One day we’ll wake up in different states. 

And the sun will rise for each of us separately and barely any of us will be up to see it. 

I love the moments we can get close and be present. It’s so unique to the trail. Being present. I’ve never had such an easy time living in the moment. 

And I really mean that, as cliche as it sounds. But being out here has made me realize how distracted I normally am. 

A few nights ago about 15 of us rolled up to a shelter and lit a fire. We gathered around it and played music and talked until it was dark. As the Stars quietly came out and people slowly went to bed, Clicks stood by the dying fire and said, “Its moments like this.” 

Moments like this, when we all get together after a hard day and sit and chat and…that’s it. It’s simple, but it also means so much. 

And so one day, we’ll all be apart. But right now we’re together, and there’s something about living in the moment that makes it feel like it will last forever. 

Eloquence escapes me, and so, time to climb one of the last mountains I til Kathadin: the Bigelows. Until the next town. 

Fly on, Lil Wayne 


I Walked 1000 Miles: An Open Letter To The Proclaimers 

Dear Charlie and Craig,

As I set out to tackle a 2,200 mile hike, it came to my attention I would be doing something that you two so fervently and popularly sang about: walking 1,000 miles. Now that I’ve done that? I’ve got a few things to say about the experience. 

I would never freaking do this for someone else.

My god, the amount of twists and turns and speed bumps that assault you in 1,000 miles of walking are inumerable. I have faced challenges and problems that seemed unfixable, climbed mountains that seemed impossible, forded rivers that seemed uncrossable, and you know what? It felt amazing because I did it for myself. 

Sure, I’ll admit it: my first 500 miles were hiked for someone else. I was hiking to prove to every ex that I’m a sexy bad ass they never should have left. I was hiking to keep up with someone who wanted to spend his life with me. I was hiking to lose weight, gain muscle, prove that I can be awesome. 

After several trips on and off trail I realized I wasn’t purely happy when I was doing those things. It took a lot of patience and bravery to recognize that. 

Call it a selfish journey, but I call it healing.

Spur and I were talking at length about how people get hurt and then never let themselves fully heal. The healing process is so incredibly important if you want to move on. To have the strength and cognicence to recognize your own shortcomings, faults, or pain takes patience and time. Out here? That is literaly all you’ve got. Every day is full of at least 8 hours of thinking time. 

I wasn’t expecting to find myself so broken in March. But over the past 2-7 years, I’d transformed into a raging mess, the eye of a storm. I showed up on the AT’s doorstep hurting but ready to change. 

This hike has been my own rehab. I spent the money on gear and provisions and I came out here to heal myself. Whether you knew it or not, I was on the edge, and if it wasn’t evident in my scars it was surely evident in my poor choices, constant need for partners, and excessive drinking. 

Deep down I knew I didn’t come out here to be better for someone or to show the world how awesome I am. I came out here to prove to myself that I can climb mountains, no matter how big or metaphorical they might be. 

I walked the most difficult 10 miles of my life yesterday, and they weren’t so because I was walking away from something or someone I loved. They were the most difficult because I was finally walking towards something better. 

So with that? I’ve got 200 miles to Kathadin and then another 1,000 miles to hike further down south, and I’m going to hike those with fervor and bravery. There will not be a man or a woman waiting for me at the end. I will not fall down at anyone’s door. 

I am Lil Wayne, hear me roar.

Fly on, 

LW (Therese) 

It’s the morning in the mountains,

And I am crying. 

I was caught actually crying looking at a view of little ski slopes carved shakily into pine covered mounds nestled into the clouds. What brought me here was sheer determination. What broke me? That remains unspoken. 

As time passes I find it harder and harder to talk about the things I don’t want to face, because if they live quietly in my heart then I can continue on light and free. This is not me bottling things up. This is not me being afraid. 

This is me being tired from working hard. 

All day I work hard to keep afloat, to hike up and down rocks because I’m going to see a wooden sign that’s 1000 miles away. 

And when the day ends I want to sleep, and I sleep heavier and heartier than I’ve ever slept in my life. It’s truly a joy to sleep. 

The mornings come and they are quiet, so quiet that nothing else could be quieter, and all the things in my heart begin to rattle. 

