Blair Creek Section
Today’s Mileage: 18.42 miles
Total Mileage: 200.97 miles
Time on Trail: 10 hours, 29 minutes
Elevation gain/loss: 2,247 feet / 2,746 feet
If your feathered alarm clock awakens you to a rousing and unrelenting chorus of “Whip-Poor-Will!” before sunrise every day … you might be a thru-hiker.
This has been a pretty uneventful day … mostly just a walk in the woods.
Not that there’s anything wrong with a walk in the woods. I enjoy the Big Scenery, the imposing mountains and thunderous waterfalls, but there’s something soothingly meditative about a simple walk in the woods.
My daily agenda consists only of one thing: walking.
Put one foot in front of the other, and repeat. My “normal life” in the “real world” can become so frantic and distracted and busy that I need a calendar to keep track of my day, the appointments and to-do lists and all the miscellany I don’t want to forget. On a thru-hike, I don’t need an appointment calendar. I can barely keep track of what day it is, but it doesn’t really matter. A dirt trail, stretched out before me, determines my direction and shapes my day.
My agenda today? Break camp, then walk until I reach my next campsite. Tomorrow’s agenda is identical, the next day the same, and so it goes … there’s a simplicity to it, a purity that clears the mind and rests the heart. The sameness isn’t boring (most of the time) so much as it is consoling.
Richard Foster wrote about the spiritual discipline of simplicity in his landmark book on spiritual practices, “Celebration of Discipline.” I recently pulled Foster’s classic work, dog-eared and heavily highlighted, from my bookshelf for another reading. Strangely, the chapter on simplicity had no highlights. Apparently, when my past (younger, busier, more ambitious) self read that chapter, I didn’t have much appreciation for the discipline of simplicity.
“Inwardly, modern man is fractured and fragmented,” writes Foster in a paragraph that is now highlighted. “He is trapped in a maze of competing attachments … Because we lack a Divine center, our need for security has led us to an insane attachment to things.”
To simplify our lives, writes Foster, we don’t begin by discarding possessions or cancelling appointments or shirking commitments. We begin by discovering a Divine center, a spiritual center of gravity (what the Bible calls “Christ in you, the hope of glory”) around which everything else orbits. The ground of our being that gives shape to our doing. The headwaters from which our daily life flows.
Only then can we begin implementing some of the strategies Foster offers for a simplified life. I was thrilled to read, among Foster’s suggestions for cultivating simplicity (apparently lost on me during my earlier reading), to “develop a deeper appreciation for the creation.”
Get close to the earth. Walk whenever you can. Listen to the birds — they are God’s messengers. Enjoy the texture of grass and leaves. Marvel in the rich colors everywhere.
Simplicity means to discover once again that “the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof” (Psalms 24:1).
Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline
Simplicity is not so much a relinquishing of possessions as a liberation from possessions. Not so much an aversion to commitments as freedom from busyness. Not a selfish turn inward but a worshipful gaze upward.
In this Foster echoes Henry David Thoreau’s sage advice, “Simplify, simplify.”
My morning prayer recites the Beatitudes, part of Jesus’ profound Sermon on the Mount. I need to remind myself every day, before I engage with a world that insists the contrary, of the subversive blessing that belongs to the poor in spirit, the merciful, the justice-starved. Jesus preached, “Blessed are the pure in heart.”
My own understanding of what it means to be “pure in heart” has evolved. I don’t think Jesus means moral perfection, or moral strictness, is such a blessing. We all know that isn’t the case! Jesus means that a heart unencumbered and uncluttered is a blessing. A heart refined from impurities. A single passion not diluted by extraneous or competing allegiances.
“One thing.”
That’s what Jesus said to Martha, “only one thing is necessary.” Maybe you know this gospel story about the time Jesus and his disciples were invited to dinner at the home of his dear friends, Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Martha was upset because, despite the crowd of dinner guests, Mary wasn’t helping in the kitchen. Instead, Mary was sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening to him teach.
When Martha complained that she was being over-worked with all of the preparations, Jesus responded, “Only one thing is necessary.”
You might argue that, of course, there are many things necessary to prepare dinner for a houseful of guests. Clean the house, cook the meal, wash the dishes, prepare the guest rooms … many things need to be done. And it’s not fair for Mary to leave all the work in Martha’s hands.
You might argue that, but you’d be arguing with Jesus, who said “only one thing is necessary.”
Mary’s choice to quietly sit and listen rather than hustle in the kitchen, Jesus added, was “the better part.”
