ERVING — While standing on an overlook, gazing over the Millers River, Joe Young is totally relaxed.
He’s calm, walks with purpose and certainly knows his way through the woods. In every respect, he seems at peace with himself. So much so, that it’s hard to imagine he has ever been anything other than content. But that’s not the case — he has seen the devil: Young, like many combat veterans, battles post-traumatic stress disorder.
“One of my biggest burdens I’ve had to try and figure out,” he relates, as he hikes the New England Trail in Erving State Forest. “On June 6, 2005, we were on convoy, when an IED went off and the Humvee in front of me was totally blown to crap. One of my 19-year-old friends died right in front of me.”
He pauses, and repeats: “19.”
After joining the infantry in 1976, he deployed to the Middle East twice, once in 2003 and again in 2005.
Young served for 42 years, and retired from the Army National Guard as a Sergeant Major, the highest enlisted rank.
The air is a few degrees cooler beneath the canopy and smells like spring; sunlight filters through the rustling leaves, stamping patches of gold on the green underbrush.
This isn’t the first time he has hiked in New England, and it definitely isn’t the furthest.
On March 17, 2014, St. Patrick’s Day, Young took his first step on the 2,185-mile-long Appalachian Trail; a journey that changed his life forever.
He was sponsored by Warrior Expeditions, a nonprofit outdoor therapy program for veterans suffering physical or mental trauma.
Most notably, Warrior Expeditions sponsors veterans hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, Continental Divide Trail and Appalachian Trail. The organization’s slogan is “walking off the war.”
His journey traversed more than physical space.
“The question was,” the veteran asked, “why him, and not me?”
Young walked more than 1,500 miles before his journey was cut short late July by an infected blister. The next year, 2015, he returned to the trail, intending to complete his journey.
It was in 2015 that Young understood he didn’t need the answer to his question.
The sun has dipped below the mountains, and its final rays cascade down through the speckled clouds in diffused light. The beauty is nostalgic, and seems to transport Young to another time and place.
“My last trip I figured it out,” he said. “My biggest thing was, he was 19, I was 55. He didn’t even know what life was about. I would’ve swapped places with him in a heartbeat. And I just couldn’t find the answer why.”
While in Connecticut, he had a chance encounter during a thunderstorm with a retired mental health professional. He was going to leave camp, into the storm, but the man convinced him to stay the night in shelter.
“I told him about my career, where I had been and what I had done,” Young related, “and then he looked at me and says, ‘Do you mind if I ask what you’re carrying for baggage? What’d you bring home?’ I really couldn’t answer him. He says, ‘It shows on your face and it shows in your voice.’”
The woods are quiet, birdsong floats softly between the trees, wind gently rustles the leaves. The only other sound is footsteps. Young walks ahead with a steady gait, emotion rising in his voice. His pace is steady.
“I guess I was able to listen this time,” he continued. “It made me realize that he’s gone, I’m here, but I’m not done yet. I don’t wear the same uniform I did when I was in the military, but I still have a passion for taking care of troops.”
A few days later, on June 30, 2015, Young realized his journey was complete, and he didn’t need to walk anymore.
“It had been ten years since I was home,” he said, after relating what it was like after deployment — waking up in his home in Orange in a cold sweat, searching for his M16 rifle. “I’d been a ghost. I wasn’t a whole person. And eight years ago, when I was in turmoil, it didn’t make sense. I decided, it’s time to go home.”
He called his wife, Andrea, left the trail, and caught a bus to Massachusetts.
“When I looked at them,” he said, about watching his four grandkids play in the pool, “I knew I did the right thing.”
After he got back, Young connected with veterans and hiking organizations. He became a maintainer for a section of trail, and began sharing his experiences with other veterans who also battle PTSD.
Now, about a year later, Young is returning to the trail June 1. He plans to hike another 350 to 400 miles. But this time isn’t like the other treks — this time, he’s hiking for a different reason.
“Can’t wait,” he said, an enthusiastic inflection rising in his voice. “No pressure, no stress. The hiking thing keeps me going.”
Before then, Young will remember his fallen comrades in arms on Memorial Day.
“It’s not about the party or the barbecue,” he said, while leaning against his Dodge pickup, back in the parking lot, “it’s about remembering those who gave all.”
Today, Young still deals with PTSD, but said life has been better since his experience on the Trail.
“I hug my wife, kiss her on the forehead and ask, ‘Are we good?’” he said. “And she says, ‘Yeah, we’re good.’”
You can reach Andy Castillo at:
acastillo@recorder.com
or 413-772-0261, ext. 263
On Twitter: @AndyCCastillo