Words and Photos by Izzy Tonneson @izzytonneson
Friends and family often ask me, “What’s your favorite part about thru-hiking?” usually trying to wrap their heads around why I’d commit to something as demanding as a Calendar Year Triple Crown. The CYTC spans 7,944 miles across 22 states and includes the Pacific Crest Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Appalachian Trail. Is it the physical challenge? The mental grit? The solitude? My answer is always the same: it’s the people.
Ask anyone who’s spent months living on trail, and they’ll tell you the same thing. The community is what makes it. When I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail southbound in 2022, I didn’t fall into a classic “trail family” the way many northbounders do. Southbounders tend to be a rarer breed, spread thinner across the miles. But even without a tightly knit crew, the trail introduced me to some of the most meaningful friendships of my life.
Before I was a thru-hiker, I was a trip leader. My introduction to trail came through my college’s freshman year orientation program, where I led three-day backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail in Maine. I was one of about 150 student leaders guiding first-years through river crossings, up 4,000 footers, and over Grafton Notch State Park’s infamous high alpine bogs. After my first year as a trip leader, I joined the Committee, a smaller group of students responsible for leading training trips and mentoring other leaders. All of this eventually led to my role this past summer as the program’s co-coordinator. It was through the outdoor orientation program that I first realized that the wilderness brings people together in ways nothing else quite can.
My favorite trip by far was my senior year training trip through the Mahoosuc Notch, often referred to as the “hardest mile of the Appalachian Trail.” Although, we didn’t actually make it far enough to do the Notch. We had to turn around after the first night because our tarps (likely not replaced since the 80s) soaked through in a storm. It was like trying to stay dry under a very determined paper towel. After a night of almost no sleep, we took to the grim task of packing up ourselves and our gear entirely soaked. Have you ever had to wring your down sleeping bag out like a sponge? Foul. Should be a war crime.
Our new plan had us turning around and modifying our trip to be an out-and-back. On the return, the high alpine bogs just south of the Notch had flooded, turning the trail into bowls of muddy soup. The boardwalks, once offering passage, were now submerged beneath the water.
One by one, most of us fell victim to the bog, consumed like sacrifices. One trip leader slipped in waist-deep and reemerged looking like a human half-dipped in bog fondue. Another got fully stuck– suctioned in so tightly that we had to wedge a log beneath him just to pop him out like a cork from a wine bottle (tragedy pictured below).
To an onlooker, it would seem that our trip “failed.” We did not stick to our initial itinerary and learned the hard way that our gear was ill-suited to the conditions. But what an outsider would not be able to see is that despite the miserable conditions, everyone bonded. I don't think I've ever laughed as hard as I did during those three days. In preparation for the trip, one girl had gone to Walmart and purchased a pack of bubble glasses for everyone to wear while hiking which immediately set the unserious and silly tone. From there, every mishap became part of the fun, every bog dunk another excuse to laugh.
After returning to campus a day early, we pivoted. In my friend’s apartment, we made momos from scratch, a type of steamed dumpling popular in Nepal. Thus began our tradition of having group dinners, which continued well after the training trip ended. To me, the real “success” of that trip lay in how well everyone fully showed up for each other, pitched in, stayed positive, and invested in the group even when things went sideways. To this day, we are all still friends.
Periodically, in our text group chat, someone will send a picture of a bog they come across, a reminder of the hilarity and chaos we shared knee-deep in the muck. That lesson stays with me. Any uncomfortable situation can become enjoyable in good company.
As I set out on my Calendar Year Triple Crown, I know that I will find myself in plenty of figurative (but I won’t rule out the possibility of literal) bogs. But I also know that the trail has introduced me to the kind of people who make even the worst days unforgettable. Whatever lies ahead, I know I won’t be walking through it alone.
Izzy's kit for a Calendar Year Triple Crown
