A Walk in the Woods Read Online Free PDF Page A

noted that bears are far more likely to attack humans in the spring following a bad berry year. The previous year had been a very bad berry year. I didn’t like the feel of any of this.
    Then there were all the problems and particular dangers of solitude. I still have my appendix, and any number of other organs that might burst or sputter in the empty wilds. What would I do then? What if I fell from a ledge and broke my back? What if I lost the trail in blizzard or fog, or was nipped by a venomous snake, or lost my footing on moss-slickened rocks crossing a stream and cracked my head a concussive blow? You could drown in three inches of water on your own. You could die from a twisted ankle. No, I didn’t like the feel of this at all.
    At Christmas, I put notes in lots of cards inviting people to come with me on the trail, if only part of the way. Nobody responded, of course. Then one day in late February, with departure nigh, I got a call. It was from an old school friend named Stephen Katz. Katz and I had grown up together in Iowa, but I had pretty well lost touch with him. Those of you—the six of you—who have read
Neither Here nor There
will recall Katz as my traveling companion around Europe in that tale of youthful adventure. In the twenty-five years since, I had run into him three or four times on visits home but hadn’t seen him otherwise. We had remained friends in a kind of theoretical sense, but our paths had diverged wildly.
    “I’ve been hesitating to call,” he said slowly. He seemed to be searching for words. “But this Appalachian Trail deal—do you think maybe I could come with you?”
    I couldn’t believe it. “You want to come with me?”
    “If it’s a problem, I understand.”
    “No,” I said. “No, no, no. You’re very welcome. You are
extremely
welcome.”
    “Really?” He seemed to brighten.
    “Of course.” I really could not believe it. I wasn’t going to have to walk alone. I did a little jig.
I
wasn’t going to have to walk, alone
. “I can’t tell you how welcome you would be.”
    “Oh, great,” he said in a flood of relief, then added in a confessional tone, “I thought maybe you might not want me along.”
    “Why ever not?”
    “Because, you know, I still owe you $600 from Europe.”
    “Hey, jeez, certainly not. … You owe me $600?”
    “I still intend to pay you back.”
    “Hey,” I said. “Hey.” I couldn’t remember any $600. I had never released anyone from a debt of this magnitude before, and it took me a moment to get the words out. “Listen, it’s not a problem. Just come hiking with me. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “What kind of shape are you in?”
    “Real good. I walk everywhere these days.”
    “Really?” This is most unusual in America.
    “Well, they repossessed my car, you see.”
    “Ah.”
    We talked a little more about this and that—his mother, my mother, Des Moines. I told him what little I knew about the trail and the wilderness life that awaited us. We settled that he would fly to New Hampshire the next Wednesday, we would spend two days making preparations, and then we’d hit the trail. For the first time in months I felt positively positive about this enterprise. Katz seemed remarkably upbeat, too, for someone who didn’t have to do this at all.
    My last words to him were, “So, how are you with bears?”
    “Hey, they haven’t got me yet!”
    That’s the spirit, I thought. Good old Katz. Good old anyone with a pulse and a willingness to go walking with me. After hehung up, it occurred to me I hadn’t asked him why he wanted to come. Katz was the one person I knew on earth who might be on the run from guys with names like Julio and Mr. Big. Anyway, I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to have to walk alone.
    I found my wife at the kitchen sink and told her the good news. She was more reserved in her enthusiasm than I had hoped.
    “You’re going into the woods for weeks and weeks with a person you