#40 Sometimes the Trail Becomes the Story
Reservoir Road to Port Clinton, PA (Southbound)
6.73 Miles | 1,287′ Gain | 1,077′ Descent
Every person you meet is carrying a story you’ll never forget… if you take the time to listen.
When we planned this Pennsylvania section, today was supposed to be a 15-mile day.
Mother Nature had other plans.
A band of storms rolled through this morning, with more thunderstorms predicted for the afternoon. Katie and I studied our maps and elevation profiles last night and realized that today’s route naturally divided into two challenging sections at Reservoir Road. Knowing the climbs on both sides looked steep, we made what felt like the smartest decision: split the day in half and hike south on the southern section today.
Sometimes the best trail decision isn’t about sticking to the original plan.
It’s about adapting.
It’s about respecting the mountain.
It’s about respecting the weather.
And sometimes, it’s about giving yourself permission to choose wisdom over mileage.
As it turned out, we received one of those quiet gifts the trail occasionally offers.
Not one drop of rain.
The storms held off, and I found myself grateful for something I had absolutely no control over.
Those gifts always seem to mean the most.
When Life Imitates the Book You’re Reading
Yesterday, mid-hike, I finished my previous audiobook and started listening to Theo of Golden by Allen Levi.
I honestly wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
Without giving away the beauty or mystery of the story, the novel is centered around something remarkably simple: taking time to truly see people. It reminds us that every stranger has a story, that listening is a gift, and that ordinary encounters can quietly change us.
As I listened while hiking today, something strange happened.
The line between the book and the Appalachian Trail began to blur.
Every time we met someone on the trail, it felt like another page had come alive.
The people weren’t characters.
But they could have been.
Quebec
The first person we met was a gentleman we’ll simply call Quebec.
He looked surprisingly fresh and clean, which made sense once he shared his story.
He and his wife had started their thru-hike together in Georgia. They made it all the way to Boiling Springs, PA (not too far south of here) before she decided to head home. Rather than continuing immediately, he drove her all the way back to Quebec, rented a car, returned to Pennsylvania, and resumed his journey.
His Canadian accent carried warmth and kindness, but underneath it was something every married person recognizes.
He missed his wife.
It wasn’t the Pennsylvania rocks.
It wasn’t the climbs.
It wasn’t the miles.
The hardest part of his journey was simply missing the person he wished was beside him.
I understood that immediately.
I miss my husband too.
There are moments on this trail when I wish he were standing beside me to see the views, laugh at the ridiculous rocks, say he is going to bury me in one of the ditches on the side of the trail (jokingly most of the the time), or simply share the silence.
We wished Quebec well before he continued north and we headed south.
I hope he finishes.
But even more than that, I hope he gets home to his wife.
King of Zero’s and Nebula
A little later we met two hikers who instantly made us laugh.
King of Zero’s (formerly known as New York) and Nebula.
They stepped aside during a climb to let us pass, although Katie and I always move off the trail for thru-hikers anyway.
Within minutes we were all joking like old friends.
They had only met the day before but had spent the night hiking together… a sentence that sounds completely strange anywhere except on the Appalachian Trail.
Out here, that’s simply what happens.
Yesterday’s stranger becomes today’s trail family.
King of Zero’s proudly explained his trail name.
He started his thru-hike on January 1st, registered as the official AT Hangtag badge #1 for the Class of 2026. Along the way he’d apparently developed a reputation for never passing up a hotel and embracing plenty of “zero” days (which on the AT mean, you took the day off).
He laughed at himself before anyone else could.
We couldn’t stop teasing him.
He also shared that he had attempted a thru-hike back in 2024. Like so many hikers, this wasn’t just one journey, it was another chance to chase a dream.
Nebula, on the other hand, grew up in northern Pennsylvania and is section hiking, just like we are. He shared that his family loves giving back to hikers and is planning trail magic about fifty miles north of us on July 12th.
Then he casually mentioned that they also enjoy cowboy camping.
I looked over at Katie with big eyes.
