why hike?

an ode to the outdoors

“Why travel across the country to go hiking for two weeks?”

My Dad asked, head tilted slightly, as he looked at me from across the kitchen island.

I looked back, dumbfounded. 

I didn’t have a genuinely good answer. I couldn’t explain why. I just knew I wanted to. 

For the same cost, I could have stayed at an all-inclusive resort on a tropical island. Sat on a beach, soaked in the sun, and sipped strawberry daiquiris. 

Instead, I chose to fly to Alberta’s Rocky Mountains. To walk eight hours a day in grizzly bear territory with 30 lbs loaded on my back, eat oatmeal and ramen every meal, and sleep in a small tent in the remote wilderness, at the mercy of the moody mountain weather.

“Why did I travel across the country to go hiking for two weeks?”

I grumbled as I struggled through the final scramble to the 3,000m summit of Cirque Peak in Banff National Park. 

As I reached the summit and gulped in air, trying to get enough oxygen into my lungs, I remembered I don’t like heights. I looked down. I was close to the clouds and far from the sweet safe ground. Batting away thoughts of my funeral like wasps at a picnic, icy wind whipped past sending a chill through my bones. My plan to skydive next year suddenly turned from delightful to delusional.

But… after careful and precise thought (as I write this in the Calgary airport at 4am) I’ve settled on three reasons.

#1 Proof you can do hard things

Each time I set out on the trail, I have no idea what adventure awaits. 

While backcountry hiking is a lot of fun, many parts are inconvenient, uncomfortable and downright difficult. Like getting blisters on your feet or having your hands go numb as you fetch freezing water from a shallow stream or trying to decipher whether the rustling outside your tent is a grizzly bear or mountain lion (or both?). 

It’s choosing discomfort and exploration over comfort and complacency. 

But through the adversity and the fear and the not-so-fun parts, you gain a valuable asset: proof you can do hard things.

As Nat Eliason writes:

Our self-image is composed of historical evidence of our abilities. The more hard things you push yourself to do, the more competent you will see yourself to be… The proof you can do hard things is one of the most powerful gifts you can give yourself.

You can work your way to a strong self image.

Plus, if you do hard things voluntarily, life’s involuntary hard things will be much easier.

#2 Communing with nature

Spending time in the wilderness is a near religious experience. 

Nature never ceases to amaze me with its simple beauty, clean air.

On the trail, the day passes in a state of breathless wonder. Saying “wow” a lot. Trying to take it all in. 

The further into nature, the deeper the joy.

There’s a certain feeling of connection with earth when I wake up in the woods and hike in areas that Mother Nature has reserved for those willing to venture off the beaten path.

I experience more reverence in nature than I ever did kneeling on a pew. 

#3 Disconnecting from the world

In our world of hyperconnectivity and speed, it’s impossible to disconnect from the world without being forced to. 

When I couldn’t access email or Twitter or anything with a news feed for five days, I realized how much that constant stream of information was disrupting my mind, my happiness. I recognized that being so plugged in wasn’t good for me. But I needed to dramatically unplug to know it. 

It felt profoundly natural to be away from the online world. To disconnect.

Among the trees, I’m yanked back from the rhythms and routines of my day-to-day life. I can zoom out, evaluate things. I can’t see anything when I’m too up close.

Conventions that rule and regulate modern living seem silly in the backcountry. Misguided. Beliefs we collectively buy into but then slip into invisibility. 

My values reorient themselves. Often away from work and towards wonder, compassion, connection.

When I’m on the trail, I forget the hands of the clock and the days of the week. My days are dictated by the change in colour of the sky, not Google Calendar.

Time constraints fall away like loose coils. It’s completely okay to spend half an hour walking to a river near camp to get water. Or go to bed at 6:30pm (I may have done that once). 

The days are slow, savoury, and smooth. I have nothing to do, nothing else I can do, but walk.

I understand why Ernst Shackleton was happiest when he set out to sea:

The simple act of sailing had carried him beyond the world of reversals, frustrations, and inanities. And in the space of a few short hours, life had been reduced from a highly complex existence, with a thousand petty problems, to one of the barest simplicity.

Joseph Campbell says we’re not looking for meaning in life, but rather to be in touch with the experience of being alive.

When I’m out in nature, somewhere on some backcountry trail, I feel more alive than ever.

So that’s why, Dad.

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