My 8-day solo backpacking trip was quite a unique and rewarding experience. Hiking alone allowed me to see exactly who I was being at every moment. There was no one to push me and no one else to consider. I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. This gave me a sense of freedom and being-ness that I really enjoyed. It also gave me a unique opportunity to see the choices I make. I believe that the experience made a profound and lasting impact in two specific areas:
I ended up challenging myself to my core—hiking 86 miles at elevations between 8,000 and 10,300 feet with a 56 pound pack over 5 passes. This was not my original plan. On the morning of Day 3 of the trip, I looked at my map and realized that the Pacific Crest Trail was only 15 miles away from where I was. Hiking the PCT has been a dream of mine for many years, and I decided to go find it. So, I left my intended route and went off-trail up and over the Sonora Pass. I crossed into Toiyobe National Forest, hiked 30 miles on the PCT, then left the PCT and crossed Donaldson pass into Yosemite, hiked across the North-eastern part of Yosemite, and up and over the Bond Pass back to Emigrant. My longest day was 12 hours of hiking covering 19 miles.
So, here is more detail about the two big things that have shifted for me:
My health has become my #1 priority: The most rewarding aspect of the trip was that my relationship to my body shifted. When I was 35 miles away from the nearest road and hiking off-trail, I could count on no one but myself. If I hurt myself, got sick, or was unable to walk, there was no one that would come across my path to help. My body and my feet were my only way back to civilization, and I began to take care of my body with a level of awareness far greater than ever before. It became the central focus of my attention.
In the beginning of the trip, I would push through my body’s messages—I’m tired, I’m hungry, I want a break. I would say to myself, “OK, half hour more,” or, “OK, I’ll stop as soon as there is a beautiful place with a good view.” Once my perspective shifted, I stopped the moment I noticed that my body was hungry and asking for food. And my body seemed to ask for exactly what it needed. I didn’t eat while I was walking. Instead, I would stop, take off my pack, sit down, listen to what my body was calling for, and have a snack. And when I was thirsty, I stopped and drank. And when my back was hurting, I stopped, breathed, stretched, and decided what to do next... And what was truly incredible was that by stopping right when my body was asking for something, my days became far more productive. By fueling myself right when I needed fuel, I could walk harder, longer, and farther.
On this trip, I realized that taking care of my health is the most important thing I can be doing for my future—far more important than my career or any of the other priorities that I push for because if I don’t have my health, nothing else matters. On the trip, I brought only organic foods and ate very healthy. Dates & sports drinks for sugars and quick energy (I left the sports bars at home), salami for long-lasting proteins, and nuts for a middle-of-the-road snack. I ate almost no fructose or refined sugars. In order to reduce pack weight and volume, I left the cereal at home and made a protein powder shake every morning called the Ultimate Meal, which Erwan told me about when I bumped into him at Rainbow foods preparing for this trip. I’m hooked. My energy throughout the day was very consistent—I didn’t have downs or post-meal slumps—but rather just felt a consistently high energy. I wasn’t on a cleanse, but it felt like one.
Now that I’m back, I notice that I have no interest in non-organic, non-healthy foods. My body simply doesn’t crave them anymore. So, I am eating organic whenever possible, and am stay as healthy as I can to take care of my health. And the Ultimate Meal is now my breakfast every morning and my favorite meal of the day. Even though it doesn’t even taste that great, my body thanks me everytime I drink it. I can really feel the difference, and it feels like my body suddently became more aware of what it likes and what it doesn’t. This shift in awareness is absolutely huge and I think it will have a big impact on my dietary choices and my long-term health.
The other big lesson is that I learned that I push myself so hard because it’s entertaining! My original intent was to hike 5-6 days and take 2-3 days off. But, as I sat by the mountain lake on my first day off, I got bored. I didn’t bring any form of entertainment, e.g. no books, music, etc, so there was just not much to do. I meditated for a while, snacked a bit, stretched, but then there was just nothing to keep my attention. So, I packed up my camp and started hiking.
Hiking was my only form of entertainment. And indeed, on almost every day, I pushed myself to my limits--seeing how far I could healthily walk in a day, how quickly I could set up and break down camp, how long it would take me to climb a 3000 foot pass. I realized that I push myself, not because I have a purpose that is screaming to be accomplished, but rather that I push myself because it’s a form of entertainment and an amazing way to avoid boredom. This “ah-ha” is actually quite huge and I find myself enjoying life a little more deeply, not feeling a need to push myself so hard, but choosing to push myself hard just for the fun of it.
Laughter is a social phenomenon: During the trip, I noticed that I laughed very little, and when I did, it was more like a snicker. This drove home the belief that life exists in relationships (including relationship to self.) Laughter simply seems to be mainly a social phenomenon.
Moments of Glory
I’ll end this story with descriptions of a few very special moments:
I was sitting by a high-altitude mountain lake having breakfast and enjoying the reflection of the mountain peaks in the still water. An American Bald Eagle swooped down 20 feet away and flew 10 feet above the surface of the water. Its wingspan was probably 5-6 feet and it was a very graceful flyer. I watched its reflection in the water as it flew by.
I was sitting meditating by a creek and a deer and two fawns came within 5 feet of where I was sitting and just moved around me as if I wasn’t there. At one point, one of the fawns came very close to me and I pulled back a bit because I got a bit scared, at which point all three of the deer just completely freaked, jumped into the air, turned, and bolted. It was as if they had no idea I was sitting there.
I was fly-fishing at Huckleberry Lake, which is about 4 miles long, but very narrow. I couldn’t cast far enough to hit the spot where I was aiming and I noticed there was a sandbar in the lake, so I waded in waste high. The sandbar extended quite a ways, and I ended up being able to stand on the sandbar right in the middle of the lake. I fished for about an hour, standing in the middle of the lake—30-40 feet away from the shore. I was enjoying the sun reflecting off the granite peaks around me. It was just an awe-inspiring scene.
I’m still smiling.
