The Heart of a Lonely Hiker: How Loneliness Stopped Me From Completing My First Solo Thru-Hike

This guest post was written by Trek reader Misty. Have a story to share with The Trek? Submit it here.

In August of 2022, I excitedly struck out to attempt my first solo thru hike on the Colorado Trail. I knew it would be an “attempt.” After all, injuries, illnesses, weather, and a host of other issues could stop me in my tracks. What I didn’t expect to crop up, however, was loneliness. That heartache and longing for a shared experience of the trail. The want to unload the day’s burdens and share the day’s excitements with a campmate. For some, a walk alone in the woods is natural. For me, as it turns out, it was just the opposite.

I was a married woman in her late 30s with a full-time job and no children. My husband’s job takes him out of town occasionally, and with no kids in the house, I find myself alone with only my quiet thoughts to keep me company. And I’m totally cool with that. In fact, I often leave the TV, radio, and other noisemakers off while I’m the only one at home. After the hustle and bustle of the day, I find it quite pleasing to revel in the stillness of my home with my two cats. I grew up in the country, where it’s quiet, and I currently live in the country, where it’s quiet. I’m used to it.

In 2016 I completed a thru-hike of the John Muir Trail with a coworker. It was my first backpacking trip ever. Looking back now, I’m not sure how on earth we finished. Neither of us had any backpacking experience whatsoever. My buddy had never even practiced setting up his tent before, trying it for the first time at our campsite in Little Yosemite Valley. We had been on many hikes, sure, but this was a new adventure for us. I guess I decided just to jump into the deep end to see if I could swim. Twenty-two days later, we stumbled into Whitney Portal a little worse for wear, but we made it. I swore to myself I would never backpack again.

Well, backpacking trips are like tattoos. You can’t have just one.

Six years later, after trying to scratch that itch with shorter trips into the backcountry, I decided to give it another go. The Colorado Trail, I decided, would be the perfect trail. It’s only 500 miles, it’s near my home state of Nebraska, and I’m familiar with Colorado.

The problem was that nobody was able to take six weeks off of work to tag along. And even if they could, they certainly didn’t want to. Nebraska is not exactly the most outdoor-friendly state. People here have simply never considered walking in the woods for days on end. The most well-known trail in this state is the Oregon Trail.

My buddy from the JMT had some nagging health issues, and my husband’s preferred maximum number of consecutive nights in a tent is only four, so I  supposed I’d have to go it alone. After spending hours watching other hikers on YouTube, downloading the trail map on FarOut, and reading the CT Guidebook, I had mentally prepared. I worked out a ton and got myself in shape so that I was physically prepared. I was ready to go!

My coworkers graciously allowed me six weeks away for my solo debut. My husband would drive me to Waterton Canyon, my intended start, and he would also drive back out to Breckenridge, Salida, and Silverton to see me and bring me my resupply, in addition to two other resupplies that I had mailed to Twin Lakes and Lake City. My backpack was filled with items I had switched out to newer, lighter models from my JMT experience, and all that was left to do was hike. I kissed my husband goodbye six miles into Waterton Canyon and boldly forged ahead, confident and courageous.

I made it to Breckenridge in six days.

Those 106 miles seemed to fly by. Sure, I was hiking alone, but I always met people along the way and never had to camp alone. There were always at least two other people nearby. We would chat, of course. But it seemed like something was missing. My husband picked me up in Breckenridge and the next day I spent a zero day with him.

 The following day, the two of us made use of the free bus system and slackpacked from Copper Mountain back to Breck. Then the following day, he drove me back to Copper to see me off for my next chunk of solo miles to Salida. As I turned uphill away from him, the floodgates opened. What is happening? Am I so desperate for company that I can’t seriously handle a few days “alone?

That was a very low day for me. That next night was the first time I ever camped truly all by myself, and the silence was deafening. It hit me — maybe I’m not cut out for this solo stuff. Physically and mentally, I was really killing it. I was making good decisions, and for a flatlander I was crushing miles. But socially? That was an aspect of the trail for which I was utterly unprepared.

I reached Mt Princeton Hot Springs on day 17.

Photo: Zach Davis

I spent the afternoon in those healing waters talking to anyone who would even glance in my direction. I couldn’t believe I was in such a beautiful place, seeing the most amazing things, without someone to share it with.

The following morning I called my husband from the lodge room I had booked (and stayed at, by myself), and told him that when he drove out to resupply me in Salida, I would be going home with him. He was ecstatic. He had been amazingly supportive and told me to chase my dreams. He was, however, extremely worried about my wellbeing on trail for all the aforementioned reasons. He told me he was 110 percent on board with taking me home.

My decision to quit the trail did not come lightly. They say not to quit on a bad day. I didn’t. I had a lovely day at Mt. Princeton Hot Springs. And my campsite right before Highway 50 was at Angel of Shavano campground, a wonderful spot with the nicest camp host named Perry and the cleanest privy I’ve ever seen in my life.

But I want to finish the trail with a buddy. That person in front of or behind me who’s walking those same miles and going through exactly what I’m going through. Seeing that amazing sunset and watching that moose cross the trail. Popping similar blisters and eating dinner with me.

Pictures never do the trail justice, and my trail journal only tells half the tale. My heart oscillates between pride at what I HAVE done and regret and remorse for not completing the trail in one shot. I guess I’m just more of a social creature than I thought I was. And that is OK. The trail will still be there for me and that buddy.

I’ve since completed the Colorado Trail, walking the final three segments with my husband this past August. And I’ve hiked other trails solo, with the longest being the Tahoe Rim Trail at about 170 miles. The more I head out on backpacking trips, the more I learn about myself. Isn’t that what life is all about? Learning and growing?

I’ve come to realize that shorter solo trips are my jam, somewhere in the 250 miles or less range. I always welcome the company and consider myself a worthy trail partner, but I’m comfortable now walking alone for that long. My cup is full after that many miles. As long as I’m outside enjoying the trail, so is my heart.

About the Author

Misty hails from the Cornhusker State, where she lives with her husband, two cats, and a flock of chickens. She worked in healthcare for over 16 years before giving it up for more outdoor pursuits. She has completed the John Muir Trail, Foothills Trail, Tahoe Rim Trail, and Colorado Trail, and plans to tackle the Ouachita Trail later this year. 

Featured image: Zach Davis