Georgia: The First 78 Miles of my AT Thru-Hike

I stood slightly overwhelmed at the arch of Amicalola Falls, nervously pacing the park before registering with the ATC. My pack was concerningly heavy, my trail runners still free of mud, and my energy levels were absolute chaos.

Here it is: my starting day.

I was asked to watch several instructional videos for orientation before receiving my hiker tag and taking the classic photo under the iconic archway. I felt like a kindergartner on her first day of school — scared, lost, a bit confused.

I had the special opportunity to start my hike with my dad, who joined me for the first official mile from Springer Mountain off of the approach trail. We took our sweet time taking in the foggy views (admittedly already out of breath) and I signed in the first logbook:

“Tofu checking in! See you at Katahdin.”

Dad and I said goodbye as I started mile 2 out of 2198 in the Springer Mountain Trailhead Parking Lot. I will always be grateful to have started this journey with him — plus, he brought me one more cold brew coffee for the road.

Setting the Scene

My first few days on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia were cold, foggy, and buzzing with excitement. I could hear the blast of machine guns from army rangers training in the fog next to the trail, which was a sound I didn’t quite expect to hear on a nature walk. It certainly set the scene for a particularly odd start to my journey.

That first night, fate (and a few friendly strangers) led me to something extraordinary: my first taste of “trail magic.” I was directed to an Appalachian Trail Festival being held in… a private cemetery?

Yes, you read that right. The dead may have been resting but the vibes were alive. There was hot food, laughter, chocolate wine, a “flying jenny” ride, and a strong sense of community among all of the thru-hikers sharing our first evening on trail in a cemetery. Thank you to the Georgia Adventures Group volunteers who put this wonderful event together!

And, yes, I did respectfully pitch my tent next to the cemetery on my first night (with the GAG’s permission, of course). Hopefully that wasn’t a bad omen.

Getting Schooled from the very Start

As I pressed on through the Peach State, I quickly realized that even with my years of experience backpacking there was still so much for me to learn out here. With every mile, I found myself shedding unnecessary luxuries to save pack weight — I even joined the neurotically ultralight club and cut my toothbrush in half (I still have a long way to go until I am actually ultralight, though!).

On my third day, a group of hikers and I summited Blood Mountain for sunrise, one of the most famous peaks in the Georgia section. We immediately climbed down the mountain to eat half a pizza at Neel Gap. I felt a great sense of pride staring up at the infamous tree at Neel Gap where hikers who quit the trail at this point throw their shoes into its limbs. I decided to keep my shoes and carry on, but was quickly humbled trying to hike 16 miles after eating all of that pizza.

Georgia, in all her foggy glory, did not go entirely easy on me. I once considered myself a relatively seasoned backpacker. I’ve done some wild hikes, slept in questionable places, and made peace with bugs and dirt many years ago.

But Georgia found her ways to teach me. One day, it was 40 degrees and raining sideways, and my raincoat decided to betray me halfway to Hiawassee. By the time I stumbled into town, I looked like a drowned rat. I was shivering uncontrollably on the side of the highway as I waited to catch a ride into town. Only four days in, and I was already negotiating with the universe for mercy while cursing under my breath at my useless jacket.

After a warm shower, though, I took a deep breath and made the decision to add a poncho to my pack. It’s water resistant, it’s goofy, and I love it.

In Hiawassee, I embraced the sacred art of the “zero day,” meaning I hiked zero miles to allow time to sort my gear and reset after my frigid raincoat debacle. I stayed at the Green Dragon Hostel, which was a beautiful, welcoming stay. There, I was able to further reevaluate all of my gear while feeding my soul with warm meals and laughter shared with other thru hikers. There was even a town picnic thrown just for us hikers, complete with local treats and the kind of hospitality that makes you tear up just a bit.

State Lines on the Horizon

Staring at the wooden border sign marking the end of my time in Georgia and the beginning of North Carolina, I found myself reflecting on the first week of my thru-hike. Even with a newly aching knee, a sad raincoat, and the occasional “why am I doing this?” spirals, Georgia brought me joy.

Real joy.

Belly-laughs-with-strangers kind of joy.

Pizza-for-breakfast kind of joy.

Standing-on-a-mountain-feeling-like-a-part-of-the-forest kind of joy.

Reconnecting-with-myself-and-others kind of joy.

That’s why I am doing this.

These first 78 miles have been wild, wet, and wonderful.

I’ve found that trail people are the most genuine people, that carrying seven days of food is excessive and painful, and that my mind feels at ease having spent a few days focusing only on the present moment.

Most importantly, I came to understand that no matter how muddy or messy or mildly disastrous things get, somehow, this feels like home. Trail life is chaotic, it’s beautiful, and everything within it fits just right — including myself. And with that, I am grateful for every step I get to take on this trail.

Cheers to Georgia: queen of fog, heart of hospitality, and bringer of all the weird little trail blessings. North Carolina is up next, and the standards have been set high.

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