An International Women’s Day message from Morristown’s Appalachian Trail hiker

By Kevin Coughlin

Nichole Fortier Young, who delighted MorristownGreen.com readers last summer with dispatches from her solo hike on the Appalachian Trail, had a strong message for International Women’s Day:

“No woman should ever not hike because she’s scared,” Young told listeners Wednesday at the Morristown & Township Library. “It is safe if you use common sense– safer than walking around Manhattan alone as a woman.”

Yes, there are bears. Young, 31, encountered nine of them on her 2,189-mile odyssey from Georgia to Maine. And rattlers. And rodents in the trail shelters.

But hikers with nicknames like Sphagnum P.I., Monkey Leg and Hatmandu, and Good Samaritans who leave caches of “Trail Magic” (snacks and drinks) make the gnarly blisters, sore muscles and week-long intervals between showers worthwhile.

Most of the time, anyway.

“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done, and the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” said Young, a 2004 Morristown High graduate.

She had been married only a few months when she set out on her adventure, hiking for 151 days, from April to May, with 20 days off sprinkled in.

Toss out those off days, and she averaged almost 17 miles of daily trekking. Her longest day was 30 miles, in Pennsylvania.

Young’s preparation: A few weekend hikes, and copious yoga.

She loaded up with more than $2,000 of gear…and quickly became a “gram weenie,” jettisoning everything possible to shave precious grams from her Gossamer Gear Gorilla backpack. She even ripped her guide book into four sections, instructing her family to send each section as needed.

The daily exertion shaved pounds off her wispy frame, too. Young started at 108 pounds, dipped to 92, and finished at 96 pounds. 

Her vegan ways were derailed by a relentless quest for calories. Soon she was devouring anything that wouldn’t devour her first: Chips, pretzels, even a half-gallon of ice cream (in a half hour, on a dare).

“You start dipping Oreos in peanut butter,” Young said.

The A.T. has about 160 shelters of various shapes and sizes, packed with hikers and hungry mice. Even so, Young preferred sleeping under a rickety roof to pitching her $550 ultra-light tent. 

Hostels were better, from bare-bones ($10 a night) to luxurious ($60). “Cowboy camping” — sleeping under the stars — was best of all. Until the heavens opened up at 4 a.m.

Young learned to appreciate simple things. Like chairs. And privies.  One two-holer included a cribbage board, to help occupants pass the time together.

Her favorite trail sections included the Roan Highlands of Tennessee; Virginia’s Grayson Highlands, where wild ponies licked salt off sweaty hikers; the pleasantly flat Cumberland Valley of Pennsylvania; and the 72 scenic miles that wind through northwestern New Jersey.

Worst stretches: “Rocksylvania,” the jagged, rattler-rich portion of the Quaker State; New Hampshire’s treacherous White Mountains; and the brutal climb up Maine’s Mount Katahdin, at journey’s end.

On the plus side, the Appalachian Trail is well marked.

“It’s almost impossible to get lost,” Young said.

And on dry nights of cowboy camping, surrounded by nature’s splendor, how sweet were her dreams?

“I was too tired to dream!” she said.

NICHOLE YOUNG’S A.T. ADVENTURE, ON MORRISTOWN GREEN