On Solo Backpacking

My first steps up the trail were uncertain. I looked back over my shoulder at the car, and then it vanished from sight. Oh well--I tugged at the straps of my heavy pack and hiked on up the creek.

It hadn't seemed like a big deal on the drive up to East Rosebud Trailhead. I have camped out, traveled to the Arctic, and hiked many long miles solo. But somehow, hiking out miles beyond any other human being to face the night alone, depending entirely on myself, seemed different.

It was an experiment of sorts. I'm a pretty social person and lived pretty closely with other people all summer, so I wondered how it would go.

During the hike, I was distracted by being extremely sweaty and out of breath (elevation is a killer). Eventually I got to choose exactly when and where I wanted to bed down for the night.

Time: a couple seconds before nightfall. Place: mountaintop

I was sweatier than I'd ever been in my life, but I stripped down without worries to cool off and dry out my clothes. I stretched out diagonally across my tent. I brought no food with me (due to lack of a method to store it bear-safely), so I contented myself with snacking on the numerous growing wild berries.

Sooo many raspberries

I barely slept that night. Less because of any fear or discomfort (though those were certainly factors) but because it was so novel. After the summer of daylight and being around people, this was the exact opposite. Loud hoof steps crunched around outside my tent, but besides that, it was absolutely silent. No birds or even insects chirped, and the wind was still.

By morning light, before the sun had come up, I packed up my camp and moved on. There was a lake with my name on it somewhere up ahead--I didn't know how far, but I was determined to make it somewhere, or else it seemed almost like a waste of effort.

I hiked on and on. I almost turned back several times, exhausted by lack of sleep and the thought of the long drive I had yet to do that day. No one was with me; no one would know.

But I kept hiking anyway. And finally that moment, standing by the lakeside in the 6:30 AM light, was pure magic. It took me that experience to finally understand.

You can hike at your own speed, stop to eat berries when you want. You can ignore certain comforts, like food, without worry of causing someone else misery. You can cuss like a sailor every step of the way, or be in a bad mood without affecting someone else. Everything is your decision, which also means if you fuck up, there's no one to take up your slack. If there is a monster outside your tent, only you can wrestle it.

I was alone, but I wasn't lonely. I'm not sure what this says for my future, but I do feel a bit freed. Company is appreciated but not necessary. We're all going through life alone anyway--it's just an illusion that we are doing anything else.

Grouse aaall alooone