We were supposed to keep going to Mt Waumbek.
We didn’t.
I had a plan to snag another 4000-footer that day. These are newer for me, as I’ve only done one other. My husband and son decided to go with me. They both enjoy hiking, but definitely don’t care about lists (and often I don’t either, but there is something about checking a box that gets me!).
We knew from the start if anyone didn’t want to continue to the second peak, we wouldn’t. But the truth is, I wanted to hit that peak!
Everyone was feeling good on the hike all the way up. I’m the slowest, so there was a fair amount of waiting for me to catch up from the boys. When we hit the summit of Mt Starr King, my son decided he wasn’t interested in continuing across the ridge line the mile over to Mt. Waumbek. We hung out at the summit and met the Canadian Jays (sometimes called Grey Jays). We ate snacks and met a really cool Veteran hiking alone, who shared he had been hiking in the Whites for decades and was just enjoying his time. We checked out the fireplace left on the summit from a structure that was taken down around 1980. We had views of the Presidentials and snagged some summit photos.
Part of me still wanted to finish and get that second peak!
Honestly, the mental chatter during the hike back to the car included a fair amount of “I wish I bagged that peak” and “It was only another mile.” Then I quickly reminded myself (over and over again) that this day was a resounding success. I got to spend the day in one of my favorite places (the mountains) with two of my favorite people!
It can be so easy to make hiking into another way to “prove” something. To yourself. To your friends and family. To strangers on the internet.
Miles. Elevation. Summits. Lists. Strava. Peak Bagging. You name it.
Especially if you’re new to hiking or returning after a break - there’s a feeling that “real hikers” finish the hike.
And I’m as guilty as the next.
Guilty of feeling like walking miles uphill over rocks doesn’t count unless you stand in the exact patch of dirt at the end.
But the truth is, I’ve turned around more than once.
**Cue the long line of hikes I’ve had to bail on ;)
I adjusted my plans for Mt. Waumbek when my hiking partners were done.
I recently had to turn around on a trail when I encountered a bear too. I was about a mile into the trail when I noticed a bear in the woods off to the side of the trail. It was a loop trail, so I made the call to turn around rather than risk running into him again later.
I even had to cancel a summit of Mt. Washington, when the weather turned overnight, and the winds were 90 mph gusts and temps had dropped. I ended up buying a jacket at the hut where we stayed overnight just to get back down the mountain.
Turning around before the summit isn’t a failure. It’s something experienced hikers learn to get more comfortable with.
Quitting isn’t the same as making a decision to turn back. Sometimes it’s about safety. Sometimes it’s fatigue. Sometimes your hiking partner is just done for the day. All of those are valid reasons for making a decision to pivot your plans.
I enjoy a challenge, and truthfully most hikes are challenging for me.
Sometimes continuing IS the challenge. But sometimes turning around is the more solid choice. Knowing which one you’re dealing with is part of becoming a better hiker.
It’s normal for chatter in your head to be negative when you’re challenging yourself.
Am I uncomfortable, or is there something actually wrong?
Am I disappointed because I want to continue on, or because I think I should?
What will change if I don’t reach the summit today?
Usually, the answer to that last one is: Not Much.
One of the gifts of midlife has been releasing the pressure around having something to prove all the time. I hike because I want hiking in my life, not because my hike needs to prove some point to some unknown person.
I want to be able to hike next week. And next year. And ten years from now.
I measure success differently now.
Not - Did I finish this trail?
More - Am I living a life where I can keep getting outside?
Every hike is different, but in a lot of ways they are the same, whether I see the summit or not.
Look at Mt. Waumbek... I didn’t make it there.
But by hiking to Starr King with my family, I did get:
Time with my people.
Time in the trees.
I checked out that cool fireplace.
Conversation with an experienced hiker.
New bird calls I hadn’t heard before.
The summit I missed didn’t erase all the fun we had on the way up.
I’ll probably hike Mt. Waumbek another day.
Starr King was still good enough for this day.
The trail doesn’t keep score.
We do.
And maybe we don’t have to.
Have you ever turned around, changed the plan, or skipped the summit—and still been glad you went? I’d love to hear about it.
I really like the distinction you make between quitting and knowing when to change the plan.
I learned that lesson from the opposite direction 25 years ago, when an hour-long hike in the NJ Pine Barrens (home of dwarf pines, confusing old sand roads, and, of course, the Jersey Devil) became three because I stubbornly refused to turn around when we got lost. Some of my friends still rib me about it. 😂
What I especially like about your article is how it makes us reconsider what success looks like. Reaching the summit is one measure. Making choices that allow us to keep doing what we love for years to come may be a much better one.
Great piece.