This was an essay about solo hiking I tried to submit a few times to other media publications but has never actually been accepted to be released so I want to share it here! It was written years ago.
“It’ll be tough and very steep,” said a mid-aged man when I asked him for clarification if the trail started here. I gulped and made my way to the pathway, overlooking the rocky appearance of the McDowell Mountains that overshadowed my petite 5’ foot frame. I didn’t know what I was in for, but this was my first solo hike in Arizona. Having just recently moved from my home state on the East Coast of New Jersey, I was bewildered and intimidated by the 1,000+ feet mountains that cornered the state.
As I continued onto my hike, I always looked above at the famed monolith of Tom’s Thumb to push my out-of-shape body to get to that view. I took as many breaks as I could, resting among the edges of the steep dirt paths. I was enthralled by the several different species of cacti, the colorful and cordial butterflies that flew around me in every direction, and I was taken by surprise of how I even got myself on a trail. When hiking Arizona’s mountains, another hiker passing by had just greeted me. It’s not unusual to hear ‘hellos’ by people who are hiking the same trail. And after another one said hi, I was encouraged by these friendly gestures, not commonly heard from where I come from out east. Those are just one of the motivators to a great hike to come.
But I never led myself to believe I can be confident in these trails. The desert is not as scary as it seems to a lot of outdoorsy people out there. Maybe it’s just the face they’re showing, maybe they’re secretly fretting and regretting, or maybe it’s just they’re accustomed to the dryness of the weather. To outsiders, it is a hell of a place.
We’re talking about wild animals roaming around here, especially at night. They also love to show themselves at the peak of the day. Rattlesnakes are active at night as they are when it’s super sunny and hot. Mountain lions are what anyone fears the most when they spend time outside in the wilderness and they are very territorial of their own areas. I remember when I was hiking by myself in Peralta Canyon Trail and I heard a feline growl come from the bushes and trees that I passed by. Upon research, it seemed remarkably close to a mountain lion and I hope that is my only closest encounter to one. Though, I have this weird fantasy of hoping to just see one in the distance, as long as I’m not in sight of their own crossing.
Curiosity was always in my blood. I never hiked solo until the time I climbed up to see the tallest waterfall in my home state of New Jersey, but it was a super short one I did. That Tom’s Thumb hike was more of a greater and brag-able “first” solo hike I’d rather remember, only because I wanted to get out and do something in a state I’m not too familiar with. Not everyone’s cup of tea to explore a state but I had this rage in me that I longed for change. I came out of a 3-year abusive relationship, got burnt out from working all these marketing and random jobs while attending college full-time, moving around 4 times in 3 years, and I was battling with a lot of anxiety and depression all at the same time (it’s also what contributed to my burn out) and I was delaying seeking help to manage how I felt inside (eventually I gave in). Solo hiking became a form of therapy for me, but I never knew it’d also be one of my passionate hobbies. A passionate hobby that also ended up becoming part of my job (blogging).
I came across someone’s Instagram that tagged this other account called the @52hikechallenge. I clicked on it and I saw so many people, young and old, families and pets, partaking in the challenge to hike a different trail at least once a week for the year. I was already into hiking, but I never did it as much as I could. My first two experiences solo hiking prepared me to possibly just go solo hiking more. I also knew I had to explore a lot of the mountains Arizona had to offer, but I hardly had friends when I began to go with anyone. My parents and other family members do not hike. I don’t know about going with a group of strangers either. So, something clicked in me, “Why don’t I just go alone on my hikes?”
I’ve worried my friends, my family, and friends of friends that I would go alone, especially since I’m a 5-foot-only 20-something year old, person-of-color female. They always feared the worst scenarios for me but I tried to explain to them that most of the trails I go on are popular enough to make it seem like you really aren’t hiking alone; Sometimes they’re a little more remote, which made it all too real for the people who worried for my safety.
