Hiking Is my Happy Place

We all have a happy place. For some, it’s the family cabin on the lake, surrounded by trees and years of memories. For some, it’s a small gathering of close friends for no specific reason other than the joy of being together. For others, it’s binge watching 12 seasons of a show while surrounding themselves with piles of Doritos bags and Taco Bell wrappers. Hey, to each his own.

For me, hiking is my happy place. Specifically, I am in love with taking backpacking trips across miles of trails. Don’t be too jealous; I haven’t gotten to do nearly as much as I’d like to yet, but the hiking I’ve done has yielded some of my best memories over the years. I’ve backpacked with several friends, close family, and my faithful hubby. I’ve managed short hikes and attempted extensive ones. I’ve hiked in a small but varied handful of states in the U.S.

And with an impressive resume like that, I feel it’s my right—nay, my duty—to present you with a few observations I’ve collected throughout my travels. Please enjoy this selection of obvious facts that I purchased with blood, sweat, toil, and tears.

You can’t prepare too much

Normally, I am an over-preparer. But a few years ago on our backpacking trip to Yosemite, I discovered that I was not nearly prepared enough. See, we had saved our two hardest hikes for the end of the trip…on back-to-back days…days when we had to carry extra water because there was no fresh source of hydration. My sister and brother-in-law were much more prepared because

they had been doing CrossFit for months leading up to the trip. My husband and I had not. In fact, watching the four of us ascend Half Dome would have been a great commercial for their CrossFit gym.

As Mark and I struggled on, our breaks became longer and more frequent. We would collapse in any patch of shade that came along. We would have crawled through the gravel if we weren’t worried about bleeding out. We made it to the peak of each hike, but we were sagging and dragging, to say the least. My wimpy workouts had let me down. I wasn’t prepared.

Lesson learned: When it comes to getting in shape for crazy hikes, you’re not really fit unless you’re CrossFit.

Less is DEFINITELY more

Along the same lines as my obsession with overpreparation, I can tend to be an over-packer. I run through the “what if” scenarios until I’ve packed virtually everything I could ever find myself in moderate need of. And then some. In a purse or suitcase, I guess that’s ok. But in a backpack (or even a day pack) that I’ll be carrying over hill and dale for extended periods of time? That’s not ok. I’ve packed a stack of clothes for a backpacking trip before, only to wear the same thing every day anyway. I should have jettisoned the surplus on day one. After all, it’s hiking, not the opera.

Overpacking heavy food is another of my faux pas. On my first trip to Yosemite, I wanted apples and almond butter. So I packed them—a bunch of fresh apples and a glass jar of almond butter. A glass jar of almond butter. And then I scrambled up the mountainside with these strapped to my back, reminding me of gravity’s cruelty with every step. Know what I would have done if I hadn’t been a complete idiot? I would have packed dehydrated apples and almond butter packets. And on later trips, that’s just what I’ve done. Live and learn, right?

Lesson Learned: If you can’t pack just what you need to survive, you may not.

The right shoes are vital

I really hate shoe shopping, but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gottado. By putting off this dreaded task, I ruined a perfectly good hiking trip through the Sam Houston National Forest. Another rookie move by Emily! We had planned to hike 45 miles within 3 days, which didn’t sound too crazy at first. The terrain was flat, we needed only a few days’ worth of supplies, and I thought my old hiking boots would still work for me.

I was mistaken. I think elves had shrunk my shoes.

I went through a whole fiasco of ordering, trying out, and returning shoes right up until the day before the trip itself. Needless to say, I regretted my life before the first day was even done. My new shoes were stiff, inflexible, and miserable. Again, crawling for the duration of the trail began to seem like a viable option. Instead, I finished it out within the allotted time, but never before had my feet caused me so much grief.

Lesson Learned: When wedged into constricting shoes, blisters don’t count as comfortable foot cushioning.

Misery is temporary, but memories are forever

The aforementioned blunders don’t even begin to scratch the surface of all the dumb hiking mistakes I’ve made. I’ve caused my group to donate pints of

blood to ravenous mountain mosquitoes because I assured them there weren’t any mosquitoes last time. I’ve lugged around a bulky, ancient, canvas tent because I didn’t want to buy a new one. I’ve robbed my husband of many quality photos because I was afraid the camera battery would die when, in fact, it still had hours of life at the end of the trip. I’ve had to borrow my brother-in-law’s sleeping mat because my cheap one sustained a puncture wound the first day on the trail. And the list goes on.

I’ve been at the end of my strength and far beyond the end of my comfort. I’ve spent sleepless nights and rainy days. I’ve felt sick and tired. I’ve gotten fed up with freeze-dried food. I’ve longed for the comfort of a hot bath. And when you consider all these things together, it drives one to ask, “Why on earth go hiking??”

I see where you’re coming from. I’ve asked myself the same question while in the midst of misery. But the answer remains that misery is temporary, whereas memories are forever. Sure, I may get a better night’s sleep at home, but I won’t wake up to a dazzling sunrise over a mountain range. I may eat a tastier meal in a restaurant, but it won’t be as satisfying as a dehydrated meal I’ve earned after a day of hiking. And I may be able to enjoy a scenic view on my TV from the comfort of my couch, but I won’t appreciate its depth, majesty, or vastness until I’ve spent a day clambering to the top of a precipice to see it.

See, after the sleeping bag is aired out and the filth is washed out of clothes, skin, and hair, after the soreness wears off and the blisters fade away, the memories of your trip remain. Your photos will never do it justice, but you remember. Your descriptions can’t capture the experience, but your heart knows. And after everything you went through, you know the lesson learned: it wasn’t easy, but you would do it again.
And again.
And again.