A gripping true tale of one man’s journey along the Eastern Continental Trail M. J. Eberhart, aka the Nimblewill Nomad, was a 60-year-old retired doctor in January 1998 when he set off on a foot journey that carried him 4,400 miles (twice the length of the Appalachian Trail) from the Florida Keys to the far north of Quebec. Written in a vivid journal style, the author unabashedly recounts the good (friendships with other hikers he met), the bad (sore legs, cutting winds and rain), and the godawful (those dispiriting doubts) aspects of his days of walking along what has since become known as the Eastern Continental Trail (ECT). An amazing tale of self-discovery and insight into the magic that reverberates from intense physical exertion and a high goal, Eberhart’s is the only written account of a thru-hike along the ECT. Covering 16 states and 2 Canadian provinces, Ten Million Steps deftly mixes practical considerations of an almost unimaginable undertaking with the author’s trademark humor and philosophical musings. Best known by his trail name, Nimblewill Nomad, M. J. Eberhart, the son of a country doctor, grew up in a little village in the Ozark Highlands of Missouri. He’s an Armed Forces veteran. After serving, he settled in as the senior practitioner in a busy three-doctor optometric practice in Florida. He’s divorced, has two sons, Jay and Jon, and two dear granddaughters, Jillian Amber (Jay and Theresa) and Mia Simone (Jon and Terri). He now resides near his childhood home with his schoolmate and sweetheart, Dwinda. Eb, as most off-trail friends know him, began hiking and backpacking in the early ’80s. Always an avid outdoorsman, now retired, he’s making up for lost time after being cooped up in examination rooms with no windows for nearly 30 years. TUESDAY March 17, 1998 TRAIL DAY 76/9 - TRAIL MILE 1,183/108 - LOCATION Protected cove between Wolf Ridge and Rock Quarry Mountain past Lanie Gap Well, looks like it’s coming today, invitation or not . . . the rain. The forecast is for rain―pretty sure bet! So it is, as I break camp and head on up Augusta Mine Ridge, the rain begins. As I climb, the rain really starts pounding, the wind driving a bitter cold. At Ferguson Memorial on top of Augusta Mine, I am exposed to its full rage. The wind, rain, and cold become nearly unbearable. I have packed out ahead of Mule and now I’m concerned about the worsening conditions behind me, so I move to the side of the trail and crouch in the lee against the wall of a small rock overhang. Here under the ledge, I rig my poncho. Mule pulls in ten minutes later, shivering uncontrollably and soaked to the bone. We tie his tent fly to my poncho to enclose a small area beneath the ledge. The wind is now driving the rain at full gale force as it roars, howling and shuddering around and above us. Our makeshift shelter is being ripped and attacked as the storm increases in intensity. We are both soaked, and the cold sets its grip as we huddle together. The sky has turned dark as night and the temperature continues to drop, turning the rain to sleet. I find some dry sticks and leaves lodged in the cracks and crannies between the rocks around us and am able to get a small fire going, aided by a chip of fire starter that I have been toting along. We remain huddled over this little bit of glimmer unable to move for more than three hours as the storm continues to tear at our makeshift shelter. By now it is 3:00 p.m. We can’t remain here much longer. We have got to get down off this mountain and find a place to pitch in the lee before dark. Surely this storm will show mercy and permit us to break from its grip. Finally, the wind seems to tire, and as it backs down a bit, we make a run for it. We’re able to get down into a little cove in the lee and pitch our tents. I even manage to get a pathetic little fire going again to prepare supper and to dry our bodies a little before rolling in. This day has been a wild and scary ordeal that will be remembered for a very, very long time! Thank you, Lord, for seeing me through this one! “There is a line by us unseen; That crosses every path; The hidden boundary between God’s patience and his wrath.” [J. Addison Alexander] March 18, 1998 TRAIL DAY 77/10 - TRAIL MILE 1,185/110 - LOCATION Lamont Motel, PiedmontWe finish the remaining 2 miles of the official Alabama Pinhoti Trail at US 278 by 10:30 a.m. The forecast is for thunderstorms and continued cold wind. We’ve got that in spades. Mule wants to hitch a ride into Piedmont, get provisions, and stay overnight there. I want to head on north. I figure I’m at least a day behind already. Mule offers to treat me to supper and put me up in his room, so reluctantly I go for the deal. We try hitching for over an hour with no luck, then end up walking 4 miles to the nearest gas station. Here we get a ride to Piedmont with Buck Jennings, the station owner. We have a fine meal at Ranch House, and Mule gets the provisions he needs to get into C