The story behind our Rugged Coins

Hi, my name is Mindy and I was lucky enough to meet and be "coined" by Drill after snagging the last spot on a meetup group hike in the backcountry of Zion.
I am a travel nurse with an obsession for the outdoors. I had just started a 3 month travel assignment in St. George, Utah and was itching to get outside. Being new to the area, I was grateful to join such a wonderful group to explore the beautiful backcountry. The experience reminded me of the reasons I enjoy hiking and why I started backpacking... being out in the best examples of nature and the people you meet along the way. It's also the reason I started travel nursing, so I could go explore new places and take time between assignments to do what I've recently grown to love... thru hiking.
My first long trail was not a normal 'thru hike' it was the Camino de Santiago that took me over 500 miles across Spain along with 3 friends. It is a very social trail with a long, rich history and culture. The experience set me on a path that would lead to the most terrifying, but also best decision of my life... to quit my job of 7 years and start the nomadic life of travel nursing.
Before starting my first travel assignment, I took a month to do my second thru hike, the John Muir Trail (JMT) across the High Sierras in California. It was truly a magical experience with some of the most magnificent scenery I've come across to date.
Half of the hike ended up being unplanned solo which forced me out of my comfort zone and really expanded my confidence. Whether it was a bear encounter or seeking shelter during an afternoon thunderstorm, I realized I could handle so much more than I thought possible.
Both of these adventures have blessed me with amazing memories and wonderful experiences of "trail magic" (hiker slang that describes an unexpected event or occurrence that lifts spirits, inspires awe, or invokes gratitude).
Trail magic experiences along the Camino de Santiago… Coming across a summer festival in a small village, enjoying a carton of fresh blueberries that were left for pilgrims (Camino hikers), and watching the sunset with other pilgrims at the beach which marks the end of the Camino.
I was also able to offer some magic to another; I found a cell phone one morning in the middle of the trail. I happened to meet and befriend the owner and was able to return her phone that same day.
The JMT had its own trail magic... This time I lost a belonging; my favorite headband. I had just about written it off, but several days later I had a chance encounter with a mother and daughter also going northbound. While in conversation, they mentioned something they found along the way that day, a pair of Darn Tough wool socks, and then proceeded to list everything else they had picked up in days prior… a glove, bandana, T-shirt, even a cooking pot! The very last thing they listed ended up being my headband, which they returned to me with a laugh at the stroke of serendipity.
I found that trail magic often revealed itself after meeting other hikers and hearing their stories. One such encounter allowed me another opportunity to return the favor… While taking shelter in the hut on Muir pass, I met two hikers. As we waited out the storm they told me how they had missed their resupply and were going to run out of food 3 days before their next resupply. It just so happened that I was going to hit my next resupply point the next day and my resupply was going to have the extra food for my hiking partner who had bailed. We arranged for them to meet me at the resupply point and I was able to give them the extra food which got them to their next resupply. We exchanged contact info and updated each other on our mutual successful completion of the trail over a week later.
 

It was these memories that came to mind as I read the words from Drill's coin: "every adventure is a story". These memories have become a part of my story and I look forward to the next chapter.
I hope you seek out your own story and encounter your own trail magic.

I was in the middle of my 20th section hike of the Appalachian Trail, covering the 120 miles from Damascus, Virginia south to Erwin, Tennessee in late October 2008. The weather had been cool but pleasant, with daily highs in the mid-40s (20 degrees below average). A local weather forecast warned of possible snow hitting 6,285-foot tall Roan Mountain in the distance, but I felt reasonably prepared for something other than a huge dump.
My original plan called for a reasonable 15-mile day from Hampton to Moreland Shelter, but the sun was out, so I pushed to cover another 10 miles to the new Mountaineer Shelter. I was still half an hour from the shelter when night fell, and the big snowflakes reflected off the light from my headlamp, blinding me and obscuring the white trail blazes. I slogged on cautiously to reach shelter half an hour later.
That night was quite cold, but I was tired and slept well, awakening to a carpet of white in the morning. I was slated to stay at Mountain Haus hostel, only 9 miles away, so I took my time packing up and enjoying an easy walk in the light snowfall. It was lovely to get to the hostel by early afternoon, at which point I learned that they could drive me up to Carvers Gap the next morning so I could slack 15 miles back for another night at the hostel. That sounded a lot better than a night at Roan High Knob Shelter, the highest shelter on the AT on one of the projected coldest nights of the dwindling hiking season.
The next morning, we headed up the icy, snow-covered road to Carvers Gap at 5,823-feet of elevation. I had second thoughts about heading out as the truck was buffeted by high winds, but the drive up was scary enough, so I jumped out, grabbed my pack and waved good-bye. I was wearing everything I had, covered by my rain jacket (zipped up to my nose!) rain and pants. I sheltered from the wind in a small grove of pines and saw that my thermometer read a balmy 15 degrees before sliding on my sunglasses and heading trail-north over the open Balds.
Yes, it was cold, but if I kept moving it wasn’t too bad. What was bad was the wind – a good four-club sustained breeze (~40 mph) with intermittent gusts that had to touch 70 mph at times! Fortunately, the sky was crystal clear with exhilarating views of Grandfather and Beech Mountains to the east that offset a bit of my trepidation. Of course, no one had broken trail since yesterday’s snowfall, which looked to be about 6” with some drifting in places – deep enough to get over my boot tops (and chill my toes) yet also facilitating “boot skiing” down some slopes. I walked quickly to keep my temperature up, but cautiously as I knew no one would be passing this way until afternoon.
I met thru-hiker '2-Liter' just before Stan Murray Shelter. We had been leapfrogging the past week and he was surprised to encounter me heading north. After that I was alone again until Overmountain Shelter, where I ran into a middle school class out to learn about the Overmountain Men. By then it was touching 30 degrees and the wind had died a bit. After a quick snowball fight (that I lost) atop Little Hump they took a picture of me before I continued north. Of course, the wind kicked up again as I climbed the expansive, un-treed slopes of Hump Mountain, forcing me to shelter behind a big rock so I could warm up my hands. Even the famous longhorn steers that live here had the sense to stay away.
From there it was “all downhill”, although not uneventful. I finally re-entered the woods and encountered untracked trail again. Little did I know that there was a frozen creek under the rocks I was traversing. Without any warning I was lying prone and looking up at the sky through the trees. Uninjured, I hopped back up, took two more steps, and ended up in the same position! That slowed me down for a while as my energy flagged the last few miles back to the hostel where I had the small shower all to myself for half an hour.
Days like these are challenging and walk the fine line of sanity, but they are certainly unforgettable! 

