Hiking Philosophy

I'm not sure why I feel inspired to write this now.  But a little while ago I had this idea for an article to write.  If I were to ever write an article for anything... but anyway.  This will probably still be a rambling blog post instead of a tightly organized article though.  That's the curse of this medium, I suppose.  Everything turns out to be a rough draft and only gets minor editing.

I've come to love Provo/Utah as a second home, but I think the connection only solidified when I began to take hiking seriously.  I merely dallied with hiking until about 2011.  I have in fact climbed Mt. Timpanogos annually starting in 2005 (and excepting my mission years, 2006-07), and occasionally did "social" hikes like Rock Canyon, the Y, Squaw Peak, etc.  But these brushes with the Wasatch's geography were superficial, even if they did always make a wonderful impression.

Things started changing when my brother Jeff invited me on some hikes that took us off the beaten path a little bit.  They took us to vistas that I didn't know existed.  To the east of Y Mountain, there's another ridge line.  There are higher mountains.  There is a road (Squaw Peak Road) that leads miles and miles, up and up, through mostly untouched terrain.  And you breathe fresh, cool, mountain air.  I'm not sure why it happened then--maybe it was the realization that there was so much more to do and see and explore than the Provo Front Range-- but I caught the hiking bug.

The rest is history, as anyone could see by sampling a few of my blog posts.  Of course, I feel like the hiking bug was always there in me, it was just dormant and needed to be triggered.  And Jeff's love of the outdoors also had a big influence on me.  Anyway, as I've crashed through bushes on solo hikes and had fun route-finding with my brother, I've pondered occasionally and co-ruminated with Jeff about how it took us so long to find some of these beautiful places, and why they've remained largely unknown and unspoiled.

It's probably due to the fact that it takes being willing to do more or less four things:

1. Set aside more time 

First, if all you're willing to give up is an hour and a half, chances are you won't make it very far.  There's always the problem of having to turn around at some point, and if you turn around at 45 minutes, you won't have gone much more than 2 miles.  That is also assuming that you're walking three miles an hour-- and not everyone walks uphill at such a determined pace.  To put it in perspective, to get to Rock Canyon Campground from the mouth of Rock Canyon, you have to go 2.5 miles.  And it's really only at Rock Canyon Campground that you get a taste of what kind of natural beauty and awesomeness is really waiting for you back there.  Conversely, you may not mind walking a little farther and may be in great shape, but if you don't want to set aside up to 4 hours for a really fun hike, then you won't make it. Which leads into my second point:

2. Be willing to walk farther

To get to some of these places, you have to be willing to go greater distances.  There's no getting around it.  You may be willing to put the time in, but if you just don't like walking or you're not in shape, that will also keep you from uncovering the real treasures-- or accomplishing some truly great things.  For starters, the Timp hike from Aspen Grove is about 7 miles each way, 14 total.  That can be an intimidating number for some.  Similarly, exploring anywhere above Slate Canyon requires an annoying 2.75 mile hike just to get behind Maple Mountain and Buckley.  There's a ton of cool stuff back there-- but the gratuitous 5.5 miles needed to just get there and get back can be a turn-off.  And that's really what it comes down to.  Are you willing to add mileage so that you can explore the truly wild areas?  I hope so.

3. Try out new and unknown things

Once you're willing to put in the time and the distance, you may have to deal with new problems-- such as bush whacking and route finding.  Talk about unknown.  Of course, I do not ever recommend going out and getting lost.  That's not fun at all, and hiking is about having fun.  But you can still decide to go somewhere you've never gone before-- you just prepare for it.  And that can be tons of fun, too.  These days we have awesome resources at our fingertips-- and they're totally free.  Google Maps.  MapMyRun.  Google Earth, the king of them all.  You can acquaint yourself very well with the terrain by tinkering around with Google Earth.  Jeff and I spent hours doing it, days and weeks and months even, in preparation for some of our more adventurous hikes like Buckley and Cascade.  And the other aspect of point #3 is being willing to set off and explore something random.  Two of my favorite hikes have come from deciding to just start walking up a canyon to see what I could see-- Lost Creek Canyon and Slide Canyon, both in Provo Canyon.  I didn't know what was up there, and it didn't matter.  I was intrigued, I was drawn in, and I just went.

4. Push through pain

My fourth point sounds kind of dumb, cliche, and high-school coach-ey but I decided that it needs to stay.  It's important.  Tenacity is a characteristic that helps you through any situation.  You may decide to start something that you find difficult and is actually quite painful.  Big Baldy is a good example-- it is 4,000 ft of elevation gain in 2 miles.  To quote Phil Coulson: that's hurtful.  But to get to the top you have to fight through the burn.  Sometimes altitude gets you too, and sometimes you don't bring enough water.  Jeff and I both had headaches on Cascade, and on Buckley rationing out the last pint of water over the last six miles was far from pleasant.  But you can't let that scare you.  I don't regret any of those decisions, and I don't regret the pain.

A good question to ask at this point may be why bother with this; is it really worth the time, effort, etc?  What are the rewards?  The sad truth (at least, I find it sad) is that it probably isn't worth the time for everyone out there. All I can tell is what I get out of it.  And I've written way too much already, so I'll just mention a couple things.  One thing I miss about Provo and its environs was the closeness of solitude and wildness.  It's not often that you get to live in the shadow of the mountains, and I think it's a great place to be.  Second, I miss what that solitude and wildness provides for me: an escape.  A retreat to a calm place where the only contest is how far I feel like walking or how high to climb-- or an undisturbed arena in which to prove my strength.  I feel like I lose a lot of life's battles, but when I'm in the mountains or the woods, the losses don't seem quite so disappointing or as important.  Not when you have this sort of thing to look at:

Slide Canyon

Provo Canyon

Ridge line above Rock Canyon