When, at the age of 44, Bill Bryson decided to walk the 2,000-plus mile length of the Appalachian Trail, he was probably
drunk. Travelling in the company of his friend Stephen Katz, little did he realise that he would encounter on the way bears, moose, bobcats, rattlesnakes, poisonous plants, ticks, the occasional nutcase and , perhaps most alarming of all, people whose favourite pastime is discussing the relative merits of the external-frame rucksack.
I won’t let you into the secret of how successful one of England’s favourite adopted sons and his buddy were, but I can let you in on the merits or otherwise – as perceived by me – of this book.
Bill Bryson is one of my favourite authors; a true wordsmith with an expansive vocabulary and a wit honed on many years of living in Yorkshire (and some will say you need to have a sense of humour to live there). However this book does not cut the mustard for me. He seems to rely too heavily on information that he has read in other guide books or literature to pad out the pages; it is as though not a lot of real interest happened to him whilst he was out on the trail. Yes there are amusing passages, but nothing in the vein that I expect from Bryson. Perhaps it was an early book; perhaps he was too tired after his exertions to remember what he had experienced. Perhaps he was in the same state in his study as he was when walking – without an adequate map.
A nearly-but-not-quite book.