It seems like only yesterday that I was bushwhacking over unnamed mountain passes and through densely-forested valleys in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness of Montana.
Upon closer examination of a calendar, I realized that almost nine months have passed since my last backpacking trip. Where does the time go? I certainly don’t feel much older or wiser, and I haven’t made nearly as much “life progress” as I hoped I would throughout the year. But however disappointed I am that I still haven’t found that perfect teaching job or accomplished some of the smaller tasks that I had set out to do, for some reason I am inexplicably OK with the way things are right in this moment.
Of course, it doesn't hurt that backpacking season is right around the corner.
Upon closer examination of a calendar, I realized that almost nine months have passed since my last backpacking trip. Where does the time go? I certainly don’t feel much older or wiser, and I haven’t made nearly as much “life progress” as I hoped I would throughout the year. But however disappointed I am that I still haven’t found that perfect teaching job or accomplished some of the smaller tasks that I had set out to do, for some reason I am inexplicably OK with the way things are right in this moment.
Of course, it doesn't hurt that backpacking season is right around the corner.
It’s hard to believe that it’s time to start throwing together a gear list and acquiring odds and ends for this summer’s backpacking adventure. I've been backpacking for quite some time now, and while I'm no expert, I certainly feel confident in the backcountry – so why do I still feel like a five-year old on the first day of kindergarten before each and every trip? What is it about backpacking, a “vacation” that is more physically and mentally exacting than anything I do at work or at home, that is so special? After giving this question some thought, I've decided the answer is, well, complicated, and something that has and will likely continue to evolve over time.
On my first backpacking trip in the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico, I remember being amazed by the sheer magnitude of my surroundings. People tend to be drawn to things bigger than themselves, and during that outing I realized how inconsequential my being was to the world at large. I returned to civilization with a profoundly deeper appreciation for those closest to me and an invigorated outlook on life.
Making the transition from a college student to a young professional limited my ability to brush aside responsibility and run away to the woods. So after college, backpacking was the mechanism that enabled me to get outside. It allowed me to go to beautiful, sometimes surreal places with people whom I cherished. It was a means to an end. And while this remains true, backpacking has taken on a whole new meaning to me, a meaning that I find difficult to define.
To many people, backpacking in the quiet solitude of the wilderness reduces stress, improves understanding of purpose, and increases both mental well-being and connectedness with the world. Nature connects people with the experience of positive emotion, and helps them develop an appreciation for the little things in life. Personally, backpacking has given me new ways to deal with life's challenges, including confidence for over-coming physical obstacles and learning new skills. And while the nature of the trail, with everyone moving at his or her own pace and hiking for his or her own reasons, is an endeavor both individual and communal, backpacking doesn't always have to be a journey of self-discovery nor reveal any universal truths, although it often offers an opportunity to experience some level of introspection.
Although I am able to describe some of the sentiments and characteristics that denote my love of backpacking, there is also a certain inexpressible something I get out of it. I assume many backpackers experience similar feelings, because no one I speak with is quite able to put it into words. Some call it relaxation or peace; others call it adventure or freedom. While all are close, all are slightly off mark, and the more I think about it, analyze it, and break it down, the further I get from it. But just as I would stop to enjoy the grandeur from a mountain peak, I think it’s worth stopping, if only for a moment, to remember and reflect upon what instilled my love of the wilderness in the first place.
On my first backpacking trip in the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico, I remember being amazed by the sheer magnitude of my surroundings. People tend to be drawn to things bigger than themselves, and during that outing I realized how inconsequential my being was to the world at large. I returned to civilization with a profoundly deeper appreciation for those closest to me and an invigorated outlook on life.
Making the transition from a college student to a young professional limited my ability to brush aside responsibility and run away to the woods. So after college, backpacking was the mechanism that enabled me to get outside. It allowed me to go to beautiful, sometimes surreal places with people whom I cherished. It was a means to an end. And while this remains true, backpacking has taken on a whole new meaning to me, a meaning that I find difficult to define.
To many people, backpacking in the quiet solitude of the wilderness reduces stress, improves understanding of purpose, and increases both mental well-being and connectedness with the world. Nature connects people with the experience of positive emotion, and helps them develop an appreciation for the little things in life. Personally, backpacking has given me new ways to deal with life's challenges, including confidence for over-coming physical obstacles and learning new skills. And while the nature of the trail, with everyone moving at his or her own pace and hiking for his or her own reasons, is an endeavor both individual and communal, backpacking doesn't always have to be a journey of self-discovery nor reveal any universal truths, although it often offers an opportunity to experience some level of introspection.
Although I am able to describe some of the sentiments and characteristics that denote my love of backpacking, there is also a certain inexpressible something I get out of it. I assume many backpackers experience similar feelings, because no one I speak with is quite able to put it into words. Some call it relaxation or peace; others call it adventure or freedom. While all are close, all are slightly off mark, and the more I think about it, analyze it, and break it down, the further I get from it. But just as I would stop to enjoy the grandeur from a mountain peak, I think it’s worth stopping, if only for a moment, to remember and reflect upon what instilled my love of the wilderness in the first place.