Nova Scotia

Here, in the wilderness of the Cape Chignecto Provincial Park, I learned what it is like to push my body to its near breaking point. Where the muscles in my body feel as though they are seizing and at any moment I may collapse. In fact, all I desired was to collapse on the moss-covered rocks below me. Collapse, and stay in that wilderness sanctuary forever. Then a mosquito bites my leg, snapping me back to reality, and I decided it was time to keep going.

“Somewhere between the bottom of the climb and the summit is the answer to the mystery why we climb.” - Greg Child

The Cape Chignecto coastal trail was a rollercoaster, literally. Once I reached the top of one hill, there was either more of the hill still to go, or several more just around the corner. Even when I thought the uphills were the worst part, I reached a steep descent that led me all the way back to the the lowest elevation. My knees were shaking and a deep burn began to rise throughout my thighs, as I meandered carefully down to meet my next fate. If it wasn't for my brother yelling words of encouragement over the low roar of our "mountain music" playlist, I don't know if I would have made it. Well, at least it would have taken me more than the 3.5 days to reach the finish line of the 32 miles (52-kilometer hike).

It was more than the hike, though, it was those moments of pause that kept my feet moving. Those in-between moments where I dismounted the 30 pounds I had been carrying and was able to fully be encompassed by the environment around me. I slipped off the mud-covered hiking boots feeling my feet throbbing as I walked across the rocks to the cold ocean water. We had a crazy idea that we were going to swim. That changed quickly when our toes were submerged in the icy stream. It was still good fun. We laughed and closed our eyes, soaking up the wind or the sun that had finally appeared. Our aches, blisters and bruises forgotten for a moment. This was living.

This hike taught me a lot in terms of my pack, food and my feet. For my backpack, I learned that I can do with less. When you're hiking up hills that feel like straight vertical inclines, you start to regret the lantern, bungee cords, and your ridiculous 5-pound three-person backpacking tent. In terms of food, I realized which vegetarian freeze-dried food actually gave me energy. There's nothing worse than getting halfway through the hike for the day and feeling exhausted. Remember those berry and granola freeze-dried meals that are meant for breakfast? They suck. I felt more sustained and energized when I had a more protein-rich, beans and rice meal. Just don't put too much water in them; otherwise, they taste like mush. Also, if you take anything away from this, it is to not under pack sugary snacks. You will cherish those Starbursts or gummy worms at the end of a 10-mile day, trust me. Lastly, and the worst, my feet. Never underestimate the power of blisters because when you're not thinking your entire heel soon will be a blister. I've never appreciated medical tape more in my life and will remember to wear sock liners next time.

“For hiking is one of those things that you can only do if you have the determination in you.” -Unknown

Even with all these aches and blisters, each hike always seems to surprise me in the best ways. On our last night, we were camping in Refugee Cove. I will never forget this area for the things that it offered. On our way down the path to this cove, we noticed a large grassy area of water. So, once we had set up our campsite, we scampered down the path like children, in search of this body of water we saw before. Scrambling through trees off the path we found a gentle river and we decided to follow it. The water of the river was warm as the sun basked down on it. Slowly ocean water began to mix as the warmth faded into a cool blue lake. My brother decided to go for a swim, barring the icy-cold of this small lake. I took the path up to the rocky beach curious of what would lie pas the mound. The ocean stretched out to the horizon, and I lay on the beach, for a time, just letting everything slip away around me. We made friends with a gull on the beach and skipped rock across the glossy surface of the lake.

Later on, that day, when the sun was beginning to set, we ventured back out to this island of rocks. We were surprised to discover that the small lake created by ocean water had vanished. The oceans’ water had receded, revealing a texture of green a brown across the ground. It looked like veins, and the ocean was the heartbeat. I noticed another island that was now uncovered and leapt over to its banks. We explored this new terrain and scampered over rocks covered in algae and shells. I watched as the light slowly faded from the sky. Fearing the tide would begin to rise again we made our way back inland. The next day we set out to complete the remaining mileage. Reaching the grassy path that lead to the car park, I collapsed in pure exhaustion, but also in complete gratitude. I will never forget the moments and feeling of solitude as they are ingrained in my memory forever. That's the power of the hike.

The Redwoods

For me, hiking is my solitude. The moment my boots hit the dirt I’m entirely at ease, no matter how steep the climb is, I understand something new about myself in each location. For the Redwoods, it was the understanding of being raw. My brother and I hiked three locations of the redwoods, each entirely different in their style of terrain. Each I reflected differently.

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”

— Edmund Hillary

The first one was about foraging and understanding the environment around you. We gathered wood for a fire; our legs sweeping through the moist grasses as we scavenged. It was nice to be finally at peace, the only thing we had to think about was the type of wood we were gathering, was it too wet, too large, the wrong species. Nothing else mattered. The fire crackled beside us as we read our books, and I began thinking about how amazing this ecosystem was that we were sitting within. The dirt, grass, trees, and birds all intertwined into one breathing entity. I thought about how I would cherish this time forever.

“Take only memories, leave only footprints.”

Chief Seattle

When we weaved our way on the downward path to our second location, and when the light broke from the darkness of the forest, we saw a stream before us. Along its banks, there were faint pops of color from other hikers, all on their own journey. We nestled into a spot that gave us easy access to the creek to soak our feet. We became aware of a hiker on the other side of the bank who had set up camp already. he was alone in the immediate sense—yes, but from the broader perspective—no. Although we never spoke a single word to this stranger, there was a sense of kinship. We jokingly referred to him as our river friend because it was the mere presence of him that gave us the feeling that we were all going through this journey together. By journey, I mean one of reflection. We were completely detached from the modern world of technology and pressure. Still, we were here in the moment enjoying the simpler things that life has to offer. This was my favorite location, and when I awoke the next day to see our river friend had moved on, I took comfort that he would find his way, as we would.

Finally, we came to our third destination, which was less off the beaten path, but that made it no less extraordinary. We set up camp on a beach next to the Pacific Ocean. We hadn’t seen the sun at all during our travels, but on this particular night, the rays breached over the cloud walls and created the most immaculate sunset. The waves ebbed back and forth on the wet sand and as I watched I felt as though I could hear every droplet of water in a soft musical array. I stood there on the beach as the red of the sky was soon consumed by darkness. I made my way back to our small camp and warmed my skin as we filled the air with soft laughter and stories of the past. This felt like a full circle, and I recommend every person to take this journey.