“You get up there. It’s a very different feeling. There isn’t much scent — no trees — you smell warm rocks. The wind has a different feel too. It has less sound. I can hear it blowing against me, my pack, but not blowing through trees or grass. It just has a very open feel to it,” said Mike Hanson, 45, about standing on a mountaintop.
Hanson, a lawyer from Minneapolis, Minn., who has been without sight since birth, completed 1,800 miles of the 2,175-mile Appalachian Trail on Sept. 18, ending at the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine.
He navigated the trail with a modified GPS. His mission was to show how technology can give more independence to people without sight.
“I made sure to do the really tough parts of the trail to prove a point,” said Hanson, “We came a little short of miles. We feel that we’ve gotten the job done.”The employment rate of blind people hasn’t changed with the improvement of technology, according to Hanson.
“A lot of the public seems very behind the curve,” said Hanson. “Manufacturers of technology often don’t make it very user friendly.”
Hanson is impressed with the GPS and GPRS (general packet radio service) system he used, which provided incorrect data for only eight points of interest out of thousands along the trail. Points of interest include campsites, mountains, rivers and road crossing.
“Most places I could feel the trail with my boots, just like I can feel the difference between a sidewalk or a lawn,” said Hanson, who was surprised at his ability to stay on the trail without technology.
He found out early on that two trekking poles worked better than his usual white cane.
“One can tell me what’s in front of one foot, and one can tell me what’s in front of the other,” Hanson said.
Hanson wanted the hike documented, so a mutual friend introduced him to Gary L. Steffens, 58, of Fresh Images Video Productions. They decided to hike the trail together, even though Steffens had only hiked once 30 years before.
“The video is intended to change lives, empower people and open up opportunities,” said Steffens of Mound, Minn., who usually hiked 10 to 30 feet ahead of Hanson.
“I only point out something unusual to him like a tree fallen across the trail,” Steffens said. “The biggest challenge on the trail is making the time. Not that he couldn’t find his way through the stuff, but the clock was always ticking.”
They traveled 10-12 miles on a good day.
The Appalachian Trail starts at Springer Mountain in Georgia. They began March 6, after a blizzard, and dealt with snow and ice until reaching Roan Mountain in Tennessee.
Their backpacks weighed 40-50 pounds. Both carried typical thru-hiker gear — technical clothing, freeze-dried food, first aid supplies, navigational tools and tents. Hanson planned the trip for three years, so he had a support system along the way to drop off supplies.
Though they had several generous donations of supplies from outfitters and company representatives, the hikers funded most of the trip out of their own pockets.
“We had a heck of a time carrying enough calories,” said Steffens.
Hanson lost 20 pounds before the end of the hike, but that’s nothing compared to a thru-hiker they met named “Least Likely” (to finish the trail) who weighed 360 pounds when he started the trail and lost over 100 pounds by the end.
“We caught up with him half way into the trail and he had changed his name to “Likely” by that point,” Steffens said.
Traditionally, thru-hikers adopt a trail name, usually given to them by another hiker. Hanson was “Bulldog” because of his stubborn resolve, and Steffens was “Hitchcock” because of the video camera on his chest.
“There’s a whole world that hikers … live in,” Steffens said. “For six months, they drop out of their world and create a new name. Some are dissatisfied with their career, lose a job in this economy or are retired. It’s a good venue to figure out your next move in life. It’s fascinating. It’s like people put a period in earlier life and start a new paragraph.”
Hanson experienced the changes of terrain through scents, sounds and the feel of weather, the ground and the trees. The smooth trunk of a birch tree and the rough shag hickory are easy to identify. Hanson said he is able to determine the type of evergreen by the shape of the needles.
“I don’t know if my senses are heightened or if I just know how to use them,” Hanson said.
From his experience, the terrain didn’t change much, but the mountains got shorter from Georgia to Virginia. In north Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania, the land flattened out.
In Massachusetts, the mountains come back. The Vermont Long Trail is rocky and challenging. The state is nicknamed “Vermud” because it’s so muddy.
New Hampshire is a bunch of long, rocky, steep climbs.
“Everyone slows down,” Hanson said.
It is said that by New Hampshire you’ve done 80 percent of the miles and 20 percent of the work — an exaggeration that speaks to the difficulty of the northern section of the trail.
“Once you hit Maine — Maine is in a class by itself,” said Hanson. “It’s just a very tough state. A lot is eroded down to bare rock. There are fewer checkpoints to resupply. Then you have Katahdin — which is a climb.”
“Maine takes everything to the next level,” he said.
Hanson only fell 12 times that he can recall. His biggest injury was an elbow scrape.
“I decided I wasn’t going to take 5,000 falls,” said Hanson, referring to the famous blind hiker Bill Irwin. “There are places on the AT where if you fall, you might not survive.”
“Part of it is luck, and part of it is that I have 45 years of walking around things without sight,” said Hanson.
Steffan’s camera wasn’t so lucky. In fact, he went through three cameras. One was dumped when they upset a canoe paddling through rapids of the Shenandoah River and another was the casualty of a rainstorm.
“There aren’t many places I need assistance,” said Hanson. “About 90 percent of the trail, I can do without help.”
Because they were slower than most hikers, they imagine they made enough noise to scare dangerous animals such as rattlesnakes and bears. They also had to carry more food than the average hiker because of increased time between checkpoints.
Mahoosuc Notch is the gateway from New Hampshire to Maine. It’s also notorious for being the most difficult mile of the trail.
“Rocks have fallen the size of houses and cars,” said Steffens, and the gaps in boulders make footing treacherous.
“They do not exaggerate,” said Hanson. “Mainers should just come punch hikers in the face.”
They hiked up Old Speck Mountain from the notch in 40 mph winds and horizontal rain. Descending the mountain, they met Rita and Bain Pollard, who fed them hot dogs and invited them to their home.
When people offer thru-hikers support by cooking them food, driving them into town or offering supplies, it’s called “Trail Magic,” and the generous people are referred to as “Trail Angels.”
The Pollards advised them to skip ahead to Mount Katahdin, the AT terminus and tallest mountain of Maine at 5,268 feet elevation, before the frost and snow hit. When Hanson and Steffens reached Andover, they decided to take the couple’s advice.
With the Pollard’s help, they climbed to Baxter Peak, Mount Katahdin.
Hiking the AT taught Hanson about his own resilience.
“The trail teaches you a profound respect for the particular situation you’re in,” said Hanson. “You take a lot of small things for granted, such as being able to get water from a tap.”
They left Augusta on Sept. 24 and headed for the Smoky Mountains, which they passed by on the way north to avoid three feet of snow.
Steffens hopes to have the documentary finished in a year and aims to sell a number of episodes to cable television.
Unlike some AT thru-hikers, Hanson doesn’t plan on hiking the entire trail again. Instead, he has plans for writing a book on his experience.
“But if someone hands me a granola bar when I get back, I’ll probably throw it at them,” Hanson said laughing.
For information, visit Mike Hanson’s website at blindhiker.com. Visit www.loadstone-gps.com and www.wayfinder.com/access for information about the technology he used.