When I looked off into the distance on this morning I was thinking about where you are, when you actually finished the trail and left this life behind, where you moved to now…it all seems so far away. 

I wondered about how far away the things I am reaching for actually are. My depth perception fails with time. 

I harbor an armada of moments, quietly floating in my heart, some of them lifetimes away, and still the mountains roll on ceaselessly into the distance. 

The Freakin’ WHITES!

I was having a difficult time understanding why everyone was loving the Whites so much.

Crazy, right? Everyone is talking about how amazingly beautiful this place is and I’d been hiking it for a day or two in the rain and fog, not understanding why it was such a big deal.

Don’t get me wrong, everything was still beautiful and I had a great time up Moosilauke, but I was also emotionally downtrodden. I felt alone and was really tired of slipping on stupid rocks. I think you may have figured that out from my last post. 

But then two key things happened:

  1. Chet gave me the gift of a full night’s sleep 
  2. The clouds lifted. 

“WOW” I said outloud. “So THIS is what everyone has been talking about!” The glorious mountinous world stood before me, unfettered and unending. 

Now, cue the epic awesomeness.

We stood in a parking lot and stared up at this monster: 

And when we got to the top? You could see the parking lot way way down below. 

And once we got up on Webster Cliffs it was all ridge line from there! What does that mean? That means we’re above the trees and we can always see where we’re going. That means Mt. Washington loomed in the distance all day. It was a beautiful combination of empowerment, excitement, and nerves. I KNEW I would hike it, but it boggled my mind that I’d do it all in one day. 

And the sun set on us as we tried to find the Lakes Of the Clouds Hut and I felt so isolated in the mountains. It was just me and Aussie and huge mountains, tucked away into our own spacious spot on the planet. 

I’m seriously struggling about how to put this whole part of the adventure into words. Even the photos don’t seem to do the landscape justice. 

The Whites have been an emotional roller coaster. I think my experience is best explained in bullet points: 

  • I cried in the morning looking at the mountains outside Galehead Hut 
  • I had good luck with work for stays at huts as long as I was alone and got there before 7 
  • There were so many rocks. 
  • It was worth it to climb up Mt Eisenhower
  • Mt Madison is just rocks and that sucked. 
  • Mt Washington is cooler before the tourists get up there 
  • Lakes Of the Clouds Hut actually turned people away but it was a beautiful night 
  • I saw so so so many stars, more than I’ve ever seen in my life 

And so I continue on, less than 30 miles from Maine, completely immersed and losing words every day as I become further in the wilderness. 

Fly on, 

Lil Wayne 

The Freaking Whites (So Far)

As time goes on, it gets harder and hard to write about the experience I’m having out here.

This week has been really interesting in that regard, actually. I feel like I’ve been doing a LOT, accomplishing a LOT, yet I also feel curbed.

Curbed? No. To put it plainly, I’ve been feeling really shitty.

The Whites are HARD, man. I’m having a hard time. Sometimes.

AH, see? Hard to explain.

Moosilauke was Dope.

I climbed up that mountain like it was my JOB (well, technically I guess it is…) and it felt good. I got to the top with a group of people and we spent time together up there. We also only hiked 10 miles that day, which felt great.

Chill day, tough climb, even tougher climb down.

But we nailed it. Together.

Then I move on to the Kinsmans.

And my world came crashing down. Yesterday was insanely hard for me to finish. Don’t get me wrong, the rock climbing part was fun. But being alone? In the rain? Slipping and sliding?

I mean, shit, it wasn’t even raining all day. It was mostly humid.

But I was so alone in the middle of the woods. And I pulled so many muscles trying to stay afloat and upright.

So at 7:45 pm I have the genius idea to go hike 6 more miles.

Smooth thinking, Wayne. Real good idea. High on caffeine and ready to feel something other than my own internal pain, I said goodbye to the group of girl campers I just met and set out into the wilderness. 

It was a pretty dumb idea. 

Even if it’s only dusk, the forest gets DARK real QUICK. Super dark. 

Was this a way for me to ignore my inner turmoil by putting myself in a scary situation? Maybe. 

