Born to Run. Er, Hike
So apparently early humans evolved in the savannahs of East Africa, finally reaching the form we recognize as Homo sapiens, with large brain and the capability to use tools, and from there they peopled the rest of the world. They replaced or genetically overwhelmed other early hominids, such as the Neandertals (with whom they bred; some of us still have Neandertal genes), and they did this, mainly, on foot. They walked. Out of Africa, and all over Eurasia. Without Hydroflasks, or GPS, or Patagonia three-season nanopuff jackets. They did it without SHOES, for crying out loud.
I want to know why they started walking. To get their 10,000 steps in? To bag that peak? Just to see what was on the other side of that ridge? Perhaps they had heard about a swinging hot spot the next valley over. For whatever reason they did this, we’ve been doing it ever since. Maybe we’re hardwired, genetically, to hike; it’s deep in our DNA. Maybe there’s a gene that says put on your shoes and grab your backpack and a Powerbar and head for the horizon.
I’ve certainly got that gene. I’m not sure that it confers any selective advantage, as the geneticists say; I don’t know that it makes me any more likely to pass on my genes. Though I will tell you that tons of women like to hike, and say so on their online dating profiles. My friend Bill hates that. “Why do all these women love hiking?!” he grouses. “I fucking hate hiking!” Bill, they also like yoga. But hiking certainly makes me happy. And that is ONE thing I have figured out (maybe the only thing). When I turned 50 (which was some time ago) I, being the introspective sort, made a short list of things that I knew made me happy. Hiking was on the top of that list.
For me, what is it about hiking, about getting out there? For one thing, there’s just so many great things to see. I know that sounds trite, but I was blown away by the Grand Canyon at a young age, and it still blows me away. I have been lucky enough to hike down into the Grand Canyon, to be immersed in its humbling and overwhelming largeness and topography. I am the richer for it, and I cannot imagine not having done that. I have been lucky enough to walk in the isolated canyons of Death Valley, my only companions being desert bighorn sheep, and to the top of nearby Mt. Whitney, highest point in the contiguous United States. Grand Prismatic Spring in Yellowstone, the Narrows in Zion, lakes and waterfalls in Glacier, Ben Nevis in the Scottish Highlands. Mt. Rainier. From the headlands to the mouth of Canyon de Chelly. The Lost Coast of California. I hiked a ton as a wildlife biologist on the Channel Islands, trapping island foxes, counting birds, mice and lizards. And now I hike regularly on my “home court”, the trails in the nearby Los Padres National Forest and Sespe Wilderness.
But there is something else here, beyond the sights. I find a peace on the trail that I don’t find anywhere else. The Japanese have nailed it, with their concept of “forest bathing”: that immersing yourself in nature is good for you. We all know that, and have been told that before, by John Muir and Edward Abbey, among others. It’s also very meditative. Immersing yourself in the environment, seeing the vegetation, hearing the birds, water rushing over rocks…it takes you away, makes you pay attention to the here and now. It’s mindfulness of the highest degree. My dad knew this; he walked around the lakes at Notre Dame to clear his head after physics exams. The legendary yogi Sadhguru found his revelation, his epiphany, his oneness with the world, in nature, on top of a hill. In the same vein, I had a friend in grad school who was prone to driving out into the desert, where he’d park on the side of the road, smoke a joint, lace up his hiking boots, and stride out into the desert, noticing everything. Hiking is good for the soul, as I say. Is it any wonder that Jesus Himself spent 40 days and nights in the desert? On his own spa retreat? He probably came back thoroughly refreshed, ready to jump into the rat race again. Face those Pharisees.
Yes, hiking alone has its definite, restorative pleasures. And if you have companions, it’s quality time. The hikes I’ve been on with my girls are some of my best memories, and I’ve enjoyed sharing my local haunts with others. Though not with my friend Bill (see above).
Hiking is one thing, and yoga might be another, that I know I will be doing for the rest of the of the way, God and my arthritis willing. Don’t want to miss a thing, and there are too many sights out there that I haven’t yet seen. So yes, I would have been one of those early humans who were inclined to hike out of that savannah and over that next ridge. Though I might have waited until one of my clan members invented sturdy, sensible, low-cut hiking shoes.
