Soon after Pat Kosher, a Trail Angel in Cornell, gave me a ride back to the IAT on April 8, I received a message from Chalice, the wife of my brother Jim. He was going to enter hospice. Jim seemingly had beaten lymphoma that was diagnosed in 2015, but complications from infections made him progressively weaker for three months.
The reality of Jim’s situation shifted my energy on the trail to one of despair, fatigue, and pain. There was no doubt that sadness made my body ache and my hiking uneven. The hummocks were mostly devoid of wildlife except for the occasional squirrel and waterfoul flying away. Silence was no comfort.

On April 9, while thinking constantly of my brother, the tedious, muddy, and boggy trail served to remind me of the courageous battle Jim fought for nearly ten years. So I fought the Ice Age Trail’s boggy Jerry Lake segment all day, desperate for dry, level ground to pitch my tent. When I finally found a suitable campsite in a dark, dense forest carpeted with fallen leaves, I realized Jim’s wife had sent no updates that day. Waiting. I moved slowly while preparing my dinner until I collapsed into my sleeping bag. Zipping the tent fully shut helped me hide from the universe for eight hours. In the darkness of midnight, I checked for messages. Nothing.