By Carl Stanfield

(Carl Stanfield, manager of our Inverness store, graduated from Brevard College with a degree in Wilderness Leadership and Experiential Education. He has accumulated about 5,000 miles of backpacking experience, thru-hiking the Appalachian and Pacific Crest trails. he is also a certified Leave No Trace educator.)

It’s early August in the summer of 2011. In a few weeks, I’ll be moving to Brevard, N.C., to begin my first semester of college. Over the last year and a half, I have been collecting gear and dreaming of adventure. And now, before beginning the next phase of my life, I’m finally embarking on my very first backpacking trip.

My dad and I have been looking forward to this all summer. I’ve got all the gear I need, and he has been able to borrow some from a coworker. Dad bought the maps and done the research: we’ll be heading into the Smoky Mountains for what will be the first backpacking trip for either of us. Nothing too elaborate: roughly 30 miles from Fontana Dam up to Clingman’s Dome along the Appalachian Trail over three days. 

We do the best we can packing: We definitely won’t run out of food, get cold, sweat through all our towels, or read through all of the books we brought, but we also won’t say we forgot anything at home. 

We’re up early the morning of our trip, stopping for one last fast-food indulgence before starting what will be a long day of hiking. We secure our permits from the visitor center, and then we’re off on the trail.

Light hearts, heavy packs

Even though our packs are weighing us down, our spirits high: I’m positively bounding up the trail, excited to finally be trying out this sport I’ve been eagerly reading about for years. But all of that energy only lasts for so long …

As it turns out, there’s a reason that backpacking and minimalism go hand in hand as well as they do. Before long, Dad and I are both moving much slower than we started.

Our shoulders are already extremely sore, and we can’t believe how many miles we have left to go until we get to the shelter we’ll be staying in that night. Have we really only been 3 miles in 2 hours?

By the time we arrive, the tone of our adventure has shifted from pure elation to brute survival. We still have two long days before my mom is coming to pick us up. And I can’t exactly say I’m looking forward to any moment but that one right now.

A seed was planted

So we slog on. Spirits have dwindled, but now we have a driving force carrying us up to Clingman’s Dome, our finish line, which I later learn is actually the highest point on the entire Appalachian Trail. The trip hasn’t been anything like I’ve imagined. My shoulders hurt so much I can barely stand up straight. I’ve blackened a few toenails, and I’m disheartened that this hobby I was so excited about is now something I’m not sure I ever want to do again. 

And yet…

I learned I could push myself. I survived my first trip, despite all the mistakes we made. A seed was planted. And I did it all side by side with my dad.

Fast forward seven years. I now hold a degree in Wilderness Leadership and Experiential Education. I’ve lived out of a backpack for as long as three weeks in one stretch. I’ve helped guide nearly a dozen trips everywhere from the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina to the epic Cascades in Washington. I left a job and decided to attempt to thru-hike the entire 2,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail in the summer of 2018.

But I haven’t forgotten my roots.

It’s not about the destination

One of my most anticipated sections of the trail is a week that my dad will be coming out to join me, heading 60 miles from the Southern Virginia border north through the Grayson Highlands.

After a bit of a bumpy first few days, the last three are some of my favorite and most memorable of the 132 days it took me to reach the Northern Terminus in Maine.

As they say, the adventure isn’t about the destination but rather the journey itself. In this case, the journey doesn’t mean any single trip, but rather the string of trips and events that led me to complete a thru-hike. On that first backpacking trip in the summer of 2011, there was a lot of misery, a lot of mistakes, and a lot of learning. And what made it special was that I got to share it with my dad.

In a parent/child relationship, there aren’t many equal playing fields: parents are, as a rule, our mentors, and we are lifelong learners. I had the unique opportunity to get to struggle and hurt and fail alongside my dad as we both honed a new skill together.

A seed was planted there that grew into an enormous thirst for adventure, as well as a series of struggles and their resulting rewards. Even though backpacking ultimately became my supreme passion, it’s always something that reminds me of my dad, and I believe that is so largely due to him being willing to humble himself enough to begin alongside me as a fellow novice.

Sharing a beautifully quiet space

Ever since our first trip nine years ago, Dad and I have always tried to find time to go on more backpacking trips together. It’s a beautifully quiet space we can share together. We’ve both learned enough to be adequately equipped when we go out now: We no longer return home with five-pound bags of homemade trail mix.

I think the takeaway here is that it really doesn’t matter what you do with the parent figures in your life. As long as you get out there and try something together, even if you fail wonderfully, you’re still making memories. You’re still learning together. You’re still growing together. 

Who knows what kinds of seeds just might get planted along the way.

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