I don’t know if this is how the story actually ends, but I like to think that Martha, with a gleam of sudden comprehension, responded by taking her place beside Mary on the floor. And nobody noticed that dinner was late.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God,” said Jesus.
“They will see God.” So many things get in the way and obstruct our view of God, small and unimportant things that prevent us from experiencing God’s presence. In the same way my thumb can be used to blot out the moon or a mountain, our piles of possessions and our crowded calendars, as insignificant as they really are, can blind us to greater things. When we shed ourselves of these smaller things, we open new vistas for a clearer view of the divine.
There is a freedom on the trail, carrying all of my possessions on my back. My material goods are limited to a tent, a sleeping quilt, and a few smaller items. The goal in backpacking is the opposite of normal life — thru-hikers strive to minimize the amount of possessions we carry. We take pride in how few possessions we pack, in how little we need on our journey.
Let me introduce you to Nimblewill Nomad (his trail name, of course), an enigmatic and problematic persona who embodies, more than anyone I know, the principle of simplicity to a radical extreme in what he describes as his “desperate search for peace.”
As I was preparing for this thru-hike, in November 2021, Nimblewill Nomad made headlines by finishing his thru-hike of the 2,100-mile-long Appalachian Trail at the age of 83, breaking the record to become the oldest thru-hiker ever to complete the trail. He actually hiked much farther than that, starting his endeavor not from the start of the Appalachian Trail on Springer Mountain in Georgia, but from the beginning of the Appalachian Mountain range, 400 miles away, at Flag Mountain in Alabama.
What I did not know, until after I had finished my own thru-hike, is that Nimblewill Nomad was born and reared in a tiny town in the Missouri Ozarks, not too far from where I was hiking. But he didn’t start hiking until after he retired from a successful optometrist practice in Florida. He moved to a plot of land on Nimblewill Creek near Springer Mountain and started hiking sections of the Appalachian Trail. At the age of 60, he began his first thru-hike — 4,400 miles from Florida to Canada.
He never looked back. When he returned from that hike, Nimblewill Nomad and his wife divorced. He gave his property and possessions to his ex-wife and two (estranged) sons. Now “homeless” and living off his Social Security checks, with just a few personal items in storage, he started his new career as full-time hiker trash.
Here’s how Robert Moor describes Nimblewill Nomad in his book, “On Trails: An Exploration”:
“He carried a blue backpack no larger than a preschooler’s knapsack. A single plastic water bottle was tied to his belt with a piece of frayed blue string. His trekking poles were folded in the crook of his arm. In his hand, he carried a chipped, dirtied Styrofoam coffee cup … He had a wild head of white hair streaked with yellow, and a white beard threaded with black. Both reached down to his collar, where they whorled, oceanic. Atop his head he wore a white runner’s cap. He took his sunglasses off, and his eyes, arced against the sun, were fixed with deep, leathered creases, pale in their depths.”
Nimblewill Nomad’s record-setting thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail was actually his third thru-hike of that trail. He hiked the Triple Crown: the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail. He completed all eleven National Scenic Trails. And much, much more over tens of thousands of miles. He announced his retirement after finishing the Appalachian Trail, but then, he’s said that before. We’ll see.
Nimblewill Nomad carries no more than about 10 pounds in his backpack. Simplicity, he insists, is the pathway to peace.
“I tell my friends: Every year I’ve got less and less, and every year I’m a happier man. I just wonder what it’s going to be like when I don’t have anything. That’s the way we come, and that’s the way we go. I’m just preparing for that a little in advance, I guess.”
“On Trails: An Exploration”
Moor, who has thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail, believes that, whether we fully realize it or not, this yearning for simplicity is what compels thru-hikers to step onto the trail. We are faced with a dizzying array of choices in our everyday lives, a barrage of decisions to make and options to evaluate. If you don’t believe me, just stand in a grocery store aisle and try to figure out what kind of cereal to buy.
It seems ungrateful to complain about the surfeit of choices available to us. But it wears us out, and stretches us thin, constantly planning and deciding. Over time, the accumulated fatigue of making so many decisions erodes our peace.
“Why do we hike? I have asked many hikers this same question, and I have never received a fully satisfying answer. It seems there are many overlapping reasons: to strengthen our bodies, to bond with friends, to submerge ourselves in the wild, to feel more alive, to conquer, to suffer, to repent, to reflect, to rejoice. More than anything, though, I believe what we hikers are seeking is simplicity … “
Robert Moor, “On Trails: An Exploration”
Simplicity may be the greatest gift bestowed by a thru-hike. As Moor adds, in my favorite quote of his book:
“In walking, we acquire more of less.”
