The first time I hiked was freshman year in college. It was a little mountain—if you could even call it that. Though the peak of Mount Philo only stood 968 feet tall, it was still a feat for me. As I stood at the top and gazed out, I felt like I was on top of the world; in reality, I was standing on a glorified hill. But this trek sparked my love for hiking, and I’ve only climbed higher since.
Fall semester of my sophomore year is winding down, and hiking season is coming to a close. Soon I’ll be carving down snow-covered slopes as opposed to slowly marching through the trees. And even though I love most outdoor activities, there’s something special about hiking.
I think it may be the almost simplistic quality that has drawn me in. For snowboarding, you need a lift ticket, equipment, and layers upon layers of clothing; next are the crowded lodges, expensive meals, and lines that stretch far from the lift, winding so far away that you forget what you’re waiting for. But for hiking, all you need is some some water, a pair of shoes you aren’t afraid to get dirty, and a mountain. As soon as you reach the trailhead, you just start. It’s as simple as that.
Navigating a narrow path, hopping over rocks and tree roots, crunching leaves with every step, seeing light seeping through the foliage, breathing in fresh air. Then reaching the summit in itself is an entirely different experience: a panoramic view—hundreds of miles stretching in every direction, clouds seemingly at your fingertips, warm sun coating your skin, wind combing through your hair. It all feels so timeless.