Colleen T. Peterson, AKA “Teala”
The June 2012 Mid-Atlantic and Midwest derecho is considered one of the deadliest and most destructive in North American history. Defined by Merriam-Webster as a large fast-moving complex of thunderstorms with powerful straight-line winds that cause widespread destruction, a derecho is most often likened to a tornado. Long-distance hikers often experience a range of
weather events and I’ve certainly had my share. But, the intensity of the fast-moving thunderstorms underpinning the June 2012 North American derecho that claimed 22 lives and cost $2.9 billion in damage, tested everything I had learned about survival and, more importantly, the value of expressing gratitude.
Desperate to leave Virginia---the 4th state in our NOBO journey with its whopping 550 miles of the near 2200 miles that comprise the Appalachian Trail---my son and thru-hiker companion, Christian “Texas Pete”, had entered West Virginia’s infamous “Roller Coaster” the morning of June 29. The general malaise and increasing signs of illness, later determined to be Lyme disease, dampened my spirits as I cursed the pointless ups and downs of this short, but challenging section. There was absolutely no air moving and the temperature climbed steadily until it hit 101 around 3 PM. My son—totally aware that he was responsible for my well-being—called a halt to our march just shy of our planned destination, Bear’s Den. I remember thinking that the air was so thick it was suffocating; as if some gigantic vacuum cleaner had simply and effectively sucked every possible movement out of the atmosphere. It was eerie and, had I had my wits about me, I would have realized that this uncanny stillness predicted something remarkable—and deadly—in its wake.
Typically, we didn’t check weather reports while we were hiking, largely because cell phone service was spotty, but Chris felt compelled to do so that evening. Thank goodness he did--- “Mom, get in your tent NOW. A strong storm is headed toward us. We have just few minutes.” I had to think but there was no time so I scrambled into my tent and heard Chris zip the fly over
his hammock. What was he thinking? If it’s a severe storm, his hammock is defenseless. What was I thinking? My tent weighed less than 4 pounds and was equally inadequate in a storm of any great magnitude. Then I heard it---like a freight train barreling up both sides of my tent. The wind was unbelievable and the calmness of that once airless night was shattered by the sound
of falling trees. Were they the ones Chris’ hammock was hooked to? And what could I do? Nothing, but hope and pray. So, I did.
The following morning of June 30 brought intense sunshine and cooler, dryer air. Chris and I woke up at about 5:30. We had spent the night in deep slumber after checking on each other’s safety once the derecho had passed. We couldn’t even count the number of trees that had broken like matchsticks around our campsite. All I could think was how did we manage to survive that? Was there a greater intervention? Did my desperate thoughts of how I would be more grateful if we survived prove to be the ingredient necessary to ensure our safety? I might never know why we survived but what I did know was that I would forever practice being grateful—because I was.
As we picked our way through downed trees—enough with white blazes that we could follow the Trail--we met volunteers who were clearing debris and checking on the safety of people like Chris and me who couldn’t find shelter in one of the deadliest and most destructive storms in North American history. I’ve thought about that a lot since June 2012—those volunteers dedicated to maintaining this national treasure called the Appalachian Trail and, on June 30, 2012, making sure those of us who ventured on it in were safe. It’s a life lesson I shall never forget.
Nine years later, I embrace my new relationship with the AT, now as a volunteer joining hundreds of others who share the mission of the Conservancy—to protect, manage and advocate for the world’s most iconic footpath. My journey as a long distance hiker allowed me to be an adventurer. Today, my role as a volunteer ensures that others have the chance to experience the Appalachian Trail and to create their own adventures. And, for that I am grateful.
Colleen T. Peterson, AKA “Teala”
AT Hiker, starting in 2012 and completing 2025 miles in 2024
weather events and I’ve certainly had my share. But, the intensity of the fast-moving thunderstorms underpinning the June 2012 North American derecho that claimed 22 lives and cost $2.9 billion in damage, tested everything I had learned about survival and, more importantly, the value of expressing gratitude.
Desperate to leave Virginia---the 4th state in our NOBO journey with its whopping 550 miles of the near 2200 miles that comprise the Appalachian Trail---my son and thru-hiker companion, Christian “Texas Pete”, had entered West Virginia’s infamous “Roller Coaster” the morning of June 29. The general malaise and increasing signs of illness, later determined to be Lyme disease, dampened my spirits as I cursed the pointless ups and downs of this short, but challenging section. There was absolutely no air moving and the temperature climbed steadily until it hit 101 around 3 PM. My son—totally aware that he was responsible for my well-being—called a halt to our march just shy of our planned destination, Bear’s Den. I remember thinking that the air was so thick it was suffocating; as if some gigantic vacuum cleaner had simply and effectively sucked every possible movement out of the atmosphere. It was eerie and, had I had my wits about me, I would have realized that this uncanny stillness predicted something remarkable—and deadly—in its wake.
Typically, we didn’t check weather reports while we were hiking, largely because cell phone service was spotty, but Chris felt compelled to do so that evening. Thank goodness he did--- “Mom, get in your tent NOW. A strong storm is headed toward us. We have just few minutes.” I had to think but there was no time so I scrambled into my tent and heard Chris zip the fly over
his hammock. What was he thinking? If it’s a severe storm, his hammock is defenseless. What was I thinking? My tent weighed less than 4 pounds and was equally inadequate in a storm of any great magnitude. Then I heard it---like a freight train barreling up both sides of my tent. The wind was unbelievable and the calmness of that once airless night was shattered by the sound
of falling trees. Were they the ones Chris’ hammock was hooked to? And what could I do? Nothing, but hope and pray. So, I did.
The following morning of June 30 brought intense sunshine and cooler, dryer air. Chris and I woke up at about 5:30. We had spent the night in deep slumber after checking on each other’s safety once the derecho had passed. We couldn’t even count the number of trees that had broken like matchsticks around our campsite. All I could think was how did we manage to survive that? Was there a greater intervention? Did my desperate thoughts of how I would be more grateful if we survived prove to be the ingredient necessary to ensure our safety? I might never know why we survived but what I did know was that I would forever practice being grateful—because I was.
As we picked our way through downed trees—enough with white blazes that we could follow the Trail--we met volunteers who were clearing debris and checking on the safety of people like Chris and me who couldn’t find shelter in one of the deadliest and most destructive storms in North American history. I’ve thought about that a lot since June 2012—those volunteers dedicated to maintaining this national treasure called the Appalachian Trail and, on June 30, 2012, making sure those of us who ventured on it in were safe. It’s a life lesson I shall never forget.
Nine years later, I embrace my new relationship with the AT, now as a volunteer joining hundreds of others who share the mission of the Conservancy—to protect, manage and advocate for the world’s most iconic footpath. My journey as a long distance hiker allowed me to be an adventurer. Today, my role as a volunteer ensures that others have the chance to experience the Appalachian Trail and to create their own adventures. And, for that I am grateful.
Colleen T. Peterson, AKA “Teala”
AT Hiker, starting in 2012 and completing 2025 miles in 2024