Did I end up safe? Of course! I didn’t actually get to hike 6 miles. I showed up at the Lonesome Pond Hut around 8:30pm and the lady working there said “oh my goodness please sleep on our floor it’s fine you shouldn’t be hiking this late!” 

Amazing first Hut experience. 

The hut’s in the Whites sound very confusing, because “normal people” but a bunk and sleep there for the night but you can do a work for stay but you have to get there early and they can’t always offer you a place to stay or food but they also have such good food. It sounds confusing and intimidating. But in reality? It’s not really. You just DO it. So last night when I showed up late, they offered me salvation. 

Anyway, the point is I’ve had a really difficult past 24 hours. 

And so right now?

I’m sitting on a porch listening to GQ play guitar, he’s just riffing and we’re all sitting here quietly listening as the sun sets. 

This morning I felt sad enough to cry because all the people I’d been hiking with kept hiking and I felt truly alone. 

But that’s not the case. It never is. Not on the Appalachian Trail. No, here there’s always a friend right around the corner, waiting for you with a smiling face, so pumped to see you again. Everything works out. 

Everything always works out. 

Fly on,

Lil Wayne. 



“Awesome” – Rocket Fuel 

It’s an equally empowering and daunting feeling to see all the mountains you’re going to be climbing within the week.

Here’s the deal: we’re doing New Hampshire. Things are going great. They get a little steep, the terrain profile in AWOL’s guide is no help, but for the most part things are good. Then we get up smart mountain, it’s the type of mountain that’s sort of shaped like an L, so when you’re walking along a lower ridge you can see the small itty bitty fire tower up at the top that you need to get to in 3 miles. 

So when you get up there, after huffing and puffing, after your calves feel like they’re on fire, you climb up said fire tower and can see this: 

See that big, blue mountain? That’s Moosilauke. That’s one day’s hike away. 

You’re probably thinking what I’m thinking. “HAH WHAAAAT?” No way. Holy shit. 

Let me tell you, when you get to the actual base of it, you get a glimpse of the entire thing. And you’re stuck with the thought I am going to be climbing up hill for 4 miles.

Spoiler alert: it’s not that bad.

We made it up in 2 hours or less. And that’s what’s been so interesting about these past couple days: the future looks really difficult and daunting, but it ending up being triumphant and fun. 

Every single person I hiked with to the top of Moosilauke had an epic smile on their face this morning. We hiked a big ass mountain. And it was a beautiful god damned day. In fact, some how, despite all our previous anxieties about weather and terraine, everything turned out to be perfect. 

So now I firmly believe that it’s silly to sweat the future. There’s just too many factors that you can’t be certain on. 

As of today, I feel this calm floating over me. Am I still nervous about the Whites? Sure. We got a full blown view of what we’re going to climb this week at the top of the mountain. 

But I’m not too worried. Because I’m going to DO it. It’s going to happen. 

Well, to be honest, it’s 9:40pm and I feel like I’m about to pass out. 

I’ll work on some cool poetic metaphoric realizations for y’all later. 

Until then, fly on!

Lil Wayne 

“How Did I Get Here?” 

I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately.

Actually, it’s really amusing to think about what my reaction would be if someone came up to me in the past and said, “Hey, in a year from now, you’re going to….” because most of the time I’d be hilariously shocked. 

Here’s some of those scenarios. 

If you’d come up to me a year ago and told me I’d be:

  1. Stealing hand sanitizer from a portapottie on the side of the road in a random town in CT 
  2. Sleeping on the floor in a maple syrup factory 
  3. Climbing up a mountain with metal poles in my hands while an impending thunder storm rolls in 
  4. Sleeping in a random old ladie’s yard eating her homemade cookies 
  5. Eating a plate of eggs made by a kind stranger in the middle of the woods. 
  6. Sad to only have 500 miles left of a hike 
  7. Hitchhiking in several different states 
  8. Climbing up those massive blue mountains looming in the distance 

I guess I wouldn’t have been surprised, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you how I got there, and I’d be so excited. 

And so we hikers laugh every day about all these crazy situations we find ourselves in, endless roaming further into the north. 

Until next time, Fly on! 

Lil Wayne.