My thoughts about hiking the Continental Divide Trail back in 2021!

Beach Hooping in Homer, Alaska with view of the epic Kachemak Bay

April 17, 2021

What is it about this hike? Why now?

I feel rooted in Homer, Alaska — settled, steady, and suddenly at home. The town is small and kind people who smile like they mean it, a community woven together by habit and history at the literal end of the road. Still, even in this perfect fit, something keeps calling me out onto the trail.

I love thru-hiking. I love the dirt under and in my trail runners and the whisper of wind through peaks and valleys. I love the simple pleasures — sticky trail snacks, the thrill of a steep switchback and being out of breath, the way days are ruled by sunlight and sleep, not calendars. Out there, my life narrows to essentials and expands into a kind of deliberate rhythm that feels honest and whole.

Thru-hiking is meditation stretched across miles. It wakes me up — not just in my head, but in my heart. Long days on the move are weeklong, monthlong meditation sessions: observing, feeling, learning. They’re a commitment to my truest self, a steady chipping away at walls I didn’t know I’d built. Discomfort is constant, but paradoxically it’s the most comfortable place I’ve ever been.

Under a rain-dark sky or a dome of stars, lying in my tent or curled on my trail seat cushion, my mind oscillates between nothing and everything. I hold small moments — the hush after a bird call that almost sounds like a digital audio clip or a glitch in natures own beings, the ache in my legs that ironically feels so good, the warmth of my morning cup of coffee— and larger truths: the generosity of strangers, the unknown, and the resilience I discover in myself. Everything folds into an abiding sense of connection and gratitude.

Hiking long distances isn’t merely locomotion. It’s full-spectrum: a push and a pull in all directions, an experiment in endurance and a practice in presence. The intention is growth — to see how far I can go and who I become on the way. Time dilates and contracts; past and future brush the present, but the only real thing is now.

Baby Girl Reflections Kachemak Bay