, and faces the whims of nature. But this is not just a story about nature. In Appalachian Trail: walking across the United States , you will delve into the depths of human emotions, standing by the protagonist as he encounters wildlife, from deer sightings to tense moments with bears. You will feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as he confronts unexpected challenges and discovers his own inner strength.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clube de Autores
• Release date: Aug 20, 2023

Book preview

APPALACHIAN TRAIL:

Walking Across the United States

Jeff Santos

APPALACHIAN TRAIL

Walking Across the United States

© 2023 Jeff Santos

Cover: Naked Hiking Day, 2017

Picture: Jeff Santos

1st Edition - August/23

All rights reserved.

Reproduction prohibited.

www.longadistancia.com

@distancialonga

To Jade and Lis

AUTHOR'S NOTE

First of all, thank you for purchasing this book. It recounts my experience hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2017. I relied on my diary, as well as photos, videos, and notes, to recall the events and stories. However, I altered some proper names to preserve the identity of the characters.

Several individuals and companies were essential from the moment I decided to embark on this journey. I have to express my gratitude to everyone who spent a few minutes voting for the video I produced for The Badger Sponsorship contest.

Without the prize, I wouldn't have been able to acquire the equipment I used throughout the entire trail. Thank you all. I also want to thank Zack Davis, the entire team at The Trek website, and the sponsors of the promotion: Big Agnes, Gossamer Gear, REI, Therm-a-rest, Altra, Wigwam Socks, Injinji Socks, Granite Gear, Sawyer, CLIF Bars, PROBAR, and Good To-Go Meals. Andrea and Cabral from Outono Studio for the Gyrotonic sessions. Ziller, for the contacts and inspiration.

Pedro Lacaz for top-notch equipment. Gui, Luiz, and the entire Spot Brasil team for their trust. Elias Luiz and Extremos, for the conversations and promotion. Ana Tereza, who was always in the right place at the right time. Ingrid, Yoav, and all the other angels for their support. Wash Bear, Senator, GI Jane, Dancing Bear, and the entire Class of 2017. My family, too numerous to be named individually here. Henrique and Tati, for helping me hold the fort. Lastly, I wouldn't have taken the first step without the unwavering support of my wife and partner. Ale, I love you.

" After a day's walk , everything has twice its usual value."

George Macauley Trevelyan

APPALACHIAN TRAIL – WALKING ACROSS THE UNITED STATES

PROLOGUE

**April 12, 2017**

A few years ago, I received a message from a friend: Hey, Jeff, why is your name on Interpol's most wanted list? I thought it was a joke, but I still went to the international police website and clicked on the Wanted Persons link. Then, I selected Brazil

under nationalities. In the extensive list that appeared, among murderers, drug traffickers, and politicians, there was my name.

There was no photo, and personal details such as height or date of birth were different from mine, but the name, without a doubt, was correct, spelled out in full: Jefferson Carlos dos Santos. I – or rather, he – was wanted for murder.

This explained why I was constantly detained during trips abroad.

I was already familiar with the holding rooms of some airports in the United States and Canada. I was also questioned by the Brazilian Federal Police at airports, but until that moment, no one had explained the reason to me. I concluded that it must be the fault of my namesake.

I wrote a letter to Interpol's central office in Paris, explaining the misunderstanding. I included certified copies of my identity card, passport, and certificates of no criminal record from both the civil and military police. After a few weeks, I received an official letter on letterhead paper, with an apology and a certificate stating that the person sought was not me. It was this document that I carried with me on all my international trips since then.

Therefore, it was no surprise when the immigration officer in Miami began asking me more questions than usual. It must be the namesake issue, I thought. I calmly answered all of her questions.

I had nothing to hide, and if the situation started to get complicated, I could just pull out the letter right there. When she asked me how long I planned to stay in the country, just like with all the other questions, I told the truth: Five months. I plan to hike the Appalachian Trail.

