Getting Brave: How I Became A Solo Hiker

I have heard that whatever we lack in our childhood, we will seek out in our adulthood. It is no wonder I have become the adult I am. And I am very proud of who I have become.

My parents raised me in a strict religion. Some call it a cult. I can definitely see that point of view. We attended church often 5 times a week, went door to door preaching, read the bible daily. Every day we were supposed to be doing our best to live within the morals and standards set by our church because any day, the world could end. If we had been obedient, we would live through Armageddon and continue life in a newly cleansed world, the world god had always intended for us. A world without death or capitalism, just living forever in paradise. A perfect world. If we did not meet the standard, of course, if we were sinning too much, we would not survive Armageddon and would perish instead. I don't think you have to be all that brilliant to figure out that this is not a healthy thing to tell a child, that every single day they need to monitor their behavior, because too many sins or too gross of sins means eternal death when the world ends as it will do any day now (we must be vigilant). I will never understand how any adult can buy into this nonsense but they did. And, as a result, I look back and feel like I was never really a kid.

Of course, eventually, we left the religion because my parents divorced and that was not allowed. Fast forward a bit and you've got an adult who is figuring out that a lot of the rules they grew up with were never real. They only existed in that little world.

If we jump ahead even more, we are in pandemic. This I don't need to tell you about, I'm sure you were there. Here in Las Vegas, it was devastating to see the Strip close its doors as it never had before. It was an eerie and surreal sight. To escape the daily dread and the regular nightmares, I knew I needed nature. I had always loved nature. But I was never a hiker as an adult because none of my friends were interested and of course it's just common sense that a woman doesn't go hiking alone. Right? 

I had to reach my limit before I got brave. But I did get there. The stress from the uncertainty of this world crisis was adding up and I knew from my daily walks in the park that nature could heal me. So one day I typed "Mt. Charleston" into my navigator, screenshot the directions in case I lost connection on the way there and drove the 45 minutes to the mountains from Las Vegas. My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel tightly on the 20 mile drive between the highway and the entrance to the Spring Mountains. Kyle Canyon road is mostly bare with a sprinkling of homes belonging to people who can afford them. My brave journey almost ended before it began when I saw that someone had left their bumper on the road, right at the end of my exit. But I noticed in time to go around it and continued. I didn't realize the first time that I kept having to push harder and harder on my gas pedal as I progressed because I was gaining elevation. 

I opted to hike the very first trail I saw (Fletcher Canyon). There were other cars in the parking lot, so that was good. I had mace in my pocket and a large knife in my backpack. Just in case. The Spring Mountains are mountain lion territory buy I've always been warier of men than mountain lions on the trail. Either way, I tried to be ready for anything. My roommates knew where I was so I put on my mini-backpack that doubled as my purse, grabbed my steel water bottle and hit the trail. I was so nervous, I only hiked a mile my first time in. I did not turn around because I was tired. I turned around when I figured I had pressed my luck enough and shouldn't push it any further. But not before I came upon a friendly looking tree stump that was shaped exactly like a chair. I named it Stump. I sat with (or on) Stump and told him about my journey there. Of course, I stopped if anyone passed by on the trail. I was crazy enough to hike alone but I was not crazy enough to talk to trees. I got comfortable enough to take some pictures with Stump and even recorded a short video for my future self, telling her that I was proud of her for being brave. Then I turned back and followed the trail down. 

I was exhilarated as I drove the 20 miles back to the highway. I had done it and I hadn't died! Actually, nothing bad had happened at all. The energy of nature was so vibrant and refreshing, the views of trees and mountains were beautiful, it had been so worth it. I think I returned that same week. Soon enough, I was driving out to the mountains every week. Many months later, I would even branch out and start trying new trails. 

About a year later, I decided that I wanted to see the Raintree, a 3,000 year old bristlecone pine that sits on a trail called the North Loop. It was an area of the mountains I had never been to and the Raintree was a little more than 2.5 miles from the trail head. In all this time, I had never once turned around out of exhaustion. While I would have loved to push myself and see how far I could go, I always turned around when I felt I had gone deep enough into the mountains as I safely could and ought to turn back before my luck ran out. But I really wanted to see this tree so I went on the new trail, in the new area to the highest point I'd ever been in my life (a little over 10,000 feet elevation). The Raintree was beautiful and incredible and filled me with joy. I did a little dance at the base of it. Then I noticed the sun was starting to drop. Once the sun gets lower, the mountains get cold quickly and this new trail had thick wooded areas that were dark with the trees blotting out the sunlight. So I hightailed it back down the mountain, even running at one point, tripping over tree roots and rocks. But I was over the moon with excitement. 

I remember getting to my car and feeling so proud that I had conquered this. I was a wild woman who did what she wanted. I went to nature and felt the sun and the wind without the company of anyone. I talked to chipmunks and danced under ancient trees and trusted myself to take care of any situation the day could throw at me. I was a far cry from living under an endless barrage of rules and limitations and guidelines. All of those things add up to fear. That's how religions works, through fear. But I was not afraid of anything and I had the knife in my bag to prove it. Nothing could stop me.

Then I started my car and my "low tire" light was on. But that's another story.

Me and Stump on my first time alone in the Spring Mountains