What I learned from 100km alone in the mountains

What came to mind during this solo country crossing by foot

What happens if you just… walk. Hours and hours, days and days, way more than in a long run and not in a continuous state of scarcity and fatigue? Just yourself, alone in nature, or anywhere else the path leads you to, discovering it along the way. What happens with my thoughts and with myself in the midst of that? Is a moving mind different from a steady mind? Is the mind of someone who already knows its path different from when one leaves room for the unexpected? What do we need and what do we want? What makes us feel connected and alive? What brings discomfort, anxiety, loneliness and fear? What brings joy, well-being, clarity of mind and equanimity? What is left when we break out of our ego shelves and become solely an observer of the internal and external worlds? What does it mean to accept my human condition but not to be restricted by those perceptions? I write that seated in an isolated bench in the mountains, in the heart of the Dolomites. I can only hear the river, the wind, and an occasional bird that comes to say hi. I was following a path that led me to it and decided to stay, to linger in the feeling of a perfect sunny Saturday afternoon and the realization that I have nowhere better to be at. I had just decided that I would guide myself through curiosity, and it suddenly became clear what I was curious for. The kind of curiosity that makes you crave for real experience, and eats you from the inside in case you don’t fulfill its hunger. That kind of curiosity that fuels motivation for unexpected and unusual quests. The curiosity that feeds itself from imagination or fiction from as long as you can keep it, until a day it breaks through and demands a feast of authentic experience and like a sea monster from the deep of your soul breaks free into the world crashing everything in its way and making you go forward. 

And that’s how I decided that, after I would say goodbye to my mother, in 5 days, and be alone in this part of the planet, I would walk, freely walk, and see where it would take me.  

***

Last week I decided to embark on something I had never done, but had always wanted to: embark on a solo, multi-day hike, to a certain far away destination. I had just spent the week with my mother’s company in the Dolomites and, with her leaving in a few days, I had no plans after that. The beautiful landscape of the region made it the perfect place to just walk and enjoy nature. After a few hikes through Cortina D’Ampezzo and Bolzano, I knew I wanted more of that. I was looking at Google Maps and realized how close I was to Austria - so, why not walking until the border? I found myself in an unique situation in which circumstances allowed to dream with such possibility: no work or travel commitments for the next week, the possibility to send some of my stuff with my mother to my friend’s house, so I could go on with only a light backpack, and an unique sense of curiosity and motivation that fueled my desire to do an unusual and novel thing. 

I called a friend who is experienced with hikes and mountaineering. We did a check up: bring enough food and water for the hikes, a head lamp in case it got dark, extra coats and socks for the possibility of facing colder temperatures, and downloading apps who’d have the hiking routes’ maps. A prep talk later, I was good to go. 

The following day I packed light (two set of clothes, two coats and a pants, my pajamas, 4 socks and underwear, a hat, a cap, sunglasses, my phone and wallet, some cosmetics and tea, water bottle, my mug, a book and a notebook), bought some protein bars and dates and planned the route. I found a Italy-Austria crossing walking route someone else had done through a hiking app that lasted 5 days, and decided I would follow that, at least as a starter. The main uncertainty was that the route passed through some mountain peaks and, as it was still spring, some of them could have snow, and the huts in which he’d spent the night were still closed. Besides that, I am not a huge fan of heights, so if it wasn’t safe, I was definitely not up for that. But, without enough information online, the only way would be finding it out along the path. 

The first day started just fine. I took a cable car to Soprabolzano and started hiking from there. 23km to go to the hut, which I had just phoned in the morning to confirm my spot. I was alone through most of the way, but it felt like entering a fairy tale: wild horses and alpacas, pine trees, amazing rocks, and the horizon filled with a dramatic mountain chain that contoured the sky with its pointy peaks. By midway, I started to climb a steep hill and was joined by more people that came out of nowhere (probably a nearby parking lot). We were going in the direction of Ritter Hörn, the first peak of this crossing. A really steep way came after that, then I stopped for lunch, another steep way, and finally I made it to the top - 2230m! I grabbed a quick local snack and house-made juice - which I rapidly devoured - and heard an important thing from the hut owner: “You ate too fast, you drank too fast. Being in the mountains is about slowing things down for a bit.” 

After that, the path got completely empty: it was just me for the next 10km until the hut I would spend the night. It was by far the most beautiful part of this entire adventure, so beautiful I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing. Temperatures dropped a bit and I saw the first signs of snow. I realized that hiking isn’t as tiring as running: I could go way longer if needed. However, when I finally arrived in the hut, almost seven hours later, got a shower and sat down, my energy completely drained away. I devoured a whole basket of bread in ten minutes and started feeling a bit dizzy. After I ate some salt I felt immediately better - maybe it was dehydration. Two beers and an amazing dinner later, I was ready to go to bed. That night I shared the room with 20 other people (all young men). It felt like I was in a camp, back to my teenage years. 

The following morning the hut staff gave me some advice as to where to spend the following night and helped me book the accommodation, given my German-speaking limitations. They were a bit shocked when I told them my plan, and told me that no one does the route I was planning to. 