As I took each step, each sweat, each grunting moment of me just wanting to take breaks especially as I challenged myself more to do higher elevation gains and miles, I’d question myself, “Is this a workout? Or is this for me to prove something to myself?”
Proving something to myself seemed more of a reasonable abstraction. I did not want to remind myself how weak I perceived myself, as I felt all through my breakdowns and tumultuous life events. I did not want to be that girl who had lived such a sedentary lifestyle and laid in my bed for hours after coming back from school or work because I grew depressed and unenergetic and pushed aside self-care. I was not loyal to myself, but I always wanted to be. I just didn’t know how to.
I learned to love solo hiking so much that I was so fond of my own company, whereas I used to be so afraid to be alone. I used to not mind seeing the same people every day in my life whether it was family, classmates, teachers, my co-workers, and my friends on a daily basis; I was always in the company of others. It’s finally got to me. I was able to go to eat alone or go out to a museum alone. I was self-confident enough to know that I did not need to talk to people I knew already or be side-by-side with someone to explore sights.
But anyway, I loved going on my own pace: the walk upon those boulders and stopping there to drink my water, when I couldn’t even catch my own breath, instead of being motivated to keep going by someone else, the ability to actually read line-by-line of a plaque on a museum, and meditating to the top of the mountain without being distracted from attempting to do so. It’s a destined type of peace that’ll give you your well-deserved moment in life in the busy lives we lead and a blockage from the noise we border ourselves with.
I admit though that I’ve been naive and unprepared a few times when I began my journey of solo hiking. I came out to go hiking when it was 90 degrees, even seeing a couple who were planning to hike turn away at the beginning (that was a sign), and I ended up in the emergency room hours later. At that time, during the heat that my body was not acclimated to, sprayed water disappeared from my skin way too quick, what seemed like a short walk felt like a weight on my legs, my heart was pulsing so much, and I felt like I was on the verge of passing out. I was dehydrated completely and I pushed myself to hike back to the parking lot.
I had heat exhaustion and I needed IV fluids hooked on me for hydration. That experience on the hike wasn’t as forgiving as when I was getting up in one of Arizona’s popular trails in Camelback Mountain when a cactus thorn randomly “flew” into my thigh. I was with a friend at this time though, but this reminded me of the many dangers in the outdoors too. It swelled up like a red bulge out of my skin, the size of a Google Home Mini, and I found out two days later that it was a bacterial infection called cellulitis. Gladly enough, I found out about it sooner that I had to get on antibiotics before I could’ve risked the consequences of sepsis.
That’s what the outdoors will do to you: You will learn after a while of spending so much time outside of what you need to be sure of next time. You may even gain an addiction to want to spend as much time as you get outside and that itch may reappear. I know, 52 hikes later, I couldn’t have made it possible without choosing solo hiking.
Solo hiking takes a certain personality. It takes a brave soul and one who doesn’t want to miss out on the rewarding sights of nature. Your choice to adventure solo is allowing your guts to take the lead and acknowledging preparation (having the right gear, the right mentality, and the right knowledge) to lessen the stigmatized dangers. We’re all capable of greatness in some way, this just so happened to be the unplanned set of shoes I stepped into.
Traveling and trekking often come with unexpected challenges — whether it’s navigating unfamiliar trails, dealing with sudden weather changes, or feeling the weight of solitude when hiking alone. These moments test not just your physical strength but also your mental resilience.
Your story really reminds me of what many travelers experience in Nepal, especially around Kathmandu and Pokhara. The busy streets of Kathmandu can feel overwhelming with their noise and crowds, yet there’s a unique warmth in the people’s smiles and the rich culture that surrounds you. Then, heading to Pokhara, the peaceful mountain trails and stunning views offer both challenge and healing, much like your solo hikes.
For many human travelers, it’s those moments of struggle — catching your breath on a steep path, facing fears of the unknown, or simply being alone with your thoughts — that become the most memorable. Trekking in Nepal, just like your journey, is not only about the scenery but about discovering your inner strength and finding connection in unexpected places.