Why I Hike

Its about 10 pm and we’re just finishing pitching our small dome tent about 100 yards from a small lake in the Uinta Mountains of Utah. I’m probably 12 years old, and I’m with my dad and some other scouts and their dads.

My dad pulls out a small pouch from his external frame backpack and unloads a small brass canister looking item, about the size of a Nalgene bottle.

Under the beam of his REI headlamp, he removes the top, a small pot used for boiling water or soup or whatever your choice of on trail nutrition, and begins to dismantle the device. It’s quickly apparent that this thing is a stove. A wind baffle is removed to give access to the burner, a fuel cap, and a control knob.

My dad loves to teach me how things work, so all the while he’s narrating his steps. “Now you insert this key into the knob and turn it on and off a few times- see the gas coming out there?” He pulls out a matchbook and strikes a match. The match touches the tiny bit of fuel and the stove comes to life with a sputtering, fluttering flame.

To this day, whenever I think of the mountains, I hear that fluttering sound. And it’s not just my dad’s stove that does it. Every Svea123 stove is known for this. In fact, I’ve recently become acquainted with numerous enthusiasts on different social media platforms who restore these stoves and use them often.

Anyway, back on the mountain, we pour some water in the little pot and let it start to boil, all the while listening to the “jet roar” (as it’s affectionately known amongst enthusiasts) and staring at the dark sky.

The stars are out. I don’t remember now if there was a moon, but I remember seeing the silhouettes of the pine trees on the horizon.

My dad never loved having a campfire when backpacking. It’s harder to practice No Trace Camping with soot and ash, and easier to burn down the forest. So we’re sitting on rocks listening to the fluttering stove and he’s turned his light off. Everyone is tending to their own meals. Everyone is whispering. We’re in the middle of nowhere and there’s nobody to be found for at least a few miles, and we’re all whispering. I think maybe we all subconsciously felt like we needed to listen for noises coming from beyond the tree line.

I’m brought back to reality and my dad is dumping some dry, crumbly stuff into the water. It’s dehydrated refried beans. Almost every campout with my dad was accompanied by dehydrated refried beans. Once they’re mixed they’re sticky, heavy, and have just the right amount of spice. We shovel them in our mouths and my dad gets the stove packed away so we can climb into the tent and tuck in for the night.

This is THE campout that my mind digs up when I think about hiking or camping. For some reason I can’t remember which lake we camped at. Can’t even remember the trail. But the smells, tastes, sounds, and views are burned into my mind.

My dad an I have been on literally hundreds of hikes and camps together. We’ve been in Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and even a couple nights in California, but this was the one that sticks in my mind.

Now, I’m telling you about a campout but the title of this article is about hiking.

I’ll be honest. I’m not any good at hiking. My legs were built for short, strong bursts of strength. Not endurance. After about 2 miles on a trail I start to fizzle out. My lungs burn, my ankles stop pivoting to their full potential, and my lower back aches. I sweat everywhere. It’s gross. Even during periods of my life when I’ve been in fantastic shape, I am the worst hiker I know.

One of the things my dad always told me was “Don’t stop on the trail. Let’s just get over that next small hill and we can rest there”. And as I got older and had a bit more endurance, he’d say stuff like “You can rest on the downhills”. That, as I’ve come to understand, means that you just keep walking. The downhill sections are easier, so they FEEL like resting, even though you’re still hiking.

None of my dad’s anecdotes or pieces of advice ever made it easier for me. Despite being a bit headstrong, I’ve come to realize I’m also quite lazy. But still, I’m writing about why I love hiking.

I think it’s because of all the memories. I can hear the sound of that Svea stove in my mind and it brings back memories of camping and hiking with my dad. I smell the dirt and the essence of the local plants and I remember doing some of these same hikes as a kid. I see the views as we get higher into the mountains and it solidifies my love for nature.

While my dad’s advice never made it easier, I think a lot of times it took my mind off the struggle. One year we hiked down Zion Narrows. The Narrows is one of the most iconic hikes in Zion and it takes about 12 hours to complete. The majority of the hike is spent wading in the river, and it’s very slow-going. Being a slower hiker, I was always the last one to show up at rest spots. As soon as I arrived, the other Scouts would all stand up and start hiking again. About 5 hours of this and I’m starting to get depressed. My dad notices this and starts trying to help me stay motivated. The exact speech he gave me has been forgotten, but I remember his point: “This hike is not about them. This is about you. Hike for you. Enjoy yourself. You’ll make it to the end, but do it for yourself.” To this day I remember that. It doesn’t matter how often I have to rest as long as I’m enjoying myself.

Along with the memories, I believe there’s some aspect of the feeling of accomplishment. It doesn’t matter if it’s a short hike like Cecret Lake, a 1.5 mile round trip hike in the Albion Basin, or a longer hike like Salt Lake Overlook in Millcreek Canyon, about 5 miles round trip. I get my jollies coming over that last hump, the destination finally making itself known.

Add to all of that the chance to see real, wild animals? It’s a rush every time, and makes the struggle worth it. Sometimes it’s just squirrels and chipmunks and birds. Every now and then it’ll be a deer or two. One year we hiked up Mount Baldy at the Snowbird Ski Resort and, on our ski lift ride down, we saw a big cow moose, the size of a Clydesdale horse. Another time, we were less fortunate to be on a ski lift above the beast and came within a few meters of two, young bull moose. I’m still not sure how we made it out of that situation. One year we hiked Lake Blanche in Big Cottonwood Canyon. It’s only about 3 miles up, but it’s 3 miles almost straight up. Near the end I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. Everything ached. And then we made it and the first thing I saw was this huge slithering snake, maybe 4 feet long, with a body wider than my biceps! What a rush!

As I get older, as I observe society and it’s flaws, I’ve begun falling in love with hiking. I’ve begun to ache for the pain in my legs and the strain in my back. It’s no longer a negative side effect that occurs between the time I get out of the car and the moment I reach my destination.

I’ve even begun looking for excuses to hike in inclement weather. Aside from the perks of being the only person on the trail, I get to see the beauty of nature in completely different ways.

Some of our trails are frequented enough in the winter that you don’t need anything but hiking boots and warm clothes. Others need snowshoes. Luckily, I have snowshoes!

So, three of my articles so far have been me telling you how to stop being selfish on the trail. I stand by those articles. I will continue to type up my cynical opinions, mixed with trail wisdom taught to me by my dad and other scout leaders, but I want you all to understand why I’m so cynical. I need you to understand that I’m out here hiking for a reason.

I need my sanctuary. I need the fresh air. Sometimes, when I’m hiking and there are crowds of others clogging up the trail, I feel like Edward Norton in Fight Club, telling Helena Bonham Carter she has to stop going to certain support groups because “These are my groups. I was here first....”

As I’ve stated in my previous articles, I want you all to hike. I want you all to go out and appreciate nature. I love how much our society is making it back to nature.

I just hope that you all remember that we all hike for our own reasons. Some for fun, some for self medication. Please be mindful of others in the outdoors!