After a while walking, finding the flow at a steady pace, I met three Germans and started chatting with them. The path quickly turned rocky and colder, I saw groundhogs and we faced some snow along the way. I got a bit afraid of passing it high in the altitude, in such narrow paths, and asked them for advice on how to navigate it. We soon reached another hut, and they helped me figure out whether it was safe or not to proceed with the route I was following in the app. 

That’s when things started to change for me, mentally speaking. After asking them about the route I was planning to take, one of the mens looked quite concerned. He told me that going through these peaks at that time of season, all by myself, and without proper experience, was too dangerous. But I guess he overdosed it. Instead of just pointing me an alternative way or providing me the information I needed to hear, my fellow hiker started listing down everything that could go wrong, and everything that was wrong with me: that there were bears and wolves, that I could get lost and I didn’t have real food to survive alone in the woods, that I didn’t have the proper shoes, that I didn’t have the skill or fitness, that I wasn't from here, and that I was alone - something could happen. The uncertainty of these words invited the worst possible scenarios into our heads. Although he meant well, he transferred me some of his fears and projections over my own capacities. And as he tried to convince me of something that of course I was already convinced - that was why I asked him the first place - he stabbed my confidence with every reason listed on why that wasn’t a good idea, robbing all my motivation to continue an unusual endeavor and making me feel quite ashamed in a sense, as he invited all the hut staff to confirm his perspective. 

That interaction provoked a strong reflection regarding decision-making and the ethics of trying to influence and persuade others, themes I actually work with as a Behavioral Scientist. We must provide information, guidance, and correct misperceptions when that’s the case - I so needed that, due to my lack of information and maybe naiveness, overconfidence and overoptimism. But when we start using strong negative emotions to do so - such as fear, shame, guilt or anger - it does more harm than good. By doing so we’re reducing the others’ autonomy and agency: we start from the assumption that the other person is not capable enough of making the decision that is best for oneself, and that we would need to add emotion to the equation. Not to increase the accuracy of the deliberation process, but to manipulate one’s decision. The outcome wouldn’t necessarily be the best possible choice, but the choice that would make them avoid feeling such emotions. Or, if not, we will most likely ruin one’s experience or add a relevant barrier into that. How condescending it is to think that I would not zeal for my own safety. And there is a real danger to that, because when persuading people without providing room for understanding and learning, and making them merely follow another person’s decision, when its their time to act and they’re alone, it’s their safety, their goals, and their well-being that are at stake, maybe without the skills to deal with the unpredicted. 

German hiker did something that was one of the most dangerous things one could do when it comes to hikes: he left me in a fearful state. Being under an emotional state, in my opinion, is something extremely dangerous, once it makes one exaggerates risk perceptions and impairs accurate decision-making. Luckily, less than 20 minutes after we set apart, I found a German girl, my age, who was hiking solo, and asked if I could join along. Following someone else’s steps is much easier and gave me back the safety I needed to proceed with this journey. I walked her until her village and went to mine, Durholz, through the valley, 8km more. 23 kms later, I reached the pension I would spend the night. 

After that I had to find out my route without following someone else’s footsteps. Each place I would stop along the way was a source of information on where to head next, and some hiking apps greatly helped to calculate the daily routes from point A to point B. On the third day I climbed up and down a mountain, until the next village. It started in a meadow with a fairly angry cow that started running, determined, in my direction - and made me run off and jump a fence. Guess I’d found a greater risk than wolves and bears. I met three other women hiking to the peak that day, but none would continue to the other side of the mountain. Luckily, it was a nice walk and by noon I had arrived in the next village, Pens. I had walked only 7km so far and the plan was to continue until the following peak. However, I tried to call the hut once more and learned they were closed - and there was no other option up there. So I had to cut the day short and stayed there for the rest of the day - relaxing, washing my clothes and enjoying the mountain views. 

Day 4 seemed challenging: I’d have to go to Penserjöch and then continue up in the mountains until reaching Vipiteno, a bigger city in the outskirts of the park and really close to the border. The way up was amazingly beautiful, although steep and challenging. I stopped for an Apflestrudel at the peak, apparently a spot for motorcyclists. However, the route after that didn’t seem that safe. I had to cross larger segments with snow that made it impossible to see where I was stepping, and that stood on narrow paths in a sidehill and with loose rocks. Worse than that, the weather seemed a bit unstable, and raindrops started falling. After finishing that first segment, I didn’t feel safe to continue to the route indicated, through the mountain peaks, and found an alternative way going down. It was beautiful, but I wasn’t completely chilled: being the only one there, my mind didn’t stop wondering about facing a wild animal, falling off, or twisting an ankle. I was fearful, and fear is draining. Was I really putting myself in danger, or was it only my mind ruminating? I can never know, and maybe it would be impossible to ever have an impartial judgement, and I wonder whether risk-assessment is ever impartial. After all, it’s always dependent on one's own skills and perceptions, which makes the subject in question a key determinant in the equation. It is never the situation per se, but always the subject <> situation interaction that portraits the exact risk. Well, fact is that I made it, without any  incidents. I actually had to cross a meadow with around 20 cows, walking less than a meter from them (yes, I was not chilled at all), but made it, trying to communicate with the cows with my eyes. When I got back to “civilization”, I felt so at peace, proud and relieved! I could just walk for the remaining ten kilometers - no more worrying. Golden hour started, birds started flying and I could ID a bunch of new species. I stopped for a while to grab a snack and have tea on the side of the road, sitting on the sidewalk made out of concrete. The place wasn’t even that nice, but I suddenly felt so good, that splash of happiness that visits you every once in a while, without any apparent reason, surprising you with the mundanity and triviality of the situation in question. I walked until Vipiteno, making it 21.7km for the day - and only one more day to go until the border.

