My wife, Ann, embarks on her first solo backpack trip today.
I sent her off this morning. To use a condescending analogy, it was like taking the training wheels off her bicycle and giving her her a gentle push. Except instead of wobbling down the block and back, she has zoomed out of sight and won’t be heard from for 48 hours.
She’s a skilled hiker. But I’m still a little nervous.
The worst-case scenario, I figure, is that grizzly bears will miraculously return to California this weekend and encircle her tent.
More likely, she’ll have a sore back from toting a much-too-heavy pack, and maybe a blister or two, but hopefully some great stories to tell when she returns.
Truth be told, I’ve gone on a solo trip only once. It’s great for meditation and self-reflection. Gets a little weird, though, when you start talking to yourself. And at night, when you’re solo, every stick snapping in the darkness outside your tent is a wild predator.
Happy trails, Ann. May those nighttime noises be mice and not mountain lions.
