If you’re not careful, “adulting” can suck the life from you. To fight this, I make an effort to be as spontaneous as I can with my free time; this gives me a sense of freedom I wouldn’t otherwise, as an adulting adult, get. Considering most adults need to plan way ahead of time (for various reasons—kids, family, jobs), it can be hard to coordinate trips with friends, especially because my teaching and photography work give me odd times off. This brings me to this story about my very first solo backpacking trip. A few months earlier, I had torn a page from Backpacker Magazine about Grayson Highlands. With a sudden change of plans (a weekend photoshoot got moved because of threatening weather), I had a free weekend and a day to make a decision about how I’d spend it. This was an easy decision: I’d go explore the area I read about, but I’d have to explore it alone because there wasn’t enough time for anyone else to rearrange their schedule to join me.

I needn’t enumerate the reasons why solo backpacking can be intimidating. We can all agree there is reason to be extra cautious when planning (and executing) these trips, but at the end of the day, fear is not a reason to shy away from what can be a safe, mindful, and fulfilling adventure. Solo backpacking: rain or shine, I just needed to grit my teeth, face my anxieties, and decide to do it.

I left work late on a Friday evening. I didn’t want to fumble with setting up camp in the dark (and possibly in the wet), so I was making calls from the road to anything listed as an Airbnb nearby. After worrying that I might strike out, I was extremely grateful to Scott and Loren at the Sleepy Fox Inn and Spa B&B for agreeing to book me at the last minute.

If there’s a recurring theme to this blog post (and, quite possibly, this entire blog in general), it’s that everything happens for a reason. Scott and Loren were wonderful hosts; they fed me well, they were super friendly, and their place was beautiful. After situating myself in the room, I nestled up in the comfortable, warm bed and had one of the best nights of sleep I’d had in a while. As the soft natural light snuck between the window shades and washed over my face in the morning, I made my way out of the room and to the host’s main building. With grey skies, it was a peaceful morning filled with delicious homemade food served on locally-made pottery. I could have turned around after breakfast, gone home, and called it a fantastic (if fantastically short) trip, but regardless of the weather, I was feeling good about my plans. I reassured my hosts I would be safe (and would call them when I was returning home), and then I made my way to Grayson Highlands.

Mt Rogers, my destination, is in Jefferson National Park, but the trail begins in Virginia’s Grayson Highlands State Park. I departed early from the Massey Gap parking area. This was new territory for me, and it greeted me with appropriate mystique: shifting mists, fog, and varying rain. Horse trails criss-cross this area, and I saw my first wild horse! It was chewing grass and not at all alarmed by me. You’re not supposed to feed or pet them here, but they will let you get surprisingly close.

The beautiful thing about hiking solo is that I can stop whenever and wherever, for however long I want. I can take as many photographs as I want. I don’t have to worry about holding up others. I can enjoy the entire journey. I like to investigate; be it a banana slug, a four-leaf clover, or a cave, I like to stop and take a look (and a picture or twelve). I will not hesitate to head off-trail if something catches my interest. (I do this confidently because I bring a map and a compass with me wherever I go; I am directionally challenged without them, but with them I very much enjoy wandering.)

And it’s the best feeling, wandering free in the fresh, crisp air. When you have no obligations or worries, and all the possibilities the wide outdoors offers you are at your fingertips. You can wander into the woods with a Plan A and a Plan B, but end up executing plan LMNOP, and it’s fine, because the outdoors expects nothing of you. You don’t have to explain yourself to it, or show up on time; it’s not impatient with you. It’s just beautiful and fascinating, and there for you to soak in and be.

In this mode of reverie I encountered a pair named April and Landon. I asked them if I could find a reasonable water source the way I was headed (I could!), and we walked for a while together and got to talking. It turns out they were P.E. teachers, too, at Caldwell Community College and Technical Institute; they were here leading a group of students for a backpacking unit in the Outdoor Recreation course they teach. After quite a bit of chatting and hiking, they offered to let me join their group. It was an easy decision (everything for a reason, remember?), and I accompanied them back to their students and their preferred camping spot: a tree-sheltered grove surrounded by longhorn cows, who were just as unconcerned by human proximity as the horses were.

As we pitched our tents and ate together, the weather started to clear up, and as the sun went down, the perfect conditions for nighttime photography were upon us. Two of the students (Michael and someone else) had been getting into photography and were eager to help me shoot in the dark. We had a magical time. Michael ran around waving lights to help get the starry night/tent shots, and we stayed up late dodging cow poop and navigating by each other’s lights and laughter. My anxiety about solo backpacking had evaporated like the mist; when I headed to bed I fell asleep immediately, comfortable and warm.

With the lifting of the mist, I had hoped to also get a sunrise shot. I rose as the clear sky began to lighten in the east. The calm cows helped set the mood as I dressed and equipped myself for my morning masterpiece. Just as I was gathering my camera and attendant gear, a stew-thick wall of fog crashed the party. My photographic options were limited to a tree and some cows, so I shot the tree and the cows. The rising sun winked at us once, just long enough for the camera’s shutter to fire. Had I been using a narrower aperture, there might not have been time to capture it.

After breakfast, April did some morning stretching and yoga, so I shot that, too. While we were at it, the fog, disappointed that I had found an interesting subject despite its best efforts, dissipated in defeat, leaving a shining sun and a blue, blue sky. We went from hats and puffy jackets to tank tops.

After a group shot, we packed up and hit the trail. I hadn’t taken many pictures the previous day because of the weather, and so had been able to keep up with the Outdoor Recreation class. The second day, though, they left me to explore the area on my own.

The loop trail we were on had some optional portions. I had skipped Wilburn Ridge the previous day because, again with the weather, the rocky terrain just hadn’t been worth the lack of scenery. Sunday, though, was different. After finishing the route, I left my backpack in the car, and took only a day pack with some snacks and some water, and began the trail again, but this time I hiked the Wilburn Ridge portion.

Wilburn Ridge was beautiful. Peak Fall season had passed, but there was still plenty of color variation, blue sky, Katharine Lee Bates’s “purple mountain majesties,” and more horses auditioning to be in a shampoo commercial. While I was snappin’ around at the crest, I asked a woman I encountered to photograph me. Becky, her husband Roscoe, and I ended up talking on and on about all manner of things, both grand and personal: family, love, freedom. We had an automatic connection. We babbled all the way back to the parking lot (taking yet another trail—I think I hiked upwards of twenty miles that day). We still keep in touch.

After I called Scott and Loren to let them know I was still alive, I had plenty of time on the drive home to reflect on the weekend of serendipity I’d just enjoyed. If I had gone with a group of planners or gung-ho, goal-oriented route grinders, none of this ever would have happened, but I’m so glad it did. Grayson Highlands has a piece of my heart.