livingston
20×102mm Vulcan
When Baltimore Jack died near Franklin, North Carolina, the news shook the Appalachian Trail community. Jack had left behind the real world to live on the AT, thru-hiking it seven times and helping countless others to reach their goals. To some, his choice to live off the grid was irresponsible. Others celebrated that he'd managed to break the shackles of convention. A look back on the life of an AT antihero.
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Baltimore Jack was dead. In a place where even the speediest travel slowly, the word spread up and down the length of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine in a matter of hours. It was May 4, 2016, and one of the most beloved, brilliant, and exasperating antiheroes in the history of long-distance walking was gone.
He was 57, and it was the beginning of his 21st year on the trail. Over that time, he had become a sort of everywhere-at-once presence, bandages wrapped around his battered knees, relying on snack cakes, lasagna, Jim Beam, cigarettes, and the kindness of others to survive. It was a kindness he usually returned.
His first year on the trail was in 1995. He would eventually thru-hike the AT seven times. In 2003, after eight years of walking with what was—according to nearly everyone who encountered him—a heavy pack, Jack’s knees gave out. But even without being able to travel great distances on foot, he stayed on the trail. For the next 13 years, Jack flowed northward, catching rides or sometimes walking for a few miles with other hikers, following them from hostel to hostel, town to town, cooking them meals—his Thanksgiving feasts were legendary—rescuing them, and becoming the trail’s most comprehensive repository of wild yarns and unyielding opinion.
www.outsideonline.com
https://facebook.com/sharer/sharer....&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=onsiteshare
Baltimore Jack was dead. In a place where even the speediest travel slowly, the word spread up and down the length of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine in a matter of hours. It was May 4, 2016, and one of the most beloved, brilliant, and exasperating antiheroes in the history of long-distance walking was gone.
He was 57, and it was the beginning of his 21st year on the trail. Over that time, he had become a sort of everywhere-at-once presence, bandages wrapped around his battered knees, relying on snack cakes, lasagna, Jim Beam, cigarettes, and the kindness of others to survive. It was a kindness he usually returned.
His first year on the trail was in 1995. He would eventually thru-hike the AT seven times. In 2003, after eight years of walking with what was—according to nearly everyone who encountered him—a heavy pack, Jack’s knees gave out. But even without being able to travel great distances on foot, he stayed on the trail. For the next 13 years, Jack flowed northward, catching rides or sometimes walking for a few miles with other hikers, following them from hostel to hostel, town to town, cooking them meals—his Thanksgiving feasts were legendary—rescuing them, and becoming the trail’s most comprehensive repository of wild yarns and unyielding opinion.
The Man Who Lived and Died on the Appalachian Trail
When Baltimore Jack died near Franklin, North Carolina, the news shook the Appalachian Trail community. Jack had left behind the real world to live on the AT, thru-hiking it seven times and helping countless others to reach their goals. To some, his choice to live off the grid was irresponsible...
www.outsideonline.com