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It wasn't the answer she expected to hear. She lifted her eyes from the computer screen and looked at me, Five months? And how much money do you have? Where are you going to stay all that time? You said you're going to hike? Do you have any documents to prove that? I tried to explain that no kind of registration was required to hike the trail and that it was a quite popular route, with thousands of people attempting to complete those 2,200 miles every year. But to her – just like to most of the people I had talked to until that point – it didn't make sense for someone to spend all that time walking.

The officer set my passport aside, and before I could present the letter I had with me, she asked me to step aside. She handed my passport to a guard who had been standing motionless beside her until then. He walked away, taking my hopes of resolving the situation right then and there with him. Here we go again, back to the detention room, I thought.

The people behind me in the immigration line continued to pass by as I waited. After a few minutes, the guard returned. He handed the passport back to the officer, who called me over, Sir, you are welcome, she said.

I thanked her, collected my documents, crossed the yellow line, and entered the country. I didn't know what the guard did when he left, but I imagined him sitting in front of a computer, typing

Appalachian Trail into the search bar of some random browser, and reading that yes, there was a trail of over 2,000 miles that cuts through the eastern coast of the United States, requiring five months of hiking, and that in that year, a Brazilian would attempt to cover that distance on foot.

***

Before officially starting, I needed to leave Miami, where I was facing immigration issues, and reach Jacksonville, also located in the state of Florida. My friends Ingrid, Yoav, and their daughter Laura lived there, which is why I chose the city as my base of operations during the hike. I rented a car at the airport and drove a few hours north.

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APPALACHIAN TRAIL – WALKING ACROSS THE UNITED STATES

Upon arrival, I was greeted by dozens of boxes in my name in the family garage. They were the prizes from the Badger Sponsorship contest. As a finalist in the promotion and with the help of 1,895

online votes, I had won a significant portion of the equipment I would need. I spent the next three days unpacking the shipments, testing the equipment in the backyard, and purchasing what was still missing. I prepared eight packages with supplies and left them addressed, along with instructions to be sent later to the cities I would pass through. In addition to extra food and socks, I placed some cash inside the boxes.

Furthermore, I dedicated my time to reflect on what led me to embark on that trail. Unlike many Americans who hike the path, this was not a longstanding dream for me. I had only heard of the Appalachian Trail (or AT, as it's known) a little over a year ago. I had already walked almost 1,200 miles in Brazil, and during my journey along the Estrada Real (na historical route in my origin state) in 2016, I had considered the possibility of taking an even larger walk, closer to nature and with the opportunity to camp. I researched a few options, and the AT seemed perfect to me: it required relatively simple planning, maintained a certain proximity to cities, which I liked, but at the same time, it would force me to camp daily for months.

Before getting there, I tirelessly read about the route on websites, blogs, and forums on the internet. I acquired some books about hiking. I hiked up and down the hills of Belo Horizonte with my fully packed backpack, simulating the weight I would carry. However, until that moment, I hadn't spoken to anyone who had already walked that path. And there, three days before starting my challenge, Yoav shared stories of the AT, which he had known for decades since he had worked at a summer camp near it.

I intended to begin the hike on April 15, 2017. On my last day in Florida, I packed away the items I wouldn't need into the suitcase I had used during the trip and left it in the garage, with the promise to retrieve it in a few months. I prepared my backpack and checked all the items I was carrying. That's when I realized I had lost the printed guide, which contained the route map and the locations of shelters and water points. I had accidentally left it at the car rental 15

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counter in Miami. Oh well, I thought. I have a copy on my phone, and that will be enough.

The next morning, I drove another 350 miles to Atlanta, in the state of Georgia. I was about to take the first steps on the trail.

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Starting is always difficult. And in the case of the Appalachian Trail, I'm not just referring to the planning, preparation, and training required to hike a 2,200 miles trail. Even reaching the starting point isn't easy: it's north of Atlanta, in the state of Georgia, between the small towns of Ellijay (with a population of approximately 1,584

residents) and Dahlonega (with around 6,884 estimated residents in 2018).

After an international flight, driving from Miami to Jacksonville, and then to Atlanta, I returned the rental car I had booked. I had made the online reservation for just five dollars a day, but when settling the bill, I discovered I hadn't read the small print of the contract: insurance, return fees, and taxes were not included in the quoted price. The final cost ended up being almost thirty times more expensive.

