Gris: The first step of the trail

EASTMAN -- A wise man once said the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

So does a journey of 2,187.2 miles. For Ken Hall, the first leg of the trail was the most difficult of his life.

Ken is a country boy from Dodge County. When he retired last year after 30 years of civil service at Robins Air Force Base, he made up his mind to hike the Appalachian Trail, the longest continuous footpath in the world.

Although he loved hunting, fishing and camping, he was a tenderfoot on the trail. He read everything he could about the subject, saved his money and worked his 58-year-old body into shape for the 4.5 million steps he would take over the next six months.

The first, however, was the toughest.

In April, his wife, Deb, and mother, Jean, drove him to the start of the trail at Springer Mountain in Georgia. It was April 15 -- tax day -- and his friends had teased him about making sure he had settled up with the IRS before he walked off because ‘‘they can’t find you in the woods.’’

It was snowing and sleeting at the trail head. The wind gusts were 40 mph.

“It was horrible,’’ Ken said. “I kept asking myself what had I gotten into.’’

Before she kissed her only child goodbye, his 83-year-old mother took his hand and said a prayer.

“She was crying so much she could hardly talk,’’ he said. “That really pulled at my heartstrings. She prayed for my safe journey, but it was hard for her to see me go. I was tearing up as I started down the trail.’’

That first night, he pitched his tent on a cold mountain. The wind roared in his ears. At higher elevations, it always sounds like a jet engine. He should have been used to that, having worked at RAFB all those years.

The next morning, he had a pep talk with himself. Only one of every five hikers who starts the trail finishes the trail. He convinced himself he could do this. He would do this.

Ken put one foot in front of the other. He took a step. And another. And another.

“It was like a book I couldn’t put down,’’ he said.

When he finally reached the northern terminus at Mount Katahdin in Maine last week, he took his final, triumphant step.

He had spent 167 of the most unforgettable days of his life on the trail. He lost 40 pounds off his 6-foot-4, 250-pound former college linebacker frame. For the first time, he grew a beard and surrendered the top of his head to long locks of gray hair.

Ken watched the seasons change three times. The early spring in Georgia and Carolinas turned to summer when he reached the Smokies and Virginia. By the time his footprints made it to the Northeast, the leaves were starting to turn.

He missed the creature comforts, of course. He would roll out of his sleeping bag every morning to an uninspired breakfast of peanut butter and granola bars and dream about Deb’s waffles. She makes the best waffles.

He missed their 37th anniversary, too. That was a hard day in late July. He also missed all but the first two weeks of baseball season, which might have been considered a blessing for any Atlanta Braves fan.

His trail name was “Lighter knot.’’ It was conceived at a New Year’s Eve party, when his friends and family took a poll. Hikers traditionally have nicknames given to them by others, and Ken didn’t want to hit the trail without one. It would be like not having a backpack. Or hiking barefoot.

He and his mother had overheard it in the waiting room at a doctor’s office. Two elderly gentlemen were discussing the health of another man.

“You know, that old rascal is as tough as a lighter knot,’’ said one man.

Ken’s mother turned to him. “That would make a good trail name.’’

Lighter knot is a Southern expression for the fatwood or heart of a pine tree, where the resin is hard and rot-resistant and forms the strongest and most durable part of the tree.

Ken took it as a sign, too. He married Deb, his high school sweetheart, in 1977 at the Midway Baptist Church on Lightered Knot Road between Eastman and Hawkinsville.

“I had to do a lot of explaining about the name to my Northern friends I met on the trail,’’ he said, laughing. “It made for some good conversation.’’

In many ways, the solitude of the woods and tales of the trail provided a cultural experience. He met hikers from all over the country, as well as the United Kingdom, China and Japan.

And his faith in humanity was restored every time he met one of the “trail angels.” They always seemed to show up at the right time to offer food, water and an invitation to their homes to rest and shower.

Ken returned to Eastman last week and was greeted with a “Welcome Home” sign and a long honey-do list. He normally is clean-shaven and keeps his hair short, but Deb has asked him to keep his “trail persona” until after the homecoming party she has planned for him this weekend.

In the meantime, folks around Eastman -- even some who have known him all his life -- have been slow to recognize him since he got back.

“I wasn’t going to grow it out, but an old-timer told me it was bad luck to cut it until I finished the trail,’’ he said. “I told him I wasn’t superstitious, but I still didn’t want to take any chances.’’

It all started with a single step.

He’s glad he took it. The journey was the reward.

Contact Gris at 744-4275 or egrisamore@macon.com.

This story was originally published October 7, 2014 at 10:42 PM with the headline "Gris: The first step of the trail."