Hiking as a Mirror for the Soul

A grueling climb through Washington’s Enchantments taught me the same lessons my yoga mat has been teaching me for years: presence, endurance, and the beauty that waits beyond the struggle.

I have been here before.

Not on a mountain, but on my mat.

I remember one of my first hot yoga classes. Sweat was already running down my back before we even started. The heat wrapped itself around me, heavy and unrelenting, and my mind whispered, How am I going to get through this?

Since then, I have taken countless classes. I know my endurance. I know my body can withstand more than my mind sometimes believes. And yet, fear still finds its way in, especially when you are dropped into the dark.

The Drop into Darkness

The Enchantments in Washington is a through-hike you commit to long before you understand its cost. You rent a shuttle, pile in your provisions, and before you can second-guess it, you are dropped off at 4 a.m. in the dark. Just you, your headlamp, and the unknown.

The air is cold, crisp. The trail disappears into blackness. Your light only shows what is right in front of you, and you have no choice but to trust it.

Five miles in, Asgard’s Pass waits. A climb so steep, so relentless, it feels as though it might take something from you that you cannot get back.

Inside the Climb

On Asgard’s Pass, you cannot see the top. The ground beneath you is loose and jagged, and for every step you take forward, you feel as though you slide halfway back. Your legs burn. Your breath shortens. And in the struggle, that familiar thought rises, What am I doing here? What am I doing with my life?

But in the middle of all that effort, the mountain gives you small mercies.

Snowmelt from the glaciers above trickles down in narrow streams, pooling into small waterfalls edged with wildflowers. The air smells sweet, alpine blooms mixed with cold, clean water. A grassy knoll appears, a brief place to set down your pack, let your legs rest, and breathe.

You marvel at it. You drink it in. And then you remember, you are not at the top yet. These are not the rewards, only the encouragements. The work continues.

The Price of Entry

At last, you crest the pass.

The world shifts. Peaks rise like guardians, and the alpine lakes spread out in a palette of impossible blues. The silence here is complete, a quiet so deep it feels like the mountain is holding its breath.

You strip down and step into one of those glacier-fed lakes. The water is so cold it bites, then numbs, then floods you with life. Every nerve lights up. Every tired muscle releases. It is a baptism in mountain water, a full-body reminder that you are alive.

The Ticking Clock

But you are still not done. The beauty does not erase the miles ahead. The clock is still ticking. And just like life, you cannot stay here forever, no matter how badly you want to.

So you savor it. You breathe it in. You let the stillness and the cold seep into your bones. And when it is time, you rise and keep walking.

Because even after the wonder fades, there is still work to do.

The Mirror

Hiking mirrors the soul. It strips you down to what is real. It shows you how you meet challenges, how you adapt when the way forward is unclear.

It reminds you that the most breathtaking views often require the hardest climbs. That the summit is never the end, it is just one part of the journey. That endurance is not just in your legs, but in your spirit.

And in its own way, it is a kind of birthing. You labor through the darkness, you push through the pain, and you emerge into a place you have never been before, a place you carried yourself to, one step at a time.