When you're two miles in with thirty pounds on your back you realize two things. First, thirty pounds weighs more on the trail than it did in your dining room. Second, two miles on foot has no relationship whatsoever with two miles in any conveyance. You also realize that leaving behind the rod, reel and fly box just to save a pound or two may have been the wrong decision though that's an easy regret to have when faced with a startling green pool in a fast moving mountain river. Such regrets will evaporate twenty miles onward when the ounces crush your arches and leaden the spirit.

On a recent Friday evening, my son and I camped along the banks of the Housatonic River. The relatively short hike into the Ten Mile River campground allowed us a jump off point for an early start on Saturday. Sam has aspirations to do a thru hike of the Appalachian Trail after high school. He has read alluring tales of the AT penned by AWOL and Bryson and his mind has been captured with the epic adventure of it all. I figured a taste of the reality of an encumbered walk in the woods would provide data for a more informed decision. We planned to go north as far as we could muster. At a minimum we'd get to test out knees and muscles and equipment against a fine summer day or two on the AT.

The next day we hiked north to Kent. It was about nine miles to town and included the gain and loss of a couple thousand feet so that we'd end up just about where we started. In Kent we found ice cream, pulled pork and, in a dazzling display of trail magic, a local land owner who allowed AT hikers to camp in his backyard. It sure beat a mile walk back to the trailhead and then another uphill to the Mt. Algo Lean-to.

Several hikers who camped at Ten Mile the previous evening had set-up tents along with about a half-dozen folks who were new to the crowd. The land owner provided a cold water shower (think garden hose), towels, and a welcome spot in a town known for being a reluctant host to thru hikers and ne'er do wells (i.e. folks who aren't driving a Mercedes or Porsche).

As evening came we sat in a large circle of broken lawn chairs and smoked and drank and talked. Like most gatherings of serious hobbyists the talk was of gear and technique and personalities. I learned more about water filters in those two evenings than I ever knew could be known. And the things I learned about AT hiker's diets was astounding. Who knew you could consume 4,000+ calories a day and still lose weight?

One thing that struck me as I sat there was how easily this group had assimilated Sam and I. It's definitely not been my experience in more than forty years of wandering this planet that a group would both readily welcome newcomers and also incorporate them into the fabric so quickly. I think that has to do with the nature of the trail. Each day you pass and are passed by any number of people. Folks come and go on a regular basis and now, with 1,400 miles behind them, these folks had become experts in meeting and greeting.

Another aspect of the discussion can only be summarized by the notion of HYOH: Hike your own hike. No matter what one thought about your equipment or technique there seemed to be a fair tolerance for difference. If you wanted to hike with forty pounds of gear or ate SPAM or wore Crocs on the trail that was your business. I suppose this behavior is a survival mechanism. Arguments just aren't worth the calories or mental burden. But I do think that there's a certain egalitarianism built into the culture. Unless you're a douche. They are mocked mercilessly and this crowd remembers them for a long time.

As I reflect on Saturday night's discussion, I thought of times I had sat around with anglers probing many of the same subjects. There always seems to be a fair amount of judgment when we talk about how I fish versus how you fish. And the chasm between fly anglers and hardware anglers is a gaping maw. On the hiking trail the equivalent is the ultralight guys vs everyone else. But still I didn't find that critical nature in the circles I sat in on the AT. There's something to be learned there that applies to angling and, for that matter, all other aspects of your life. Hike your own hike.

Steve lives and fishes in western Connecticut. When not working on his spey cast he writes at sippingemergers.com and on dead trees for various magazines.