5/5/23 - Friday Forget-Me-Nots by Jim Silcott

Photo Caption: Our Wonderful Mass Cantors

Dear Our Lady of Peace Family,

In 1975 there was a guy walking the Appalachian Trail at the same time that I was hiking. I’d have to look back on my old journals to remember his name, but he was a professor at the University of Connecticut.

The year before, the year of my high school graduation, this man had set the speed record for walking the entire 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine in about 45 days. In the mid-seventies only about 60 people had walked the entire trail in its then 40-year history. These were the days before Bill Bryson wrote his book about the trail which popularized it and the use of trail names. It was in the days before cell phones and a lot of trail food options and trail angels who would arrange to pick hikers up. In those days you stuck your thumb out to hitchhike into a town or village, use the payphone to call home, arrange for mail to be delivered marked “general delivery” to the local post office and grab a cheap motels for a shower and a bed for the night.

But I digress. My goodness, this was almost 50 years ago. Anyway, this professor had set the record, an unbelievable pace for a hike through the mountains. In May of 1975 he was back on the trail with a group of students from U. Conn and he was attempting to go at the same rapid pace with about 18 coeds.

I had also begun at Springer Mountain, the beginning point of the trail, in May of 1975. My adventures were many and varied and I met a lot of great and interesting people. I heard about the professor and his group through the shelter log books, the internet of its day and, because they were going on such a furious pace I only ran into them once.

The first thing I noticed about them were their ski poles. I had not seen or heard of people using ski poles to assist them over the rocky paths, but apparently the professor had started this trend which is still popular today. The second thing I saw was that their packs were incredibly light. How could they walk 2000 miles with no sleeping bags, tents or at least a week’s worth of provisions?

As the group passed me on the narrow trail indicated by the famous painted blue rectangles painted sporadically on trees along the way, it was like they were sports car doing ninety down the freeway. There is not much room to pass on the trail. Usually this wasn’t a problem as you would only occasionally run into one or two or three hikers coming up behind you or from the opposite direction. You would usually stop for a moment or two, exchange pleasantries, and ask about how they were doing. If you were going in opposite directions, you might ask about the trail ahead or the conditions of the next camping area.

Not this group. They were in a hurry, and I, with my overstuffed pack, was in their way. Even though I was their age, 18 at the time, they had no words or smiles for me. They were in a zone within a bubble that was clearly not designed to stop and smell the roses or take in the scenery. In minutes they had left me behind and I was grateful for my return to solitude.



That evening, sharing a lean-to shelter with about 4 other hikers, the topic of this group came up. It was then that I found out that the UConn group walked far enough each evening that they would hit a road where vans were there to give them their provisions. That is why their packs were so small and light.

I don’t know where they camped for the night, but it must not have been too far from their vehicles.

We who were solo hikers who carried everything we needed to survive on our backs regarded this group with disdain, especially because they seemed as if, while they were doing what we were, they were doing it for all the wrong reasons. I must admit that I also felt a tinge of jealousy as I rubbed my aching shoulders and boiled some macaroni for dinner.

Looking back nearly half a century later my judgement has mellowed. I am sure that the professor and his minions were nice people, and this was a class they were taking for credit. Like me they are all in their sixties now. I hope that their memories are rich as mine are.

I take a valuable lesson in hindsight from this encounter. First, don’t judge people about the journeys they are on. We are all at different places for different reasons. Appreciate the encounters, however brief, with those whom you come in contact, whether it be on the trail or a grocery store or in church. Our lives can be enriched by everyone we meet.

I am proud of my journey through the mountains in 1975 and cherish the memories of the experiences I had and the people I met, even if was only for a moment as they whizzed past me on the narrow path heading north towards Maine.

Jim Silcott