20 Tips

The Volunteer Vacations run by the American Hiking Society involve backpacking into the wilderness, then spending a week camping and working with a group of people you just met. Is this a recipe for a train wreck? Before: The plan is to "log out a trail," says Phil Pierard, 56, the ranger in charge of the trip, held June 20 to 27 in Six Rivers National Forest, near Orleans, Calif. There will be "tread work"--repairing ground damaged by water erosion--and volunteers may get to use a crosscut saw to cut sections out of trees that have fallen across the path. Cancellations mean the trip has only four volunteers, plus Forest Service staffers. Everyone is excited about meeting people and doing satisfying labor in the outdoors. Most are experienced backpackers or have been on work trips. All are single. (Several A.H.S. trips have produced marriages--this is a reality show waiting to happen.) One volunteer, Paul Snyder, a 52-year-old civil engineer from Berkeley, Calif., has been on 13 previous A.H.S. trips. He says he's "not that gregarious" and considers the trips a "major social outlet." As he points out, "The kind of people who are willing to pay to work are usually really easy to get along with." Paul met his current boss on one trip: He'd coincidentally applied for a job at the guy's company beforehand and got an interview--and offer-- soon after the trip. "I worked hard and was a good leader," says Paul, "and I think he was impressed that I did it all for free." For Ken Margiott, 44, a forester from Santa Rosa, Calif., the expectations lean toward doing quality trail work and seeing a new part of the state. It's his third A.H.S. trip. Carla Shafer, 49, who teaches freshman writing at Cornell, in Ithaca, N.Y., is the trip's only female volunteer, and a first-timer. Her main goal is to make sure that her 15-year-old nephew, Josiah Shafer, has a good time. Since the trip will be Josiah's first backpacking experience, Carla anticipates teaching him important skills like hanging a bear bag. In his own prep work for the trip, Josiah built a homemade camping stove, which he describes as "a little, tiny, mini stove that burns denatured alcohol." He's looking forward to getting a trail name--a nickname he'll either be given by the group or come up with on his own. Both Shafers are vegetarians, and Carla mentions that she called Ranger Phil and found out that he was "not nearly as organized about his food plans" as she'd envisioned. This is Phil's first experience leading an A.H.S. trip. Carla's call appears to have generated some insecurity about preparedness. "I'm not sure if we're supposed to feed them. If we are--what?" he wonders. "Also, we've only got a short time to get acquainted and pick up supplies, and soon we'll be 7.5 miles out in the woods." A final concern is the delegating of work tasks: "Everybody wants to use the crosscut saw. It's romantic." After: By all accounts, things turned out great. "Phil was a fantastic leader," says Carla, who at the end of the week suggested the group go on a reunion trip next year. "There wasn't a clunker in the bunch," says Phil. "No crybabies. We basically became friends--or at least pals." (Phil brought three Forest Service volunteers to help: Cory Woodman, Julia Valenti, and Hiro Akiyama, a Japanese exchange student who spoke halting English and had a habit of forgetting tools.) Instead of romantic crosscut sawing, most of their efforts went toward countering erosion--everything from cutting back brush to moving 1,000-pound rocks. No power tools are allowed in wilderness areas, so the group used shovels, axes, picks, and Pulaskis (half ax, half grub hoe). Everyone found it satisfying to know their work would keep the trail serviceable for a decade. "I lead a fairly sedentary life," says Carla. "I wanted to get tired and dirty. I sure did. My arms are scratched up, and I have bruises all over my legs. It felt good in a strange kind of way." "We worked like dogs all week," says Paul, happily. Phil made sure that the group had plenty of time to relax. After toiling in the morning, everyone was free to head back to camp, go for a walk, read a book, or take a bath using the water bucket. A more appealing option was to go for a swim in Monument Lake, where there is also good fishing. Since Phil is an avid fisherman, he gave Josiah pointers and helped him catch and clean two six-inch trout. They cooked the fish at the camp, and even though Josiah is a vegetarian, he found the fish to be "pretty good." (Alas, his stove didn't work.) The other food ranged from homemade (by Phil) clam chowder and London broil during the first two days to A.H.S.-provided freeze-dried lasagna--"so-called lasagna" in Paul's words--later in the week. Mealtimes were when everyone really got to know each other. "These things have the potential to get monotonous," says Ken. "But with a good group, when everyone works together and is interesting, it works. This was the best trip I've been on." Josiah, by the way, got a trail name from his aunt: Walking Stick. He says he'd prefer something like Knotty Alder, but for now Walking Stick will have to do. "Because he's such a stripling," says Carla. The American Hiking Society runs more than 100 trips each year, all across the country, graded from easy to very strenuous (this one was moderate to difficult). Normal group sizes are 8 to 10; 60 percent of volunteers are return customers. The registration fee is $100. You have to pay your way to the area (transportation is tax-deductible), but the host will usually arrange a pickup at the airport. You must bring your own camping equipment, though food tends to be included. 800/972-8608, ext. 206, americanhiking.org.