I was at the rental agency at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and from there, I took the local subway to North Springs, the last station on the red line. Another 45 minutes of transportation, and the trail still seemed distant.

As soon as I arrived at the station, I called the hostel where I had made a reservation. For $85, in addition to staying overnight in the accommodation, they would also pick me up from the subway and take me to the trailhead the next day. Since it's already late, we don't have any more cars available, but we've requested an Uber for you, they said. Go to the parking lot and meet another hiker who is coming here. The driver will find you both there. It was easy to identify my fellow hiker: a tall, slim guy with a green backpack, standing out among the few people at the station. Andriy had Ukrainian heritage but lived in Brooklyn, New York. I introduced myself to him, and as we waited for the car, he excitedly shared details of the sections of the Appalachian Trail he had hiked in his state as part of his training.

Are you guys headed to the Hiker Hostel? a driver asked us as he parked next to us. Nicolas, a Brazilian soccer fan, drove and

JEFF SANTOS

engaged in friendly conversation with us. We were driving north on US-19 highway, leaving behind buildings first, then houses. We had been on the road for over an hour when he remarked, The previous passenger asked me what the farthest distance I've ever driven to pick up a passenger was. I think I have an answer now,

he said, as he left the asphalt and took a dirt road. It was already nighttime when we arrived at our destination.

The Hiker Hostel was a two-story wooden house, with a front porch, a spacious living room, and several rooms with bunk beds, all occupied by eager hikers ready to start the trail the next morning.

***

The official start of the Appalachian Trail is at the summit of Springer Mountain, a 3782-feet-high peak in the Chattahoochee National Forest. You can't reach it by car: from the road, you need a 4x4 vehicle to reach the parking lot in the park. From that point, you have to hike four kilometers in the opposite direction of the trail, from north to south, just to reach the starting marker, and then you have to walk the same path back.

Due to this logistics, some hikers choose to include the approach trail in their itinerary. Stretching for 8.6 miles, the Approach Trail starts at the Amicalola Falls State Park headquarters. On that day, among the 15 guests having breakfast at the Hiker Hostel, five of us, including myself and Andriy, along with a German and two Americans, were planning to hike this trail. A van from the hostel would take us to the park entrance, which would take about half an hour.

Amicalola Falls had good visitor facilities, with an information center about the area, a souvenir shop, well-maintained bathrooms, a stone arch marking the start of the approach trail, and a water pump where I filled my bottles. I stood by the pumping device, trying to fill the bottles, but I wasn't having much success. That's when another hiker approached me and said, You do know that's not a pump, right? I actually didn't know. To me, it looked like a pump, exactly like the ones I had seen in movies and cartoons.

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APPALACHIAN TRAIL – WALKING ACROSS THE UNITED STATES

That's a thawing device. You don't need to pump; you just need to lift the lever... he explained, then walked away. I realized that even before officially starting the trail, I was learning something new with every moment.

When I reached the arch, I let the rest of the group go ahead of me.

In the meantime, I chatted with Mary, a volunteer from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, the organization responsible for managing the trail. Sitting in a plastic chair, with a table in front of her, she recorded the names and hometowns of travelers.

According to her records, that year, 1,808 people had started their journey there. She estimated that another 1,500 had started at Springer Mountain. All were attempting to reach the state of Maine.

However, statistics showed that only 20% of these people would achieve that goal. I wanted to be among that 20%.

I passed through the arch at half past nine in the morning and, after about ten minutes of easy walking, I encountered a staircase with 604 steps. Amicalola is a waterfall with a height of 728 feet. Its name, of Cherokee origin, means exactly that: Waterfall. The metal staircase, ergonomic and with a handrail, ascended parallel to the waterfall. It was the first major physical challenge of the trail.

Slowly, I met up with the other group members who had reached the same point as me. First, the German, sitting on one of the steps, already with blisters on his feet. Then, the two Americans, both complaining of fatigue. Before completing the 8,6 miles of the Approach Trail, I crossed paths with Andriy talking to another hiker.

