First time on the Appalachian Trail

This is a story of my first time on the Appalachian Trail. In 1987, I was a Boy Scout in Troop 71 in my hometown of Coventry, RI. Never went on a mountain before that day. The love of the outdoors would remain dormant, but it came back with vengeance ten years later.   This account was originally published in the March-April 2000 issue of  Appalachian Trailway News, the magazine of the Appalachian Trail Conference.

EDIT June 2025 – I am contemplating an extended walk in New England this Autumn.  This post comes back to mind. If all goes well, I will be returning to what sparked my love of the outdoors nearly 40 years ago. The ATC is now also known as the Appalachian Trail Conservancy.

In 1986, I climbed Mt. Lafayette in New Hampshire. It was also my first time on the Appalachian Trail.

Boy Scout Troop 71 of Coventry, Rhode Island, is taking its annual Columbus Day Weekend camping trip to Mt. Lafayette in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It is October 1986. I’m part of the troop, twelve years old, all excited that I’m going to get to go on a real mountain! And, to make this trip extra special, Dad’s going to be a chaperone.

Dad often works overtime on Saturdays; ours is a young family –money and time are scarce. To spend a whole weekend with Dad is a treat.

Friday afternoon, I come home from school and see all the clothes Mom has packed for the trip. Mom’s afraid I’m going to “freeze up North”.  The entire bed is covered with warm clothes: several pairs of jeans, flannel shirts, sweaters, socks, and long underwear. Somehow, it seems like this is too much clothing for a three-day camping trip, but what do I know? I’m just twelve. For this trip, I’m going to get to hike with my official Boy Scout rucksack, made of cotton canvas. Dad has even let me have his official U.S. Army pocket knife. With my rucksack and knife, I’m going to climb that mountain!

On Saturday mornings, all the Boy Scouts gather at the community center. I have on my hiking clothes: Sears Toughskins jeans, a flannel shirt, long cotton underwear, a sweatshirt, and work boots. The bus ride to New Hampshire takes more than three hours, longer even than that ride to the big city of Providence. Looking out the windows, I see mountains. “No”, Dad says. “They’re just foothills”. If the foothills are this big, I think, how big are the mountains?

The bus finally pulls up to the campground. Several canvas A-Frame tents have been set up, along with a blue plastic tarp for cooking under. On Sunday, we climb the mountain.

The hike begins in the morning. I don’t say anything, but I tire easily. Dad knows. He takes the rucksack. Why can’t the other dads keep up with mine? Aren’t all Dads the same? We get to the summit. I ask Dad what the white rectangles are for. He says they mark a trail to the other mountains we can see. We take pictures and rest for a while. The troop climbs back down toward the campground.

Most Appalachian Trail hikers recall the first time they stepped on the trail. It’s different for everyone. For some hikers, it doesn’t happen until they take that first step on Springer Mountain. Others recall vacations to the Shenandoahs or maybe a picnic at a state park through which the trail is routed. Mine was as a twelve-year-old, excited to be going with his Scout trip on a trip to New Hampshire.

It was not until ten years later that I learned what those white rectangles were. More importantly, I learned what they mean. Those white rectangles mean more than just markings for a long footpath. They mark a trail that can capture a person’s imagination, that makes a twelve-year-old wonder, dream, and get excited about being on a mountain. That memory can last, and when that twelve-year-old grows up, he will still wonder, dream, and get excited about being on a mountain.

A blurry, out-of-focus picture of me at 12 years old. It is the only picture I have from that day, so I’ll take it. Notice the double white blazes by the side of the cairn.