A few words on Hiking
For as long as I can remember, the magnitude and size of nature has always enticed me. My dad grew up surfing and so as children we'd often go to the beach. Living in Florida it was natural to wade in the water, build teetering sand castles with wet sand, throw a football or pass a soccer ball, and eat cold subs, trying not to mix your sandy towel with the fresh ham and cheese. But I had a different vision. I used to stare out at the sea, counting the waves, trying to guess their height. I would attempt to follow my older brother and father by body surfing those 4 foot giants. I'd exhaust myself battling the waves and the current, pushing my young teenage body to it's limits. But it was exhilarating. Spending all day trying to conquer that ocean's endless barrage of natural oscillation made me feel alive.
When we finally started venturing to the Appalachians on vacation in the early 2000's, we'd stay in cabins up around Boone and Gatlinburg. This was where my next obsession was born. Those mountains. Those trails. The solitude and the wind. They called to me. Deep within me. How cold it would get in those dark, musty forests. And how steep! Year after year we'd go back to a new cabin. And every year we'd go on a new hike or two. I'd wake up early and make everyone get ready at the crack of dawn to go conquer that mountain. I loved those trips. Some of my fondest memories with my family come from that era in my life.
2016: We bought the cabin. One of the best years of my life and also one of the worst. It's funny where dichotomy can bring the soul back to. The roots. The mountains called my name once again. Long had I been asleep, and those beautiful giants roamed in my subconscious. But once again I was able to chase those peaks. The following summer I spent in the beautifully quaint, post industrial town of Spartanburg, South Carolina. That town holds a special place in my heart. Its rustic nature draws a crowd of genuine residents, who inhabit those old shades of brick and steel. Each weekend I would burn a pot of coffee, fill up my Camelbak and hop in the car, driving an hour or two in the general north direction. I'd come up on those resting giants once more. The Appalachians. No matter how many times I've seen them in the morning light, covered in fog, each time is a new experience for my psyche. I'd hike all day long, mapping out a rough trail but acting on spontaneity, sometimes climbing out to uncharted ledges to capture a view of the surrounding trough. There's a certain sense of power, an innate, primal feeling of climbing to the top, standing above everything else. I found this feeling to be addictive, passifying, and frankly mystifying.
At this time in my life, the summer of 2017, I had a lot of my mind. Thoughts I needed to hash out. Topics I needed to mentally discuss. Ideas I had to add flesh to. Realities I needed to come to terms with. The mountains, those damp forests, that quiet wind, and that mental solace, provided the perfect atmosphere for me to do exactly that. In the solitude of Mt. Mitchell, or the the grace of Crowders, or in the vantage point of The Pinnacle, I discovered parts of myself that'd been either dormant and quiet, or developing and needed attention.
On an lighter note, hiking is literally one of the most fulfilling forms of exercise. Walking in altitude itself should be listed as a therapeutic alternative for 10 mile runs. Hiking with other people is genuine fun. A couple guys, or the family, or someone special. Not much has to be said out there in the woods. The views and the sounds say it all. But that companionship is nonetheless cherished. However, I've found that hiking alone is a supremely unique experience every time. Its something different. Its a chance to get away and detach. And if you don't learn something or have a good thought you can have your money back.
But on a serious, conclusive note, hiking is a chance for the homosapien to revert back to its roots and connect with the place we came from. It satisfies a deep, evolutionary desire to conquer and to revel in awe at nature. It's humbling. And it underscores the responsibility we have have to ourselves and to our Earth to understand each other and make a relationship with that connection.
For as long as I can remember, the magnitude and size of nature has always enticed me. My dad grew up surfing and so as children we'd often go to the beach. Living in Florida it was natural to wade in the water, build teetering sand castles with wet sand, throw a football or pass a soccer ball, and eat cold subs, trying not to mix your sandy towel with the fresh ham and cheese. But I had a different vision. I used to stare out at the sea, counting the waves, trying to guess their height. I would attempt to follow my older brother and father by body surfing those 4 foot giants. I'd exhaust myself battling the waves and the current, pushing my young teenage body to it's limits. But it was exhilarating. Spending all day trying to conquer that ocean's endless barrage of natural oscillation made me feel alive.
When we finally started venturing to the Appalachians on vacation in the early 2000's, we'd stay in cabins up around Boone and Gatlinburg. This was where my next obsession was born. Those mountains. Those trails. The solitude and the wind. They called to me. Deep within me. How cold it would get in those dark, musty forests. And how steep! Year after year we'd go back to a new cabin. And every year we'd go on a new hike or two. I'd wake up early and make everyone get ready at the crack of dawn to go conquer that mountain. I loved those trips. Some of my fondest memories with my family come from that era in my life.
2016: We bought the cabin. One of the best years of my life and also one of the worst. It's funny where dichotomy can bring the soul back to. The roots. The mountains called my name once again. Long had I been asleep, and those beautiful giants roamed in my subconscious. But once again I was able to chase those peaks. The following summer I spent in the beautifully quaint, post industrial town of Spartanburg, South Carolina. That town holds a special place in my heart. Its rustic nature draws a crowd of genuine residents, who inhabit those old shades of brick and steel. Each weekend I would burn a pot of coffee, fill up my Camelbak and hop in the car, driving an hour or two in the general north direction. I'd come up on those resting giants once more. The Appalachians. No matter how many times I've seen them in the morning light, covered in fog, each time is a new experience for my psyche. I'd hike all day long, mapping out a rough trail but acting on spontaneity, sometimes climbing out to uncharted ledges to capture a view of the surrounding trough. There's a certain sense of power, an innate, primal feeling of climbing to the top, standing above everything else. I found this feeling to be addictive, passifying, and frankly mystifying.
At this time in my life, the summer of 2017, I had a lot of my mind. Thoughts I needed to hash out. Topics I needed to mentally discuss. Ideas I had to add flesh to. Realities I needed to come to terms with. The mountains, those damp forests, that quiet wind, and that mental solace, provided the perfect atmosphere for me to do exactly that. In the solitude of Mt. Mitchell, or the the grace of Crowders, or in the vantage point of The Pinnacle, I discovered parts of myself that'd been either dormant and quiet, or developing and needed attention.
On an lighter note, hiking is literally one of the most fulfilling forms of exercise. Walking in altitude itself should be listed as a therapeutic alternative for 10 mile runs. Hiking with other people is genuine fun. A couple guys, or the family, or someone special. Not much has to be said out there in the woods. The views and the sounds say it all. But that companionship is nonetheless cherished. However, I've found that hiking alone is a supremely unique experience every time. Its something different. Its a chance to get away and detach. And if you don't learn something or have a good thought you can have your money back.
But on a serious, conclusive note, hiking is a chance for the homosapien to revert back to its roots and connect with the place we came from. It satisfies a deep, evolutionary desire to conquer and to revel in awe at nature. It's humbling. And it underscores the responsibility we have have to ourselves and to our Earth to understand each other and make a relationship with that connection.
Comments
Post a Comment