Stories by Cullin Morgan

When June first started the trail, she’d set herself apart from the other thru-hikers, preferring to travel solo. Now, at the tail end of the season, there were only a few of those thru-hikers left. Some days June didn’t see another human at all. She typically preferred it this way, despite her family’s warnings.

“Don’t walk alone,” they’d said. Her mom’s voice rang in her ears. “You’re a woman, Junie. I know you’re strong, but what if someone takes you, hurts you? Women shouldn’t travel alone; it isn’t safe.” And June boiled inside. Apart from the fact that no one in her social circle could or would hike the 2,190 miles to Katahdin with her, she shouldn’t have to have a buddy. Yes there were risks—she’d read the statistics about women who hike alone—but there were too many things in this life that she “shouldn’t do” because she was a woman. This wasn’t going to be one of those things.

So she bought pepper spray, bear spray—all the sprays—and she bought a knife. Then she laced up her boots, flew to Georgia, Ubered to Springer Mountain and said, “screw the patriarchy.”