When You Find My Body: The Disappearance of Geraldine Largay on the Appalachian Trail

When you find my body, please call my husband George and my daughter Kerry. It will be the greatest kindness for them to know that I am dead and where you found me - no matter how many years from now.

We all are born with the will to live. Rarely people lose it. Nobody wants to die...you fight. You just fight for all you're worth.

Blisters? Almost every hiker gets them. Lost toenails? You bet. I’ve noticed that young men will occasionally complain that they have to go too long between beer or pizza; yet you never hear women complain about losing skin or toenails or having to deal with feminine issues on the trail. The women almost invariably just tough it out.

The Appalachian Trail seems to suck the animosity out of people.

A hiker’s very presence on the Appalachian Trail is an act of affection, even when the trail beats you down.

I imagine with her eyes closed and a sense of all being well, she saw light and her fear of the darkness fell away forever. I hope it did.

After more than two weeks of being lost, Gerry would have been aware that help may not come. She mentally prepared herself. She policed her campsite. One day, she cut up her credit card and buried the pieces, preventing anyone from finding it and potentially causing George problems.

In her journal, Gerry apologized to her family and assured them that no hike was as important as they were.

Our greatest gift is good health, and it is often taken for granted. It is precarious, and the smallest obstacle can sweep it away—a virus, a fall, a bullet—

She was simple in her intentions; she embraced the challenge of seeing the thing through.

The young surveyor peered closer. Inside the bag were some bones. They were unmistakably human.