When I returned home from my Ozark Trail thru-hike, I realized that so many of my possessions, which I once treasured, now seemed superfluous. Burdensome, even. Sometimes suffocating.
We define ourselves by our possessions. We measure ourselves by our possessions. And eventually, we chain ourselves to our possessions. After six decades of collecting more and more things, I learned on the trail that I am fine without almost all of them. No, better without them.
A pure heart, reflected in a life untethered to trophies and treasures, enjoys a more unobstructed and unobscured gaze into the divine.
As Nimblewill Nomad told Moor, “You can be a whole lot happier if it don’t take a whole lot to make you happy.”
My wife and I have talked about downsizing as we approach retirement, purging some possessions in order to move into a smaller house (without any stairs!). But now, it seems there’s not just a practical reason to minimize but a spiritual incentive.
“Simplify, simplify.”
How can I maintain the mental, emotional, and spiritual benefits of the trail after returning to civilization? Perhaps the primary strategy is to minimize. Let go of possessions and reduce commitments. Easier said than done! As I write this chapter a year after leaving the trail, I’m still figuring it out.
In the meantime, back to the blessed monotony of the trail … The ticks are out.
Up to this point, I haven’t been bothered by ticks. But rising temperatures apparently coaxed them to emerge from whatever hellhole they inhabit over winter. I found myself stopping frequently along the trail, especially where it’s getting a bit overgrown, and slapping a half dozen ticks off my legs at a time. Fortunately, none of them ever attached to my flesh, perhaps due to the permethrin I sprayed on my clothing and the picaridin I liberally applied to my exposed skin this morning. (I don’t usually use any insect repellant that contains DEET, not only for environmental concerns, but I worry the harsh chemical will degrade my backpacking equipment.)
I found myself, believe it or not, looking forward to the steep uphill climbs, because I knew it would be a reprieve from the overgrown, tick-infested hollows. The trail was wider, better maintained, and less overgrown up on the hills, the ticks fewer.
I enjoyed second breakfast on the bank of Blair Creek, watching the tadpoles swimming furiously in the current and the creek water splashing against the boulders, fighting to get around the rocks in such a hurry. A short time later, I crossed Blair Creek again. My map warned about swift, high water on the creek, which worried me after my recent encounter with Big Creek, but fortunately, it was only about knee high.
Along the way I passed a cave that was once used as a dance hall. It’s gated now, to protect from vandalism and graffiti.
Approaching the Owls Bend section of the Current River, there are some great views of the river from the bluffs. This is really the first section of the trail that has provided expansive scenic views.
I hiked past a nice stealth campsite near an enticingly scenic overlook. I was tempted to stop here for the day, but according to my map, Powder Mill Campground has flush toilets and running water a short distance ahead. Blessed civilization! I thought it was also worth taking a short detour to visit the gorgeous Blue Spring tomorrow morning so wanted to camp closer to that side trail. Blue Spring is the deepest (and bluest) spring in Missouri, 300 feet deep, and discharges 90 million gallons of water each day.
In hindsight, I wish I had stopped and camped on the picturesque bluff … but that’s a story for tomorrow.
Instead I finished the Blair Creek Section of the Ozark Trail and hiked into Powder Mill Campground, where I learned there was no running water, after all. Oh well, at least it’s near Current River, so there’s good access to nature’s “running water.” (A friendly couple explained there was a flood a few years ago that took out some of the campground’s facilities.)
This is where I’ll spend the night, before awakening to my worst morning on the trail.
Trail Tip
The best way to prepare yourself for a long hike is, well, to hike. Although this is my first long hike, I started preparing months ago by hiking as much as possible. Hiking seems simple enough – just put one foot in front of the other, then repeat. But thru-hiking isn’t walking. Thru-hiking is walking with the weight of a backpack, 30 pounds sitting on your hips, up and down trails and around roots and rocks. It requires physical strength and stamina. So, I loaded up my brand-new backpack as many Saturdays as possible and hiked on the trails of a local state park. I camped at the state park on several weekends, which gave me a chance to practice setting up my tent and to test all of my equipment in different weather conditions. I also recommend strength training before starting a long hike. I had good cardio fitness before starting my hike, but hiking is more about leg strength than about cardio fitness.
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