Erin and I stood in the parking lot at the base of Springer Mountain, the Southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Ben dutifully took pictures of the two of us with our packs on, recreating photos we’d taken the first time we’d stood here.
Ben and I now lived in Atlanta with our son Max, less than two hours’ drive from the AT. Erin had flown in the night before from Durango so that she and I could spend three days hiking together from Springer to Neel’s Gap.
Ben pulled me aside. “I love you. I hope you guys have the most fun.”
“I love you, too. You’re my favorite.”
“Dude! Let’s go,” Erin said, giving Ben a final hug before he drove off, back down the mountain, back to our home and our son.
I turned and looked at the trail up ahead. The canopy of trees formed a tunnel, looking like a secret passageway.
“Not falling for it this time, trail,” I said out loud and turned to face the other way, following Erin across the dirt road and into the woods. Erin and I talked giddily as we walked. Although we talked or texted most days, any time we could spend together in person was magic. In less than an hour we came to a clearing. On a rock that looked out to the valley below was a plaque that read “Appalachian National Scenic Trail, Springer Mountain, Elevation 3782’, Southern Terminus.”
“Whoa,” Erin said.
“I know,” I replied.
Only nineteen years after we’d started our thru-hike, we’d finally made it to Springer.