Hikers Find a Lifeline in Trail Mail

Willard French walks into the post office and out of the rain with 995 miles of the Appalachian Trail behind him and a nearly empty pack.

When he resumes his 2,160-mile trek hours later, his pack is 12 pounds heavier. He has Jane Fulk, the Harpers Ferry postmaster, and his wife, Barbara, in Sterling, Mass., to thank. The food will sustain him for another 50 miles.

From Springer Mountain, Ga., to Mount Katahdin, Maine, post offices like Fulk’s are a support system for some 1,200 hikers who each year try to walk the trail’s length.

“They are a lifeline, and they’re everywhere,” French says.

Fulk’s clientele swells from March through September with these “through hikers.” About 200 will succeed; the rest will leave the trail, homesick, hurt or tired.

As many as 50 hikers’ parcels arrive at Harpers Ferry each day, from 6-inch squares of cardboard to diaper boxes that have been cut open and retaped. They are stacked floor to ceiling, each scrawled with the recipient’s name.

“You get to meet a lot of people, hear a lot of stories. When they get here, they’re pretty elated,” Fulk says. “They feel like they’ve made it halfway and now they can go on. . . . They’re friendly and very grateful.”

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Harpers Ferry is the headquarters of the Appalachian Trail Conference, the group that maintains the path. Thus it is the psychological halfway point, even though the exact spot is about 80 miles distant, near Gardners, Pa.

For the first time this summer, Fulk and her staff are tallying the packages they receive. She guesses that by October, when it’s time to return any unclaimed parcels, they will have handled as many as 1,500.

Along with the boxes are postcards and letters, often in elaborately decorated envelopes. A postcard to Bill and Sally Howell, hometown unknown, wished them a “Happy Halfway.”

“You guys are so cool! I am so proud of you,” the writer said. “Walk on!”

“I think the most amusing thing about them is they have hiker names,” said postal clerk Richard Blank. “There’s a girl from Switzerland called Swiss Miss. There’s Tagalong and Playin’ Jane. . . . I think it’s cute.”

French’s nickname on the trail is Enlightened Rogue. That’s how he signs the logbooks stored at every shelter, another way for hikers to stay in touch.

His “care package” includes canned hash, beans and pineapple; dehydrated potato flakes; trail mix and homemade chocolate chip cookies. There’s also toilet paper and two Father’s Day cards.

He’s happy to have it.

“You don’t complain if there’s something wrong,” he said. “You smile and say, ‘Thank you very much.’ ”

French, on his first through hike, plans to finish in mid-September. Like many others on the trail, he quit his job to make the journey.

“Everybody should run away from home when they’re 50 and do something neat,” he said.

Kelly and Gary Fuersteenberg are from West Bend, Wis. Married three years, they paid off their car and student loans and quit their jobs to “take a walk in the woods.”

Kelly was a writer for an agricultural business magazine, and Gary is a civil engineer.

“I decided one day I wanted to go on an adventure instead of reading about other people’s,” Kelly said.

The Fuersteenbergs packed their own food boxes for mail drops along the way. At predetermined dates family members ship the parcels, which include packets of laundry detergent, some candy left over from Valentine’s Day, and a little cash.

“A lot of these small towns don’t take credit cards,” Gary said.

“The lifts come from the unplanned things,” Kelly said. “We got a postcard from a hiker we met earlier on the trail. . . . That was wonderful.

“It’s a great way for our family and friends to keep in touch with us,” Kelly said. “They love reading our journals, and when we’re late, we hear about it.”