Going it Alone

Solo hiking: it was probably inevitable that the conversation would happen at some point, given the fact that I work at the summit of a mountain known for its unpredictable inclement weather, dozens of annual rescue attempts, and growing list of fatalities. It was just this type of occurrence--an active search and rescue taking place from the summit--when conversation turned to the dangers of hiking alone. Perhaps it was because my last blog entry (in which I extolled the merits of solo hiking) was so fresh, or because the language being used seemed judgmental, but as we discussed, I found it challenging not to take the comments personally. I've been hiking--alone--since I was a teenager. The points being made were valid, but they stung, and I had to disengage in order to not cross over into defensiveness. The discussion ended amicably enough, but after I felt deflated. Maybe my ego was a little wounded...or maybe this person pointed out a chink in my "not going to happen to me" armor?  Not sure--but it's certainly worth exploring.

Interestingly, I don't consider myself to be much of a risk-taker. In fact, I can be cautious to the point of life becoming paralytic. Historically, I've had to force myself to take risks in order to move forward, and it never comes easily or naturally. Hyper-vigilance is in my genes. When the stakes are high, I ruminate, I obsess, I play out twenty different scenarios in my head before engaging. Remember my discussion about control in my last entry? I grew up incessantly striving to control my diabetes, and in my experience, it's next to impossible to cherry-pick control of certain aspects of our lives while approaching others with a relaxed attitude. It just doesn't seem to work that way. I feel like living in my head has really never done me much good. I even went so far in my last entry as to claim that control-seeking was the element that brought the most distress to my life. But is it possible that this tendency could be helping me stay safe out on the trail? Or am I falling victim to my favorite illusion that I can control the uncontrollable?

Maybe it is neither of these. I think the reality of solo hiking is probably far more gray than the black-and-white view that it is either safe or unsafe. I interpreted the context of my colleague's statements to be that solo hiking was foolish. Period. I filled in the blanks with my own insecurities, my ego kicked in, my hackles went up, I took it personally, and my view of myself as an expressly unfoolish individual began to destabilize. Does hiking alone increase one's risk of accident? Remember, we were speaking in the midst of radio calls back and forth between the parties descending the summit cone to rescue an injured hiker--an injured hiker that in this instance had been hiking in a group. If an accident is truly an act of God, happening entirely by chance--if I'm going to go down on a slick rock, trip over a root, fall down a cliff--hell--even trigger an avalanche or get struck by lightning, it could happen if I am in a group of one or a group of twenty. That's because it is an accident.  And by definition, accidents can happen to anyone at any time with no explanation. That is the nature of an accident.  But this too, is an overly simplistic view of the issue.   

To my coworker's point, solo hiking does make the potential outcome of an emergent situation much different. Should an accident happen, I would be better off in the presence of others--plain and simple. Having someone to dress wounds, perform CPR, go for help--even utilizing the collective body heat of others--all have the capacity to make a grave situation survivable. Not all hikes are created equal, and not all conditions and geographical areas are appropriate to venture out in alone, but does that mean one should avoid solo hiking entirely? For me, it's a matter of doing everything I can to mitigate risk, while understanding and respecting its existence.* Because solo hiking has been such a rich, formative part of my life, you will not hear me make blanket statements that one should never hike alone due to potential danger, just as I will never say that taking to the backcountry is risk-free and safe for everyone.  

Let's pause and zoom out for a moment, to examine this in the context of life as a whole...Isn't everything we do laced with uncertainty? The experience of birth itself carries with it inherent uncontrollable risk; we come into this world with no guarantees. Isn't this what life is all about? It is the tenuous balance between risk and safety, sadness and joy, pain and pleasure that shapes our existence and gives it context. None of these exists without the other, and in my opinion, we need to tread on both sides of the line in order to fully engage. Show me someone living a risk-free existence, and I'll show you someone who is stunted by fear, hardly living at all. 

My relationship with the act of hiking is deeply personal and at times has felt imperative. Looking back, it's clear that during the darkest periods of my life, I have been a more serious threat to myself than any of my solo hiking endeavors have been. Hiking has been life-giving for me, and during these times when I needed it the most, I happened to be alone. This is not me taking a black-and-white stance, rather an explanation of how sometimes, when the grays that are my personal circumstances reign, the benefits of hiking alone exceed the risk.

*This blog is not intended to be a 'how to', rather an account of my experiences. Regardless, if you plan on heading into the backcountry--alone or in a group--do your homework first. 
https://www.nps.gov/articles/10essentials.htm is a great place to start.  

Standing atop Franconia Ridge

White Mountains, NH; April 2014.