It wasn’t just another hike. It was a hike that showed I could still go long.
For the past few years, since turning 60, whenever I’ve finished a favorite challenging hike, I’ve wondered: Will I hike this trail again?
In part, that’s because there’s a limited amount of time in life and a growing number of trails. We like hiking our favorites, we like hiking new trails. And since the pandemic, more trails coming on line. Decisions, decisions.
Last week at the bookstore I picked up a copy of “The Language of Trees” and began thumbing through it. I randomly sampled a handful of the 50 or so essays and decided it was coming home.
The essay that tipped my decision was the Introduction, in which writer Ross Gay recounted some of his favorite trees, from “the chokecherry tree in Verndale, Minnesota, where my grandpa parked his hospital-green ’68 Chevy pickup,” to “the beech tree in Vermont I met on a night hike two summers back.” That night hike tree reminded me of the imposing white oak that once appeared out of nowhere on a favorite night hike of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. And that got me to thinking about some of my other favorite trees.
Some of us don’t mind hiking in the heat. Switch to cotton, freeze your water bottle overnight, use your trekking poles as spider web vanquishers … . Sure, you work up a nice glow. But you’re on the trail, and really, it’s not unbearable.
We recognize, though, that not everyone is inclined to keep on hikin’ between Memorial Day and Labor Day. We also recognize that along about the Fourth of July weekend, the aforementioned cool-weather hikers are starting to undergo withdrawal. They get out their phone and stare longingly at those photos from the beginning of the year, when you were bundled in fleece. Ah, the good cold days.
Winter hikes in the mountains intimidate us. Not so much the hiking itself — who doesn’t love tromping through a forest carpeted with snow? Rather, it’s simply getting to the trailhead. The prospect of icy mountain roads, of road closures, of other drivers who don’t know how to drive on icy roads. Why run the risk?
Another year, another year of … .
If your knee-jerk response to finish this thought is “… not enough adventure,” we hear you. It’s a common sentiment this time of year. The leaves nearly gone, the cycle of another calendar year is fast coming to a close. We begin looking ahead to next year with thoughts of big plans for the year ahead. And that’s when it hit: “What were our plans for this year?” And what the heck happened to them?