It’s funny, I realized I actually started this adventure romanticizing the whole thing. I thought I would be alone with my thoughts for the following days, in synchrony with nature, and I would be so inspired to write and read and be able to connect with inner thought and discover real truths. Well, I kind of experienced that. But the truth is, after walking for the whole day, I would get to the hotels exhausted, and spend quite a lot of time on my cell phone and social media. Dealing with fear also wasn't in my plans, so it wasn’t pleasant all the time, and I got so mad at myself at some points. And I was actually spending quite a lot of money - mountain huts are actually quite pricey, and I didn't even bother to try to ask for free accommodation in local’s homes. I started to question myself how much I was fit for this thing after all. So, on that day I felt an intense longing for home, for being with my family, friends, and boyfriend, for being at a party, or for running in the safety of a track (just going in circles! Not even the danger of a bump!), for routine, stability, relationships, and safety. I got to the hotel, ate a whole pizza, drank half a liter of beer, had a big tiramisu and binge watched a bad Netflix show, and it became obvious that something wasn’t in balance within my organism. I thought about stopping it the next day, getting into the train as soon as I could. But I decided I would at least define that along the way, after walking for a bit. 

Only 16 km to go until the Austrian border - almost there! Day 5 was actually pretty good in terms of the mental state. I could feel the so-called ‘finish line effect’ all along the way. I got so motivated again, it felt like the first day. My body wasn't tired at all and I felt nothing would stop me. The route was also quite safe, with bigger roads and a monotonous - yet exactly what I wanted - bike lane along the roadway for over 10km. There, I could walk at a fast pace and managed to enter into a flow state. I decided I would not go home that day, and would accept the offer I had received in the morning of spending the night in a local farm, being presented with the opportunity to have this generous experience on the last day of my adventure. My thoughts flowed that day, so many ideas, and projects coming together and designing themselves in my mind as I walked, and dreams and wills and perceptions all aligning. I then had to climb a way up offroad, and met a fellow hiker in that. We talked for a while and I told him about my almost-completed quest. He got impressed and told me: “you should be quite proud of yourself, because I am from here, I always do these hikes, and I have never heard of anyone who did this route.” I guess in a silly way this recognition from someone else made me feel really proud of myself, and gave me back the self-respect of doing that adventure in the first place. 

It started to rain in the final mile, a soft and lovely rain. From the pine tree forest, I saw the border, finally: a completely isolated and almost abandoned fence! Crossed it, and there it was - I was in Austria! By foot! Upon the 21km completion, I got in the hut, where I was warmly welcomed with food and a nice bed. I had walked 96.6 kms so far. The distance from the hut to the train station was exactly 3.4km and the following morning I hiked to the 100km mark. 

As I walked on this last day, I finally realized the big lesson of it all for me. It’s quite easy to follow a route someone else has already established. To be able to just focus on acting, completing it, being the faster you can if you must. But to figure out your own route, that’s quite a different challenge. To dose up the choices you make to your abilities, to get it wrong a few turns, to slow down when needed, to change your mind along the way and to see the finish line that no one else can see but you. And when you reach that, everything seems so clear, so obvious, so doable, as an illusion of the concreteness of your imagination, pretending it was a real thing all along.

That was quite a lesson for me. Being able to experience with my body, in a physical way, something that materializes the moment I am going through was an unique opportunity to make the abstract concrete. I guess your late twenties it’s the moment of life where you’re supposed to make a mess out of it - no more college, masters, or guided next step, no more promises and excuses of the youth, and not even the closeness of a social group to share it, as friends start to drift apart. However, it also comes with the feeling that you’re not there quite yet - you still have to figure out your own way of what being “adult” means. As someone who has always had so many interests and dreams and labels to identify with, there is no possibility other than exploring what the world can offer and how I fit into that. Finding my own way and dealing with risk-taking when what was at stake was, well, my life gave me an interesting perspective on the role of creating projects, crafting alternative routes and identities, and working to find my authenticity - and what is actually risky and dangerous. 

From the far land of high school graduation cliches, all along the route Robert Frost’s famous quote came appearing in the back of my head. Its guiding words for this new - and much less guided - transition stage of life actually provided me with some relief, as it is the power of literature. 

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference”.