By Guest Blogger Lance Garland, Firefighter and Author
The deciduous trees of Olympic National Park bloom golden and amber in autumnal sunlight. I drive my car with the windows down, knowing that this may be one of the last times for months that it’s warm enough to do so. There is something invigorating about knowing that the time is now, summer has ended, you must savor every warm moment because there aren’t many left.
My goal today is to scramble up to the summit of Mount Angeles. I’m looking for a workout, so I start at the Switchback trail on Hurricane Ridge Road. Sweat immediately drenches my forehead. Thoughts slow down to focus on the task at hand. Soon, I make it to the majestic Hurricane Ridge, and see the top of Mount Olympus peeking out from behind the southern aspect of the ridgeline. It’s early enough that there aren’t many hikers, so I relax into the feeling that I have space. It feels like I have the park all to myself.
When I think about the moments that I have felt the most alive in the outdoors, I think about being in remote spaces far away from crowds. Many experiences are with a friend or a small group, but often these experiences are when I’m alone. There is something to be said for a lack of distractions. Of course, I don’t recommend hiking by yourself all the time, but if you’re prepared and safe about it, hiking alone is a wonderful time to give your mind and imagination space to roam.
Most of us have obstacles we’re working through, and goals we are working toward. How do we schedule the time to think about these things when our attention is constantly being occupied? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve opened my phone to take a note or research something, only to become lost in a sea of information created solely for my attention. Modern life has a definite lack of space for rumination, little space for the scope of imagination. Disconnecting from cellular service is a major part of the outdoor experience.
I’ve written a lot about these topics, and so much of that writing began while I was walking on trails, alone with my thoughts. We all have our coming-of-age stories, and luckily for me, my coming out story involved large amounts of time in nature. It wasn’t easy coming out as gay to a world that wasn’t supportive at the time. Growing up is never easy, no matter who you are. Nature, for me, was a beloved friend when I needed support. Nature can be that for you as well.
Because I have plenty of scrambling and climbing experience, I decide to route-find along an exposed cliff.
Soon, every moment is intensely focused on where my feet can be firmly placed, where my fingers can be confident in their ability to grasp the boulders that they find. On my way down from the summit, I’ll realize that there was a trail nearly the whole way up, and if I had followed it, I wouldn’t be hanging from this cliff, with hundreds of feet of air below me. I search to the left, then to the right. The route I take dead-ends, so I climb back down and up a different way. There are a few moments where I am precariously over-extended, but I focus on each move I make, and soon, I reach the peak.
To the north is the Strait of Juan De Fuca. Port Angeles is just below me, and beyond I see Victoria BC and the San Juan Islands. Mount Baker’s brilliant white peak projects out a bank of low-lying cloud. To the southwest Mount Olympus and the Bailey Range stand nobly in the center of Olympic National Park. I take a few pictures as I realize that a dense bloom of bugs is flying all around me. Not interested in sharing my lunch with the bugs, I scramble down to a boulder projecting toward Olympus. There is a form of a chair in the rock, so I dangle my legs of the side and lean back to relax. As the perfectly ripe juices of a Bartlett Pear dribble down my chin, I recall what it felt like to stand on the summit of Mount Olympus a few years back. Last year I climbed Warrior Peak to the southeast. I’ve camped on the coast, and I’ve hiked in the southern region as well.
It’s an amazing gift to have this protected land available for our exploration. This moment is a special treat because I’m the only person on this summit. To stand at the top of a peak by yourself might seem lonely to some, but to me this isn’t alone; I am in intimate communion with this landscape, with this peninsula, with the sea and the greater ocean beyond. There is a mystery here that I have no distraction from. I am one small piece in this wondrous picture, and that puts all my troubles into perspective. I feel profoundly thankful to be alive.
Life is full of challenges. Our journeys are marked by negative experiences just as much as the positive ones. It’s important for us to have healthy methods to work through the darkness of life, and it’s just as important for us to have moments of wonder and of deep connection to the earth. Alone time in nature grants us both. Whether it’s been on mountain tops, by meandering rivers, or along dramatic coastlines, hiking solo has been therapeutic for me and has brought healing, renewal, and hope to my life. It’s given me the knowledge and confidence to rely on myself when I’m out in the wild. And it’s given me the space to imagine and build a better life. For the obstacles that you might be facing, might I recommend a few trails with room for your thoughts. I can almost guarantee that it will help you with whatever issue you’re working through. And you never know what your imagination might conjure up.
Lance spends his days fighting fire in Seattle, climbing the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, and sailing the Salish Sea. His essays appear in Outside, Backpacker, Orion, and The Stranger, which listed his essay among The Best American Journalism of the year. His next story, Omens of the Forest, is forthcoming in CAMPFIRE STORIES II from Mountaineer Books in winter 2022.