Yesterday I went for a hike. State College is surrounded by mountains – though at about 1,500 ft. to 2,000 ft., I’m always a little hesitant to call them mountains – at least not compared to the larger mountain chains. I used to go on long walks in Memphis, but to get out in to the mountains, I would have to drive two to three hours, and to get in to the Smokies, it was closer to five or six hours. Yesterday’s hike was about 15 minutes from where I’m living. It’s nice to have that type of access.
As a little kid, I had always played in the woods, but my family never did anything like hiking or camping. I first got in to hiking when I was a student at Penn State. I don’t remember when or how I started – I think it was the summer that my girlfriend and I sublet an apartment, took a course or two, worked, volunteered, and generally bummed around town. I know we did one hike that traversed the nearby ski slopes and climbed a fire tower and we did another one that had a huge balancing rock and an “ice mine” (an abandoned mine shaft where wind currents allowed ice to form and not melt until June). After leaving State College, and after the relationship ended, I continued to hike. My friend Steve and the woman I would eventually marry became my primary hiking partners. Steve and I once took a weekend road trip up to New Hampshire to hike Mt. Washington – which, along with my two solo days in the Smokies a few years ago, was probably one of the more “serious” hikes that I’ve done. When the three of us would go hiking, we would spend the drive out to the hike searching for the greasiest little diner that we could hit up on our way back. It seemed like there was nothing better than a big burger or meatloaf at the end of hike (along with comfy shoes and a shower later).
A lot has changed in the way I approach hiking now. For one, I’ve learned to appreciate different types of hikes. I used to only do hikes that were several miles long, had a bit of a climb, a decent view, and were in a loop – I didn’t want to walk out and back on the same trail. While I still prefer a good climb and decent view, I’ll do flat hikes and hikes that just go out and back. I’ll do hikes that have no views and hikes that might only be an hour long. Because I did longer hikes, I used to always take a lunch and plenty of water – my very first hike, I cooked up rice-a-roni to take with. I tend to travel lighter these days – some fruit and trail mix. I also used to adhere to the trail guide – carrying the “50 hikes in…” book with me on every hike. Now, I download a map and use my GPS to get me around.
As much as I liked hiking when I was younger, there were many years when I didn’t go on any hikes. My wife was busy working on her doctorate and either didn’t have the time or had lost interest, my friends were busy with their families, and I got caught up in being a homebody house dad – the guy who does yard work, watches some football, and whatever else one does on the weekends. Driving two hours to walk another four or six and then driving back (all solo) just seemed like too much work. Those were the years in which I lost myself – or wasn’t really looking for myself. Instead of doing things that I wanted to do, regardless of who went with, I opted to do nothing. I didn’t write, I didn’t hike, I didn’t pursue much of anything.
It wasn’t until after I got divorced that I really rediscovered hiking. I met a woman on a dating site who also liked to hike. We never really dated, but became good friends and would hike a few times a year. I had one summer during which my goal was to hike or be at the beach every weekend – and some weekends, I managed both. A few years ago, I went on my biggest hiking adventure – a road trip down to Memphis and then to eastern Tennessee. I spent two days in the Great Smoky Mountains (though I had a hotel – I didn’t camp). The first day, I think I hiked a little over fifteen miles. I was crazy sore and had blisters. Nevertheless, I managed to do a ten-plus mile hike the second day. It was on that trip that I had a bit of an awakening. I stood looking out at a gorgeous view and thought this type of experience is meant to be shared. Life, in general, is meant to be shared.
I’ve revisited that epiphany several times over the past year or two – sharing, while great, can’t be forced and has to be mutual. I’ve spent a lot of time intentionally not sharing, other than here in writing. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to cultivate an individual self who maybe holds back or doesn’t give everything away. I’ve done this partially out of necessity and partially in reaction to my failed engagement. I’m not sure I’ve been terribly successful at the cultivation part. If I try to put myself back in time to either my marriage or my engagement, I would probably still hold off on doing things I enjoy (hiking) in hopes of sharing the experience. I know myself pretty well, my demeanor is such that I almost always say “I can wait.” At my core, anything I would do solo seems like it would be enhanced when shared.
I thought about these relationships (friends and partners) a lot on my hike yesterday. The thing about hiking, whether solo or with other people, is that it almost forces contemplation. There’s something that happens out in nature – the smells, the sounds, the lack of sound, the rhythmic shuffle of your feet on the trail, the way the light filters through the trees…. it all conspires to force you somewhere a little deeper, a little quieter, a little more physical. At times, my feet were killing me – I had forgotten how rocky the trails were in Pennsylvania. It made me wonder if somehow my feet had gotten wider and flatter over the years. At times, I thought about the one view my girlfriend and I had seen – it was one of the first mountaintop views I had taken in. I remembered a lot of past hikes – snakes, bee stings, vultures, a bear, getting lost, racing against the dark, encountering a hunter and wondering if we were in his sight. I thought about one hike where the bugs were so bad and in our face for so long that when we closed our eyes that night – we could still see the images of bugs flying at us. I remembered trips to Wellsboro, PA and the tiny diner there. And of course, the mountain top proposal I made and, a few months later, the hike I didn’t go on that sparked an argument that ended things.
Yesterday I went on a hike. I spent a little over four hours in the woods – walking just under ten miles. My cheeks got a little sunburned, my body aches reminded me I’m not as young as I once was. At times I might have been weighed down by nostalgia and at other times I was deep in meditation on the sound of leaves underfoot and the various ways my ankles bent to adjust to the rocky path beneath. Capital N nature (mountains, rivers, oceans, forests) has a way of doing that – being past, present, and future all at the same time. For much of the day, a blue haze hung on the horizon. The sun was high in a cloudless sky and in the distance, waves of mountains yet to be hiked reminded me of something wild, serene, and timeless.
