Above The Treeline: The Humanity of Hiking
Tags: Mental Health, Lifestyle, Outdoors, Hiking, Human Behavior

Photo by Amanda Phung on Unsplash

Years ago, when my son was 15-years-old, I accidently took him on a hiking trip in Breckenridge, Colorado. We knew we were going hiking. But, we had no clue that hiking would be rigorous and dangerous. We were expecting a walk into the deep woods to see a lake.

We had never hiked before. We took nothing with us and wore running shoes to ascend Mohawk Lake trail to enjoy our mother-son time. My husband and daughter wished us well as they dropped us off at the trailhead.

About an hour into the hike, the scenery started to change significantly. We were not in the woods. We were on a mountain. Twice I urged my son that we should turn back.

Once, I looked down and all the people looked like ants, and once I heard thunder. Both of those observations gave me pause while my son remained fearless. We also lost the trail for a while and had to scale the side of a bolder to get back on track.

I continued to climb in spite of my fear because of the strangers who embraced me. They were varied in age, fitness appearance, size and gender. But, they were mostly white, seemingly in their element and inviting me in.

On the ground, experience had conditioned me not to trust people to take care of me. Many of them sure seemed surprised to see our Black faces there. However, the space that we were in felt big enough for us all. There was nothing to fight over, and nothing to protect, but each other. So, they did just that.

Someone offered us snacks. Many fellow hikers gave us the, “You’re almost there” pep talk. Everyone was friendly and encouraging. They made sure we didn’t lose the trail again.

I totally put my faith in the people around me, especially when they encouraged me to keep going in spite of the thunder. They assured me the sound of thunder was common at that altitude. They spoke confidently that the weather was going to hold up, as if they had gotten a text message from Mother Nature herself.

“Returning home is the most difficult part of long-distance hiking. You have grown outside the puzzle and your piece no longer fits.” — Cindy Ross

The weather did hold. We did make it to the lake, a beautiful site well worth the trip. Nevertheless, I could not wait to get off that mountain fast enough. I wanted to feel safe again.

We reached the car to find my husband and daughter worried because they had been waiting over an hour for us. The scheduled three-hour hike had taken us almost 5 hours.

My husband asked us if there were any more Black people on the trail. We replied that we didn’t see any, but the white people sure took good care of us. That was my first lesson in hiking. Above the tree line, humanity trumps power and privilege.

Nature Brings Out the Best

More than a decade passed before I hiked again. A move to Colorado sparked the nostalgia of humanity above the tree line. Time has led many diverse people to the earthly heaven of hiking. I even invested in a good pair of hiking boots.

I have become a regular hiker thanks to my friend, Claudine. Sometimes we hike with just each other. Other times we hike with a group of Black hikers. Then there are times where she and I are the only Black hikers in a mixed group of race, age, and fitness level hikers. The feeling is the same.

“Now I see the secret of making the best person, it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.” — Walt Whitman

Nature brings out the best in humans. We leave behind our personal cares and the cares of the world. We see others as part of the nature that we are trying to connect with. It’s namasta.

Smiles, warm greetings, and helping hands are generously extended. Lovers hold hands. Friends make plans. Strangers help you stand. I have met foreigners enjoying the land, newcomers exploring the territory, families connecting, friends bonding, and would-be-strangers in small talk.

The connectedness has spurred my sense of adventure and risk-taking. I’ve explored terrain that made me shiver in my boots. I’ve trekked in the snow and in the heat, equally uncomfortable. But, I’ve never had a hike I regretted. I am a more open person because I hike.

Feet on the Ground

I did my first solo hike recently. I went out with a group of hikers to find that the chosen trail was covered in ice. I was the only one uncomfortable moving ahead with our plans. I handed my shoe spikes to someone who didn’t have them and I chose a safer trail.

I walked with an older couple for a while. I checked in with a younger couple to ask how close I was to the top. I picked up a tree branch to use for a walking stick and protection.

I let myself sink into the awe of the experience of hiking alone. I felt proud in my choice to enjoy the mountains on my own terms. Claudine left me the keys to the car so that I could stay warm when I returned.

While I sat in the car waiting for my group to return from their hike, I noticed a small car stuck in the snow as the driver tried to pull out of the parking spot. I got out my car to help and smiled as I greeted the other three women preparing to push the car out of the snow.

None of us knew each other or the driver. We just did what people do in the mountains.We took care of each other. We eliminated the fear factor.

“Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.” — Edward Abbey

My goal in life is to hold onto the hiking experience when I get out of the woods. We are all here to help one another. Instead of inducing fear and living by it, we can eliminate it. Fear does not make us stronger or more competent.

Cooperation and care make us our best. I now refer to that combination as the “above the tree line mentality.” May it keep me grounded down here.