In the summer of 1978, a young Indian accountant named Chandru arrived in rural Northern Ireland, hoping to work with his hands. In his two weeks at Glebe House--an old rectory converted into a retreat for children, away from the conflict and violence of Belfast--Chandru built windows and window frames so the derelict stable and garage could be converted into a bunkhouse and recreation room. He also crafted sturdy benches for the dining hall. This past spring, Glebe House finally replaced Chandru's windows with double-glazed modern ones; the benches are still there. "People just couldn't believe that the windows were made by hand, and by an accountant," says Helen Honeyman, who set up and ran Glebe House for 23 years largely with the help of long-term and vacationing volunteers from Service Civil International (SCI), a network of grassroots groups across the globe. "Even two weeks' experience can have a profound effect." Honeyman retired six years ago, but she lives in the village near Glebe House and serves on the board of directors. She's what you would call dedicated, mission-driven, inspired--exactly the kind of person who volunteers can expect to encounter on these trips, the kind of person who makes it worth the work (and makes the work not seem like work at all). "Everyone wants to feel we've contributed something, that we've made a little mark somewhere," she says. And she should know. In 1966, Honeyman was a volunteer herself with SCI USA, at a summer camp in Palatine, Ill., for kids from inner-city Chicago. It was there, where the kids were white, black, and Hispanic but shared many of the same economic and social disadvantages, that she got the idea for a camp that would build community between Catholics and Protestants. It's a long story, but by 1974 the Belfast Rotary Club and the International Voluntary Service--Northern Ireland, a branch of SCI, purchased Glebe House, a 16-acre parcel with several dilapidated buildings just a mile's walk from the Irish Sea. Honeyman has seen dozens of volunteers from many nations come and go, some for a week, some for a year or longer. The continual coming and going can take its toll, physically and emotionally. But the work couldn't possibly go on without the volunteers, and hosts wouldn't want it any other way. Much more than just cheap labor, the volunteers are an infusion of culture and diversity for an otherwise isolated community. They give the children at Glebe House a significantly broader view of the world, beyond politics and stereotypes. Recently, Glebe House hosted young mothers and their babies. "One of the young mums, I'd known her as a kid," says Honeyman. "She was remembering everything so clearly. And what she was remembering was the volunteers." There was the supermarket manager from New Jersey who planted a summer vegetable garden, producing way more zucchini than the staff and kids could handle. There was the Serbian volunteer who, before his arrival, studied Irish folk songs on the Internet and played one after another at the annual fund-raiser (including many lyrics even the locals had never heard). And there was the farmer from Virginia who helped the staff build fences that last to this day--after he returned to the U.S., he left farming for a career in social work. "Not to get too sappy," says Honeyman, "but you get an understanding that kids are kids the world over. It's a very small snowballing. Once you've done this sort of vacation, you're hooked." Here are several volunteer programs. For more, check out responsibletravel.com, a U.K. site with links to opportunities worldwide. ACDI/VOCA 202/383-4961, acdivoca.org, seeking older, experienced people for two-to-four-week trips, expenses paid Amizade 888/973-4443, amizade.org, one-to-seven-week programs from $530 Conservation Volunteers Australia 011-61/3-5333-1483, conservationvolunteers.com.au, volunteer for a day or longer, lodging, including meals, from $22 per night Council on International Educational Exchange 207/553-7600, ciee.org, two-to-four-week projects start at $350 Earthwatch Institute 800/776-0188, earthwatch.org, one-to-three-week trips (tax-deductible donations start at around $800) Global Crossroad 800/413-2008, globalcrossroad.com, 2-to-12-week teaching programs in Asia, $600--$1,900 Global Volunteers 800/487-1074, globalvolunteers.org, one-to-three-week programs from $1,500, including lodging GlobeAware 214/823-0083, globeaware.org, Latin America and Asia, starting at $990 Habitat for Humanity International 229/924-6935, habitat.org, 10-to-14-day programs, $1,500--$3,500 SCI International Voluntary Service 206/350-6585, sci-ivs.org, short- and long-term programs, $80--$250 not including transportation Volunteers for Peace 802/259-2759, vfp.org, over 2,400 programs (two-to-three-week trips to Europe start at $200)

