Abby's Perspective on Walking and its Deeper Meaning

Adventures, reflections, and stories we brought home from the trails we’ve walked - from the Macs Adventure team 

Abby is a senior sales specialist based in Colorado who enjoys nature and portrait photography, a sunny Sunday afternoon at a brewery, and spending time with her dog, Banjo. 

"There is a moment when you walk several hours that you are only a body walking. Only that. You are nobody. You have no history." Frédéric Gros 

Dear Trail Diary, 

I think we all remember the first time the essence of walking started to mean something more to us than just a basic survival skill we picked up in early development. If you've been on a Macs trip, you probably know what I mean. 

If you spend enough time walking purely for the sake of walking, there comes a point where you relearn it as something else entirely. A form of meditation. A way to get out of your head and back into your body. And, somehow, a way to gain a little more perspective on yourself and what you actually want from your life. 

Walking “vacations” are such a dichotomy - on one hand, you are tearing your joints to shreds on a gnarly alpine descent, only to do something just as rigorous again the next day, until you eventually pull your tired body on a plane and send it back home. And one of the crazier parts about the whole thing is you actually paid to do this.  

But on the other hand, I always leave a walking trip feeling the most refreshed I have felt all year, despite the physical exhaustion and pre-arthritic joint throbbing that a trip like this tends to leave me with. Walking trips have become, for me, a learned way to remind myself that whenever I am caught up in my own head, all I really am is just a body, walking through whatever I’m walking through. 

It's like having a superpower - the ability to zoom in and out simultaneously, which in reality, is impossible. But to get an opportunity to see your own struggles and internal monologue so clearly and deeply as one can during miles on the trail, while at the same time doing something as simple and innate as walking from Point A to Point B, is so rich. Being just a body walking in a completely new town, a whole place that knows nothing of you and will go on largely unchanged from this singular moment you will spend walking through its streets, adds a layer of brevity to your view of your own life and role in the world. You are constantly the biggest and most important thing to yourself, but in that moment you see yourself as so incredibly small, futile and insignificant. There is nothing more adept at dwarfing one’s own ego like this realization you experience on a walking trip. 

I was lucky enough to take on our Macs trip to the Bernese Oberland this summer, and my “zoom out” looked like making my way up trails that somehow just kept going up (I don’t think the Swiss know what a switchback is) surrounded by the welcomed contrast of gentle cowbells ringing from quaint chalet style farm houses, while my “zoom in” looked like me having a conversation in my head with a friend of mine who died around 7 years ago. 

His name was Kevin, and he loved a good hike. He was from Auckland, New Zealand, and we met when I went abroad for a term in New Zealand. I ended up being in his flat as a temporary flatmate, arranged by the university housing program for abroad students. At that point in life, I certainly did not get the appeal of a good hike, much less anything that outdoorsy. I had never been camping, never walked more than maybe 4 miles at a time in my suburban neighborhood where I grew up, and certainly had never been backpacking.

It would be throughout the course of my time there that I came to know walking in a much deeper light, oftentimes with Kevin at the helm. He frequently would lead a group of us Americans on a trudge through mile after mile of Kiwi backcountry, heavy packs strapped to our backs. My first camping trip was spent this way; five of us sleeping on only a tarp tucked inside a small cave on the beach, with little blue penguins for neighbors. Later, they would wake us up at 4 AM by angrily chirping at our choice to lay our heads directly in the way of their morning path out to sea, but I’ll never forget opening my eyes that morning and the first eyes looking back at me were those of a furious little penguin.  

I spent almost a year of my life walking around the South Island of New Zealand for the sole reason of seeing as much of it as I could, and I am by far the better for it. I was hooked, and little did I know this same love for seeing the world via walking would someday influence many more of my decisions, including starting a job at Macs. 

Kevin’s death came abruptly, about a month after I departed that stunning country on a plane ride back to The States. Scrolling through Facebook one morning before class, I saw his photo show up in an article re-posted by the University we attended, under the headline “Man Drowns in Severe Floods of New Zealand Backcountry”. I stared at it and stared at it without even clicking on the article, until a mutual friend messaged me and confirmed what I already knew had happened, but was struggling to acknowledge - Kevin was gone.

It took me until this trip to Switzerland to realize that every walking trip I have gone on since his death has involved at least one hour a day of “talking with Kevin” - as the miles went by, so did our conversation. On a Macs trip, I’m just a body walking, and eventually before I know it, Kevin always ends up walking there with me, discussing what I have done with my life in the years since he passed. And that, in and of itself, is a magical way to process your grief. 

On this last trip, we talked about how I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to New Zealand yet, and about how, at least from what I can tell of his sister's Facebook posts, his family is doing fine. I told him that when I do go back, I’ll be sure to add in a visit to Auckland so that I can stop by his grave and finally say a real goodbye to him, in person. I told him that I’ll go to the waterfall in Fiordland National Park that he loved so much and see it for myself one more time, because I, too, thought it was spectacular. I told him that Switzerland is beautiful and charming and almost beats New Zealand as the best place I have ever laid eyes on… key word being “almost”. I told him I am sorry he never got to see all of these things I am seeing now, and confirmed that yes, Kev, you too, would have loved it here. 

Most of all, I told him you were right - the world is as beautiful as you always told me it was, and I count myself incredibly lucky to still be standing here getting to experience it in such a capacity. In a way, it's all because 7 years ago he led a 21 year old version of me on her first walking trip that then got me hooked for good.  

For this reason, I don’t really mind that every Macs trip of mine involves a little bit of him. I don’t mind that everywhere I go, there’s just a little bit of grief tinging the view. He loved this world and more importantly he loved to get out there and go see it for himself. As silly as it sounds, I feel so much better that I am spending my vacations walking through the Bernese Oberland talking to my dead friend Kevin than I would if I was lying on a beach somewhere I’ve traveled to 20 years in a row now, tanning under a UV 11. Both have their purposes, but one option offers far more depth than the other, and I firmly believe that it’s the first. 

Travel isn’t a self-indulgent act. It’s a novel gift for those of us fortunate enough to pursue it, and a reminder that many aspects of this world and your life are stunning and you are so very lucky to be able to be here to experience them.  

So long story short - Switzerland, and New Zealand, are beautiful and you should absolutely go to both at some point in your life. And also long story short - never, ever, forget that for all that you go through in your time here, whether its miles of trails on a Macs trip, the struggles of daily life, or the loss of someone you love; when it comes down to it, all you really are is just a body walking.  

Get out there and have fun and be kind to each other. Do your very best to allow your travel experiences to change you, so that the version of you that comes home can be a version of you that has grown. Try new things and meet new people. Always count yourself lucky for getting to go on just one more adventure, just one more hike.  

And perhaps the biggest thing to remember: the trail is one of the best places to spend time with the people you love.  

I’ll see you out there. 

- Abby