I’m not sure when my captivation with night hiking began. Though I’ve been doing it as a practice since 2000, I’m guessing my initial smittance began years before, likely on a late afternoon hike that evolved, inadvertently, into a hike in the dark. Whatever, it was a part of my regular hiking regimen for a good 25 years. 

And then life got in the way. I started working a desk job, which sometimes required early mornings (and wake-ups) and late nights. Too late for a night hike? In theory, no. In practice, yes. An even bigger factor: I moved away from my night-hiking peeps.

What’s so special about hiking when I can only see a few feet in front me? For starters, only being able to see a few feet in front of me. There’s an intimacy to the night hike, of not just being in the woods, but feeling a part of them. Daylight only gives you the chance to realize the forest is the forest and you are a mere visitor. At night, with just the sounds and smells of the woods to go by, there’s less to make you feel separate. The visual is a huge piece of the hiking experience: the vivid green of summer, the colors of fall permeating the forest, the slant of light as winter approaches — all so special. But the experience of night is just different, a realization I’ve come to reappreciate as the days of 2026 grow shorter.

I began to realize how much I’d been missing night hiking in the waning days of August, on a late evening hike on a ridgeline in the Cane Creek Mountains of central North Carolina. The setting sun bathed the spine of the ridge in pinks and yellows and oranges, and gorgeous as it was, it was the looming gloaming that I was especially excited for. And when it came and I had to flip on my headlamp for the last 10 minutes of the hike, I realized I would need more of this in my life come fall.

And I’ve tried. I’d promised a corporate group I’ve been hiking with on Sundays for 15 years that I would institute a night hike the second Tuesday of each month. So far, that promise has been dashed by the same early morning/late night dilemma that sidelined me in the first place, not to mention the fact I’d need to drive an hour and a half on I-40 from my job near Winston-Salem to my prime legal night-hiking grounds along Falls Lake — at rush hour.

Still, somehow, it will happen. It was a key part of my life for a key part of my life, and it needs to be again. At least once a month, starting this month. I’ll report back on my quest.

In the meantime, if my question has ignited your curiosity about night hiking, check out “Grab a Torch, It’s Time for a Night Hike,” an evergreen post that runs every year at this time of year with tips on night hiking. 

Read it and who knows, maybe we’ll soon run into each other on a dark trail.