What it’s like to spend the coronavirus pandemic hiking the Appalachian Trail
K era Pass an te and Bill W el ch were just 19 days into the journey of their lifetimes — hiking the Appalachian Trail from Georgia toMaine — when the pandemic’s shadowfell across their path.
The Chester County, Pa., couple, both of whom are experienced hikers, prepared for more than a year tomake the nearly 2,200-mile, 14-state trek. InFebruary, theymoved out of their Malvern apartment, put their stuff in storage, and arranged leaves of absence fromwork. After flying to Atlanta March 3, they arrived at the trailhead the next day and started what they hopedwould be an extraordinary experience.
It’s been all that and then some. An urgent notice posted onlineMarch 23 by theAppalachian Trail Conservancy implored “thru-hikers” and day hikers alike: Please stay off the Appalachian Trail. The conservancy warned of infection risks among hike rs using facilities along the route, and to hikers and others patronizing off-trail businesses. The website has since been updated with an advisory for those who are using the storied footpath as restrictions have eased in some areas.
“We heard about (the March 23warning) a fewdays later when we went into Hot Springs, N.C., to resupply,” recalled Passante, 32, a therapist and yoga instructorwho grew up in Kennett Square. “We made a pros and cons list. We ran through scenarios and every possible decision. We talked to our families and our friends. We talked about it for days.”
Like others among an estimated several hundred thruhikers already en route in March, the pair decided to push on. Welch and Passante are taking precautions: sleeping in their tent (aka the “cuddle cave”) instead of in shelters, sanitizing, wearingmasks whenoffthe trail, andspacing
those resupply missions over seven — rather than three or four — days.
“It actually easesmy mind a lot that she’s safe on the trail and away from the pandemic ,” said Passante’s mother, Sandi. “It’s the safest place she could be at this time.”
Last week, expecting to reach th et rail’ s northern terminusa top Mount Kat ah din no later than the end of August, the couple said they’re glad to have stayed the course. They’ re grateful for what hikers call “trail magic” — the physical, emotional, and even spiritual experience of simultaneously going deep into the American wilderness, and oneself. And they want to figure out away to help others, including less advantaged individuals, have that experience.
“Wewant to tell a story that inspires others, not because we are hiking 2,200miles, but because nomatter howmany obstacles … there’s always a way,” said Passante.
“You can have a dream, and you can accomplish it,” saidWelch, a 34-year-old auto detailer fromWest Chester. “I really don’t think therewas a timewhenwe thought, ‘This is too hard, and we want to go home.’”
The two meta ta rock-climbinggym in Coat es ville five years ago; their roots in the Philly region have earned them the trail nick names Always( W el ch) and Sunny (Passante). Fewer hikers means fewer chances for the serendipitous camaraderiethat’ s integral to“AT” culture. But Passante andWelch
have made friends and been embraced by so-called trail angels who live near certain landmarks and are knownfor giving hikers shelter or sustenance.
Despite some social media pushback against those who resistedwarnings to leave the trail, in the real world “people have been so generous, and so kind,” said Passante.
More than 600 people are following the couple’s adventure on Facebook, including members of the Philly cycling community likemusic therapist Aileen Elizabeth Bunch of Collingswood.
“What a lifeline (Passante and Welch) have been for a lot of us who are cooped up here,” said Bunch. “Seeing them pop up inmy news feed givesme hope. At a time of so muchnegativity, it’samazingto see them living their dream.”
An up lifting outlook certainlydoes pervade their Facebook,
Instagram, and other social media postings, where vivid photos of breathtaking vistas, exquisiteflora, unusual fauna (a young bull moose), and exuberant faces predominate. But the two also have encountered snow, hail, ice, unexpected rain, and fog so dense it utterly shrouded legendary scenery they’d looked forward to seeing.
“It’s not all bonfires and s’mores,” Welch said. “Much of the time you’re walking through what hikers call the green tunnel. You’re walking for miles and miles on a path that’s a foot wide and overgrown and surrounded by green.
“At other times you’ re walking straight up sheer rock faces. We’ve had paved surfaces under our feet, or miles of boulders, sometimesswamps, and sometimes mud.”
At other times, however, Welch and Passante have enjoyedbeauty sosublime, air so pure, rushingwater so crystalline thatwords and images can’t fully convey. Spending hour after hour, day after day in the company of one’s partner, and oneself, has away of putting even a pandemic into perspective.
“I don’t feel like we’ve hit ‘pause,’” Passante said. “I feel like we’ve hit ‘play.’ It doesn’t feel like an escape out here. It feels like we are living fully.”
Said W el ch :“Now is the time tomove forward and push on — not to go back towhat was.”