Heather “Anish” Anderson set the record for the Fastest Known Time (FKT) self-supported on the Pacific Crest Trail, which she documented in her first memoir Thirst: 2600 Miles to Home. Her sequel, Mud, Rocks, Blazes: Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail, starts off with feelings of dissatisfaction and restlessness. Her self-doubt is evident, questioning if her previous success was nothing more than a fluke. So she pushes herself once more, this time on the Appalachian Trail. Looking for redemption from recent failures, she attempts to set a new record.
The title “Mud, Rocks, Blazes” is apt from the start of her adventure, as she contends with the elements and topography. The second part of the title “Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail” may be a bit more deceptive, as Anderson sticks to a rigid schedule in her quest for the FKT. Severe sleep deprivation and health scares may not be everyone’s definition of “letting go.” Add to that a calorie deficit and lack of water, and a reader might wonder if Anderson is some kind of masochist. She does seem to take pleasure in the hardship, but then again—it does make for excellent reading.
Her internal battles are just as significant as her physical woes in her search for “Anish”—the trail persona who embodies purpose and drive. Her self-doubt is a character in itself, dragging her along while adding dead weight. Anderson contemplates giving up numerous times, as would be expected for someone continuously pushing their limits. Some challenges seem insurmountable, whether those obstacles are mental or physical, but like the true champion she is, Anderson always keeps going.
The tale breathes as she moves along the trail. Though scenic beauty doesn’t figure prominently—Anderson hikes much of the trail in the dark—all the little accomplishments start to add up, and the reader senses a grand revelation is at hand.
But it’s not Anderson’s FKT goal that drives the adventure. It’s the quality of the writing itself, the exquisite pain and longing Anderson expresses. The reader is there every step of the way, relating to her struggles. The joy of hiking begins to kick in, and in a glorious epiphany, where Anderson finally acknowledges “Heather,” the letting go finally happens, and the reader soars to the end on words that are almost like poetry. By then, the FKT victory almost seems inconsequential—discovery of self was always Anderson’s goal. And isn’t that we all seek on the trail?
Trail Memoir 