Why I prefer to backpack by myself

A couple days ago, while working at REI, I was talking to a couple girls who were new to backpacking.  They were asking me a lot of questions, and I mentioned I prefer to backpack solo.  They were amazed and had so many questions.  Was it scary?  What do you do if you see a bear?  Is it hard to carry all your gear without splitting the load.  I answered them honestly.  I told them about my blog and said I would write something about why I do this when I have some time to digest an honest answer.  So after taking a deep dive and making some notes, here it is…

Solo at Samuelson Rock, Joshua Tree National Park

Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had have happened when no one else was there.  They took place on quiet trails before sunrise, on long climbs where the only sound was my breathing (more like huffing and puffing) or sitting alone beside a lake while watching the last light fading off the granite.

It’s never really been about solitude for the sake of being alone. It’s about finding a place where life gets quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts again and get right.  I’m at home in the sierra’s.  No other way to put it. 

In everyday life, my life has always moved fast. There’s an obligation, something to do, somewhere to be, something pulling at my attention. I have a hard time saying no when someone needs help, even when I know I’m going to struggle to help.  But once I shoulder a pack and start up the trail, all of that begins to fall away. The noise fades with every mile. The things that felt urgent back home somehow seem smaller when I’m climbing toward a pass.  Out there, life becomes beautifully simple. There’s comfort in that simplicity. No decisions beyond the ones that really matter. I’m my own boss.  Many times I have a route planned, but it is always, “destination unknown”, as I’m known to pivot often. 

Backpacking alone also gives me something that’s hard to find anywhere else—freedom.  Pure and simple.  If I want to stop at a creek and sit for twenty minutes, I do. If I want to push farther because the body feels good, I keep going. If I find a view that takes my breath away, I can stay there as long as I want. There is no schedule,  I am my own trail guide, chef, critic, and cheerleader.   I don’t answer to anyone but me.

But the real reason I go alone is deeper than freedom.  Solo backpacking reminds me who I am.

It reminds me that I still love the challenge of a hard climb. That I still feel most alive waking up in a tent before dawn. That suffering a little (or a lot) on the trail somehow makes the coffee taste better, the food more satisfying, and the drive home (and burger and beer) feel earned.  It reminds me that I can do hard things.  I can overcome challenges, I can survive on my own. 

There’s something powerful about knowing you carried everything you needed on your back and trusted yourself to figure out the rest. Every solo trip becomes a quiet reminder that I am still capable, still curious, and still drawn to wild places in the same way I was decades ago when I first started out on these adventures. 

Maybe even more now.

That’s why I backpack by myself.

Not because I want to be alone.  But because I need the simplicity.  I need the sense of adventure.  I need the challenge, and I need the silence.