This photo was taken after an arid 10-mile hike to 11,000 feet with 30lbs of essential stuff on my back. I complained. I ate weird snack bars. I peed in bushes.
But man was it worth it. There’s nothing like earning your way to sleep, waterfront, at your own private glacial lake and Wim Hoffing it like a champ.
There’s a special kind of attunement that comes over me when I’m backpacking. It’s usually by the morning of day 2 that I wake up feeling like I have new skin, my peripheral vision is a bit wider, and my body is 11,000 times more capable than it was the day prior.
Patches of mold become microcosms, funky mushrooms become magic and every strangely shaped tree resembles something animate. Nature becomes a walking daydream.
Hydration is a gift and I ration it. I think about my next water source as soon as I fill up my last, knowing that without it things could get very ugly.
I seek out the next patch of shade to eat a quick snack which is often hardly quick; it’s a ritual in taking off my pack, putting my poles down somewhere they won’t fall down a cliff (it’s happened), and finding a rock to at least lean on. It’s wild how much relief a rock can bring.
I scout out the next place I’ll pee. Not too far off but not so close that other hikers may see me. Pack it in, pack it out. Gross.
My eyes scan the landscape for a flat place to lay a tent.
And when we finally lay down our tent, it’s like coming out and entering a meditation at the same time. Just boiling water to eat freeze-dried astronaut food is a luxury and I realize how little it truly takes to exist. I then eat my Kathmandu Curry out of an aluminum pouch and stare at the stars with lentils in my teeth feeling like a million bucks.
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