Last weekend I finally got out on the trails after weeks of planning. There’s something about being surrounded by nature that resets the mind completely.

Why I Needed This

The past few months had been relentless. Back-to-back deadlines, endless video calls, and that peculiar exhaustion that comes from sitting in a chair all day while your brain runs a marathon. My apartment walls were closing in. I needed to move, to breathe air that hadn’t been recycled through an HVAC system, to remember that the world extends beyond my laptop screen.

I’d been eyeing this particular trail for months—a moderate 12-kilometer loop through mixed forest that promised waterfalls, ridge views, and minimal cell reception. That last part was particularly appealing.

The Early Start

My alarm went off at 5:30 AM, and for once I didn’t hate it. There’s a different quality to early morning darkness when you’re about to do something you actually want to do. I’d packed everything the night before: water, snacks, rain jacket, first aid kit, the works. Years of hiking have taught me that being over-prepared beats being under-prepared every single time.

The trailhead parking lot was nearly empty when I arrived at 6:45. Just one other car, a mud-splattered Subaru with a “Leave No Trace” sticker. My kind of people. The air was crisp, maybe 8 degrees, with that particular stillness that comes before the world fully wakes up.

The Climb

The first hour was all uphill. Not brutal, but steady—the kind of incline that finds muscles you forgot you had. My lungs burned slightly, a reminder that I’d been neglecting cardio in favor of desk work. But with each switchback, I felt something loosening in my chest that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

The forest was a cathedral of old-growth cedar and hemlock. Shafts of early sunlight pierced through the canopy, illuminating patches of moss so green it almost hurt to look at. I stopped frequently, not because I needed to catch my breath (though I did), but because I kept seeing things worth stopping for: a banana slug making its patient way across the trail, a cluster of mushrooms erupting from a fallen log, the intricate lacework of lichen on bark.

The Ridge

Around the two-hour mark, the trees thinned and I emerged onto a rocky ridge. The view hit me like a physical force. Mountains stretched in every direction, their peaks still holding onto winter snow. A valley dropped away below, carved by glaciers millennia ago, now filled with a patchwork of forest and meadow. A river threaded through it all, catching sunlight like scattered diamonds.

I sat on a flat boulder and ate my sandwich in silence. No music, no podcasts, no notifications. Just wind, birdsong, and my own thoughts finally having room to breathe. I stayed there for almost an hour, watching clouds cast moving shadows across the landscape, feeling time slow to a pace that matched the mountains.

The Descent

Coming down is always harder on the knees but easier on the soul. I took a different route back, following the creek through a narrow canyon where the sound of rushing water drowned out everything else. At one point, I had to cross a log bridge over a small gorge—sketchy but exhilarating.

I passed a few other hikers on the way down, exchanging the universal trail greeting of slightly breathless hellos. There’s an unspoken camaraderie among people who choose to spend their weekends getting sweaty on mountains. We’re all chasing the same thing, even if we can’t quite name it.

What I Brought Back

I returned to my car around 2 PM, legs wobbly, shirt soaked with sweat, grinning like an idiot. The drive home felt different than the drive out. My mind was quieter, my shoulders looser. The problems waiting for me at work hadn’t disappeared, but they’d shrunk to their proper size.

That night, I slept better than I had in weeks. Deep, dreamless sleep, the kind that actually restores something. And the next morning, sitting back at my desk, I noticed I could focus in a way I hadn’t been able to for months. The trail had given me back something I didn’t realize I’d lost.

Lessons Learned

After years of hiking, I keep relearning the same lessons:

  • Pack more water than you think you need. Dehydration sneaks up on you, and there’s nothing worse than rationing sips when you’re still hours from your car.
  • Start early. Beat the crowds, beat the heat, and catch the best light. The world looks different at 7 AM than it does at noon.
  • The journey matters more than the destination. The summit is great, but the real magic happens on the way there.
  • Leave your phone in your pocket. Or better yet, in your pack. The mountain doesn’t need to be photographed to be experienced.
  • Go alone sometimes. There’s value in hiking with friends, but solo trips offer something different—a conversation with yourself that’s hard to have any other way.

I’m already planning my next trip. Maybe something longer, with a night under the stars. The trails are always there, waiting. All I have to do is show up.