Should I ask?
Of course I was going to ask.
Apparently, cowboy camping means sleeping outside without a tent… just you, your sleeping bag, and the stars overhead.
While that sounds absolutely magical, I have to admit I’ll happily continue sleeping in a hotel and buying my 6 inch Subway sandwich. Pennsylvania has already introduced me to enough spiders, bugs, and snakes to know exactly where my comfort zone ends.
Different backgrounds.
Different hiking styles.
Same trail.
The Appalachian Trail has a remarkable way of making differences disappear while stories become what matter most.
A Familiar Face
As we descended, okay… let’s be honest… slid down the mountain toward Port Clinton, we ran into a familiar face.
We had met him on our very first day of this trip.
He’s originally from West Virginia and now lives in North Carolina.
He was all smiles because he had finally received the package he’d been waiting for.
Yesterday he had reached Port Clinton only to discover the post office was closed for the entire week.
His resupply package was trapped inside.
You could hear the disappointment when he told us.
But instead of giving up, he kept making phone calls until someone at the local town office directed him to nearby the Hamburg Post Office, where a wonderful postal employee had arranged to get his package to him.
His persistence met someone else’s kindness.
Problem solved.
It was such a simple reminder that sometimes the answer isn’t giving up.
Sometimes it’s making one more phone call.
A Trail Name in the Making
One more thing became increasingly obvious today.
Katie may have accidentally earned her trail name.
A few days ago, after climbing over what felt like hundreds of downed trees, she jokingly called herself Wettbutt after one particularly graceful log crossing. I thought that was absolutely perfect.
But after today’s hike, I think we may have discovered a better one.
Oh Dear.
Yes… Dear, not Deer.
Because every single time we spotted a deer, everything stopped.
Katie would quietly start talking to it, slowly pull out her phone, take pictures, admire it from every angle, and if we’d stayed long enough, I think she might have tried painting its toenails.
I’ve never met anyone so completely captivated by an animal that regularly runs in front of cars back home.
Her excitement made me smile every single time.
The trail has a funny way of reminding us to slow down and notice the little things. While I was listening to stories in my audiobook, Katie was finding joy in every deer that crossed our path.
I’m not sure if the name will stick.
But for now…
Oh Dear seems pretty fitting.
The Book and the Trail Became One
As the miles passed today, I found myself pausing the audiobook over and over, not because I wasn’t enjoying it, but because the people we were meeting deserved my full attention.
Then something dawned on me.
The trail wasn’t interrupting the story.
The trail was the story.
Every conversation.
Every laugh.
Every shared mile.
Every goodbye.
They all felt like chapters.
By the end of the day, I could hardly tell where Theo of Golden ended and the Appalachian Trail began.
Maybe that’s because both remind us of the same truth.
Life isn’t measured only by where we’re going.
It’s measured by who we meet along the way.
The Appalachian Trail has a funny way of making strangers feel familiar.
Maybe it’s because everyone is carrying the same weight (yet different), climbing the same mountains, chasing the same dream.
Or maybe it’s because, when distractions disappear, we finally have time to do something that’s becoming increasingly rare.
We stop.
We listen.
We really see one another.
Tomorrow we’ll shoulder our packs again.
We’ll climb more mountains.
We’ll probably say a few more bad words about Pennsylvania rocks.
We’ll laugh a little more.
Maybe I’ll learn another piece of trail vocabulary.
Maybe Katie will stop to introduce herself to another deer.
And if today is any indication, we’ll meet a few more people whose stories will quietly become part of our own.
Because sometimes the greatest gift the trail gives us isn’t the view from the summit.
It’s the people we never expected to meet.
And perhaps that’s why Theo of Golden has resonated so deeply with me. Both the book and the Appalachian Trail remind us that extraordinary lives aren’t built only through extraordinary adventures. They’re built one conversation, one act of kindness, one unexpected friendship, and one shared story at a time.
Here are some more pictures and some of Katie’s Deer Friends, in case you’ve never seen a deer before (LOL):
