Walk it Out

I started the day in a foul mood. The kind of self-perpetuating, grey mood where everything was wrong, but nothing was my fault.

Maybe it was the fact that we’d been camping for almost a week straight and it was a long time since I’d seen a shower; maybe it was a particularly nasty case of PMS. Either way, I started our hike up the Squamish Sea to Sky trail – a notoriously difficult 7km stretch of almost purely uphill terrain – with legs like lead and an expression like thunder.

It being a Saturday, we weren’t the only ones who’d decided to take advantage of the warm weather to hike. As we started the trek I became part of a chain of people, like a caravan of camels in the desert, making slow, frustrating progress. We shuffled onwards, upwards, as if compelled by some far-off oasis. The first half hour or so of the hike took us back up the merciless incline of The Chief – and my legs groaned as they remembered the stretch and pull of the steep stairs. Deep in the forest it is dark and muggy, and I felt myself retreat somewhere inside myself as I hauled my reluctant body up step after step.

At one point, the guy behind me misjudged his step and took my shoe clean off. It tumbled down a few stairs before landing in front of a few of his friends, who proceeded to laugh and keep walking. I felt that kind of shameful, grim irritation that comes from knowing you’re completely overreacting to something, because really there was no reason for the faintest hint of a tear had started to form in my eye. I told them as politely as I could to move out of the way, and I re-shoed my foot with as much dignity as I could muster. Then I walked on.

Thankfully, the next stretch took us away from the hoardes intent on scaling the Chief and onto a gentler, more level path with only a handful of other hikers. Warmed up, my muscles stopped protesting against the exertion, and settled into a steady rhythm - like a drum resigned to being beaten. The world grew quieter and more mysterious as we walked over meshes of knotted tree roots, crumbling gravel and clambered up jagged rocks using hand-worn ropes. The trail unravelled and ambled lazily on in places, before rearing up sharply, a dragon woken from sleep, in others.

We walked on.

Tumbling waterfalls erupted suddenly from the cliff face, drenching us as we got closer. The water was as clear as glass, rumbling peacefully in its ancient ribbon through the mountains.

We walked on.

My mind indulged in a pick and mix of thoughts. How nice it would be to dye my hair dark in the winter. How I want my blog to be better. Christmas time in Edinburgh. A hot shower. That girl in front is so pretty – I wish my skin was that tanned.

We walked on.

I caught myself thinking about the colours and music of South America. I’ve never been, so I let my mind run through a carnival of sights and sounds plucked from the air. Tripping over an exposed tree root, I reminded myself to live in the moment.

We walked on.

My mind, wore down by the soothing thud of footsteps, simmered down, placated. My thoughts were relegated to the best way to navigate that tricky tumble of rocks, or reading the sporadic signs reminding us of our progess. By 5/7km, it had pretty much fallen asleep, leaving me only with the absolute necessary function required to get me up the mountain. The higher we got, the quieter it got. A fork in the road offered tired hikers an easier route to the summit, and it got quieter still.

We walked on. We hopped over streams, paused briefly and silently at teasing viewpoints, grazed our ankles on sharp stones. The air felt colder, purer.

1km to go, and just for fun, I tried to conjure my bad mood. But there was nothing there. No irritation, no frustration, no wistfulness. But no cheerfulness either. Just a subtle sense of contentment, and an innate and steely determination to reach the top of the mountain.

By the time we reached the top, I’d stopped feeling the pinch in my toes or the burn of my thighs. I’d stopped looking for markers and progress signs. I’d stopped noticing that there was anyone else around me. I was simply walking. Walking through the world, using my body, quietening my mind.

I thought of all the times in my life that I’ve walked. In Edinburgh, because I couldn’t drive, walking for miles and miles with music in my ears and feeling like I was somewhere else. In Surrey along character-less motorways, getting nowhere. Before travelling, restless, walking for the sake of walking. There’s a meditation in it, I realised. A pure, honest form of relaxation and just

being.

So when I reached the top, I realised I’d gained more than just a photograph of stunning views. I’d gained a quietening a satisfaction of the mind, which really, is worth a lot more.