Let him pass, because this guy walks about 30 miles a day, he joked. I had told him that the previous year I had covered the 750

miles of the Estrada Real in 31 days. I'm taking it easy today, I replied.

The starting marker of the Appalachian Trail is a simple bronze plaque embedded in a rock. With the figure of a hiker, it displays the inscription, Appalachian Trail – Georgia to Maine. A foothpath for those who seek fellowship with the wilderness. Next to the plaque, painted on the rock, is the first of many white markings that serve as trail signs, known as white blazes. I had arrived there just after one in the afternoon. That was my goal for the day, but a sign nailed to a tree caught my attention: "Caution, hikers! Due to a recent bear incident, camping at the top of Springer Mountain is 19

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not recommended. There is a shelter with water and bear cables just ahead."

It seems better to keep walking, I thought. I passed the parking lot, then the shelter, and then another one. It was nearly five in the evening when I reached a camping area. At the entrance, a forest ranger rested in a hammock, providing information to tourists. The place seemed full. I asked where I could set up my tent. She answered, Walk about 100 feet down, and you'll see some platforms. There are still a few spots available down there. I commented, You've got a great job, don't you? Relaxing in a hammock, in the shade, talking to strangers... She replied, That's what you see. Half an hour ago, I was burying someone else's feces...

I was at Hawk Mountain Campsite. The site had about 30

designated spots, open side by side on the slope of a hill leading to a stream. I found the first available spot I saw and set up my tent.

It was my first time camping. But this routine would repeat daily for the next months: hike all day, find a safe spot, set up the tent, inflate the sleeping pad, change out of sweaty clothes into clean sleep clothes, take care of my feet, get water and filter it, prepare dinner, hang the food, find a spot to dig a hole for necessities, and only then could I relax, write, and plan the next day. In the morning, I had to pack up camp and put everything back into my backpack.

But on that first night, I didn't need to hang the food because I could store it in one of the large metal boxes, similar to freezers, known as bear boxes, that were available there. And that night, I didn't need to worry about digging a hole for necessities either, as there was a pit toilet at the campsite. These were small luxuries that I learned to appreciate more and more each day.

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16 – 32

For much of my life, I considered myself an urban person. I enjoyed buildings, being surrounded by people, and nightlife. That's why I left Divinópolis, a small town in the interior of Minas Gerais where I was born. I felt like I didn't fit in there. Like any teenager, I thought I knew what was best for me: I took the first civil service exam I could sign up for (I was 16), I passed, and that's how I moved to a bigger city - Juiz de Fora, with just over 300,000 inhabitants.

Away from my family, living in poor conditions, and working in something I didn't enjoy, I spent some of the worst years of my life there. If I had discovered the pleasure of hiking, of being in nature, during my teenage years, things wouldn't have reached that point.

And there I was, almost 5,000 miles away from home, camping in the woods for the first time in my life...

Despite my inexperience, I didn't have a bad night. And if I wanted to, I could have chosen not to camp: although not recommended, it's possible to hike the entire 2,200 miles trail without carrying a tent. There are hundreds of shelters along the way. Most of these shelters are simple, made of wooden logs, with a raised floor, walls for wind protection, and a roof to shield from rain. On average, there is a shelter every 8 miles - totaling 260 shelters along the trail.

Like the camping area where I spent the night, many of them are located near water sources and have restrooms.

However, staying in the shelters wasn't what I was aiming for.

When I decided to hike, I planned to camp whenever possible, even though I had never done it before. Up until that point, the closest experience I had was two months ago when I set up my newly-purchased tent in my sister's backyard in the area of Ibitipoca State Park. My three-year-old granddaughter, Lis, joined me in that

adventure and left her mark: a sour milk smell that I still felt on that first night alone. Could this also attract bears? I wondered.

On my second day, I set out early and hiked again until late afternoon. Along the way, in the Blood Mountain Wilderness area, I counted the mountains I passed: Sassafras, Justus, Ramrock, Big Cedar. I also passed by two shelters where I could have stayed, but 21

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once again, I chose to camp. I picked a spot near Lance Creek - it