A year ago this week, in February 2020, I was gripped with unshakeable anxiety. I was under such an incredible amount of stress in a new management role at my job. The stress had crept up slowly, like the frog slowly boiling in a pot of water analogy. I hadn’t realized how much stress I was under because instead of the typical panicked feeling, I felt physically ill. My jaw was sore from constantly grinding my teeth. I had bad headaches. My stomach hurt every single day, tied up in such knots that I couldn’t eat but was always thirsty. My breathing was shallow and I was constantly on the brink of bursting into tears.
I had reached the point of burnout, barely six months into my new role.
 

My boss noticed and intervened. “Take some time off,” he ordered. When I refused, citing the pile of work that was all coming due, he said “I’ll take care of it. Go for a hike or something. Do what you need to do to feel right again.”
 

I did love hiking, certainly. Up until that point I had treated hiking as another challenge to take on. I was the kind of person who was always trying to accomplish something. I didn’t ever stop to smell the roses, or to celebrate my accomplishments. I was always chugging along to the next big thing, and hiking was no exception. My meticulous adventure plans involved researching the best way to peak bag, or hit all the items from my “hiking list.”
As I begrudgingly took time off work, I started planning for a hike. I ended up choosing a popular hike in the Catskill Mountains, known as Giant’s Ledge. I packed my daypack, my snowshoes, and my microspikes, (since it was still winter) and took off to the mountains.
 

The day was a beautiful day like no other, the weather warm and sunny. It was a solo hike for me since it was the middle of the week and nobody I knew would be able to go with me. I didn’t mind going alone - I was supposed to be on a soul-searching mission. I needed the time to think.
On the trail, I took care to notice the little things around me. The way the sun felt on my skin. The slight breeze dancing through the trees. The way my spikes dug into the walls of ice, allowing me to climb up them like I was some kind of super-hero.
The lookout point was just as beautiful as everyone described, sweeping views to the mountain beyond. I stopped and ate lunch. I took a thousand photos. I did everything I could to really just focus on the moment, and think only about what I was seeing in front of me. I desperately needed this in order to clear my mind of the mental clutter.
 

I remembered just feeling SO good, breathing in the fresh air. I took my time and enjoyed the process of discovery and exploration. One of my fondest moments took place in a thick set of pines. The sun was streaming through the branches which were full of melting snow, causing a magnificent show of sparkling droplets showering everywhere around me. It felt poetic. It made me feel so poetic that I actually sat and started writing down my thoughts and feelings about that moment. I used to love writing; I don’t know why I ever stopped.
 

I’d love to say that it was a transformative event for me and that everything went back to rainbows and sunshine afterwards. Over the long term, I’ve come to look at that hike as a pivotal moment. But initially, the situation became much darker when I returned. The pandemic was throwing the entire world into crisis. My new role at my job became even more difficult and stressful. I felt helpless and lost.
 

The difference was that I was beginning to learn how to cope, and over time my mental wellbeing became better. I started using hiking as therapy to help me in my moments of helplessness. I used the stillness of the wilderness to escape when my world was spinning out of control. I became deliberate about seeking the outdoors as a regular dose of meditation. I still have hiking goals to achieve, but now; I also hike for the pure enjoyment of it, which is the greatest accomplishment of all.