I sold my house, and then my car. I quit my job and stored my belongings. It was the beginning of a commitment to live a life of my own making. To celebrate, and test my newfound conviction, I fulfilled a lifelong goal by hiking the 2,174-mile Appalachian Trail. While thru-hikers--people who do the trail in one trip, as I did--get all the attention, most of the folks on the A.T. are hiking much shorter distances, many hoping at some point to cover the entire thing. (Not everyone can set aside six months to take a long walk.) However you arrange it, your time spent on the A.T. will challenge you physically, mentally, and, sometimes, emotionally. Know the basics: The trail starts in the south at Springer Mountain, Ga., winding its way north through 14 states to Mt. Katahdin, Maine. Thru-hikers typically start the journey in the spring so they can make it to the end of the trail before the cold weather arrives. Section hikers, liberated from the timetable imposed by Maine's early snowstorms, have considerably more flexibility. Do your research: The Appalachian Trail Conference (appalachiantrail.org), which oversees this National Scenic Trail, is a fine place to begin. Another site, trailplace.com, run by seven-time thru-hiker Dan "Wingfoot" Bruce, is uncommonly informative, plus it has an active community of hikers willing to share their wisdom. Bruce is also the author of the indispensable Thru-hiker's Handbook. Choose wisely: Base your itinerary on more than just scenery. If you're hiking just a section, do it near one of the many hiker-friendly towns along the way. My favorites were Hot Springs, N.C.; Damascus, Va., the home of Trail Days, a hiker festival that takes place each May; Harpers Ferry, W.Va., where the A.T.C. is headquartered; Delaware Water Gap, Pa.; and Hanover, N.H. They all have good outfitters that will drive you to the trail and then pick you up at a prearranged time and place, simplifying the logistics. If crowds aren't your thing, make sure the northbound swell has either passed by already or not yet reached the area that you intend to focus on (call the A.T.C. at 304/535-6331 for updates). Pack light: Novice backpackers often ruin their experience by lugging around 50 pounds or more. Seasoned hikers can easily keep the weight of a full pack under 30 pounds, including a week's supply of food. Each pound matters. Ray Jardine's Beyond Backpacking (rayjardine.com) is the bible of ultralight backpacking. Slow down: You'll hear about hikers chalking up more than 30 miles a day, but for beginners, a daily average of 10 miles is plenty--and it's more rewarding. I never regretted relaxing on mountaintops or alongside streams longer than I probably should have. Know the natives: Bears, bobcats, moose, porcupines, river otters, and rattlesnakes are just a few of the animals you might come across. Whether you're sidling around a timber rattler or being awakened at dawn by a bull moose just yards from the shelter, as I was, you can minimize risk by becoming knowledgeable beforehand about wildlife. Most of your critter-related worries will come from smaller denizens: mice, which will gnaw into your food cache at night if you don't learn to store it properly, and mosquitoes and blackflies, which can be an itchy, scratchy nuisance if you forget insect repellent. Take shelter: Rustic lean-tos are spaced approximately every 10 miles, so you can forgo bringing along a tent, which will significantly cut your pack weight and expenses. (Make room for a lightweight, waterproof tarp just in case.) Don't be surprised if you don't have the lean-tos--or the Trail, for that matter--to yourself. The A.T. is more popular than ever, and the shelters are the nexus of the trail community. Even those who choose not to stay in them stop by for breaks or to leave entries in the shelter journals. Go with the flow: I often adjusted my schedule, once hiking at night by a full moon to make up for a lazy day spent swimming, and I took plenty of unplanned breaks to talk with curious day hikers. (The people I met along the way, such as the Virginia couple who invited me into their home for a steak dinner, turned out to be one of the most memorable parts of my trip.) Being open to alternatives, a skill I polished on the Trail, enlivened my imagination and served me well after I finished hiking. Just months after leaving Maine I moved to New York City--something I'd never previously considered--and landed my dream job.

It wasn't until I stepped off the train in St. Jean, at the foot of the snowy Pyrenees, that I was hit with the reality of a 500-mile pilgrimage to Santiago. The route had had a John Lennon, just-turn-left-at-Greenland simplicity when spread across my breakfast table in the States--first come down from France and then hang a right across the Spanish regions of Navarra, La Rioja, Castilla y León, and Galicia. Now that I was there, it became obvious that my Camino daydreams were logistically threadbare. Would it be easy to find places to sleep? Did I have the appropriate gear? Did I really want to walk for a month? At St. Jean, a cosmic base camp crowded with chalets, an old man familiar with confused pilgrims ushered me to the albergue (shelter), where I was shown to a bunk, and my pilgrim's passport was stamped. The next day, Easter, as I traversed the Pyrenees--atop peaks and through valleys, where everyone was dressed in red, white, and green Basque costumes and marched in the streets as girls twirled in sync to oompah music--I remembered what a Dutchman told me when I nervously asked directions into the mountains. "Relax, you are a peregrino," he said, using the Spanish word for pilgrim and playing with the beads in his long, gray beard. "The journey begins with the first step." He clapped me on the shoulder and gave me the pilgrim's salutation: "Buen Camino." I felt a greater sense of belonging with each stage of hiking. When I reached the day's goal and laid my gear out on my bed, I was greeted by faces that were becoming more and more familiar. And when I sat down to share wine and food, I was with old friends. "People on the Camino are from all over," said Ismael Herrero, a pilgrim from Madrid, as we descended through lush fields in Navarra, where white blossoms poured over rickety fences and bells chimed in the distance. "The Camino is less a path in Spain than an international cultural experience suspended in space." Even though my mind felt like part of a community, my body was unsure. Somewhere outside Pamplona, my feet began throbbing and I dropped my pack in the first place possible--Bar Ciudadela. The owner, Fernando, served me a snifter of pacharán brandy (sloe berries marinated in aniseed liqueur). As he spoke, men and women ambled in and out of the stone labyrinth of shops and restaurants in the Parte Vieja. When others in the bar heard I was a pilgrim, they offered advice. Go slow. Rest often. Drink a lot of wine. Back on the Camino, I took that advice at the Bodegas Irache, a vineyard famous for its Fuente del Vino (wine fountain), where an inscription reads: "Peregrino, if you want to reach Santiago with strength and vitality, have a drink of this great wine and toast to happiness." I filled my Nalgene bottle. Irache, I learned, gives pilgrims about 35,000 liters of wine each year. I sensed this journey had an end while walking under the 13th-century Gothic cathedral that once marked León, the last major town before Galicia, as the capital of Christian Spain. It occurred to me--first as I sat in a pew in the kaleidoscopic, stained glass nave and then as I shared drinks with pilgrims in the packed bars of León's raucous Barrio Humedo (Wet Quarter)--that after 20 days my strength could almost keep up with my curiosity. Between boisterous toasts of "Salud!" I started to reminisce prematurely. I had come to see Spain, but before I knew it, I was part of Spain. Like most people I met on the way, my reasons for the pilgrimage weren't religious--not exactly. But when I reached Santiago I hugged the sculpture of St. James, which presides over the main altar in the three-tiered Romanesque cathedral. And I got choked up as Tony, a macho Sicilian, cried during the pilgrims' mass. It might have been the incense soaring above the congregation in the world's largest censer, or the sight of those with whom I'd shared meals, stood breathlessly on mountaintops, and bemoaned rain-soaked days, but I felt empty--like it was the end of the best summer camp ever. My questions in Santiago were as nostalgic as the ones in St. Jean had been naïve: When will I take another month to walk silently through waving grain in Navarra? When will I reflect while gazing across Castilla y León's stark expanses? When will I willingly trudge over Galicia in the rain and snow? Will I ever take another "vacation" where the trip is as important as the destination? Lao-tzu said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. By the time I reached the Camino's end, a million steps after I'd started, it was clear that my own journey had just begun.