Befriending Fear on Obsidian Trail
Well, sometimes you have to eat what you dish out. On a recent Instagram post I talked about gaining the confidence to hike alone. I had just completed my first solo hike in the wilderness and was riding the high of accomplishment. Little did I know I would be putting my newfound confidence to the test so quickly!
My friend and I had secured permits to hike Obsidian Trail, but they were unable to join me. After unsuccessfully searching for another partner, I decided to take my own advice and go solo, facing my fears head on. Here’s that story.
The Obsidian Trail spans 12 miles with 2,000ft of elevation gain, typically taking about 5.5 hours to complete. This scenic trail requires a permit and offers stunning views and diverse terrain, making it a rewarding challenge. It’s nestled near the base of Three Sisters in Oregon’s Central Cascades.
While fires, smoke and extreme heat have made hiking more challenging, I knew I needed to stay on track with my training for Mt. Whitney. My decision to hike the Obsidian Trail wavered day by day, hour by hour as I followed weather and air quality conditions. Resources I used include the Weather app, TripCheck.com and Instagram location stories (you can see what others have posted in the last 24 hours!).
The night before, I pre-packed my bag and laid out my clothes, including an extra set and some sandals to change into after the hike. I’m learning the ways of comfort! I even packed a bathing suit in case I felt like taking a lake swim on my way home. My partner whipped up some overnight oats for me while I filled 3 water bottles, I have yet to replace my broken hydration pack. I tried to get some sleep but managed maybe 5 hours before my alarm went off.
At 5am I tugged myself out of bed, made some coffee, and checked conditions. Things seemed fairly stable. I hit the road just before 6am and filled up on gas before leaving town. To keep myself from skipping out on the hike, I just focused on the next thing I needed to do, one at a time, instead of thinking about the trail. It worked.
The drive up to Obsidian Trail is stunning. From HWY 126 you turn onto McKenzie Pass, which is a scenic byway that follows an 1860s wagon route. The forest there was lush and green, while the narrow road twisted up towards Sisters. The smoke was thin and there was no smell of burning wood in the air, a good sign.
When I finally reached the trailhead I took comfort in the scattering of cars in the parking lot. I was hiking alone, but I wasn’t completely alone. The trailhead offers a pit toilet, a picnic bench, and a posted sign with a map. In addition to permits, a recreation pass is required for parking.
My feet hit the trail at 7:30am. It was surprisingly cool out, and the smoke hadn’t settled into the forest yet. It loomed in the distance mingling with the clouds. The first miles always feel like a chore, as your body warms up. My feet began to ache and I wondered if I needed new shoes. I went to check my heart rate on my watch and realized I’d left it home. Damn.
It didn’t take long for the fear to creep in, maybe a few minutes, or as soon as I left the parking lot. I found myself looking over my shoulder every few paces, and at every creak and slosh of my backpack. I contemplated turning around, but it wasn’t a serious consideration, I had made it this far.
I slowly weaved upward through various types of woods, including burn areas. Some spots were thickish with vegetation, others sparse with charred ghosts. The fear sat with me like a rock on my chest. I was hyper aware, wondering if the dead silence was a good or bad thing. Every so often birds would chatter as I walked by, and I questioned if they would tell me of something else creeping through. But as exhaustion set in, I stopped caring about the fear, I was preoccupied with putting one foot in front of the other.
Eventually the trees gave way to a massive lava flow and I relished in the open air. There’s something refreshing about seeing far and wide, feeling on top of the world, unlike being towered over and swallowed by the forest. I trekked up the rocky path to my first overlook. Rolling blue hills were blanketed in trees for miles, and a thin layer of smoke hovered between puffy gray clouds. Behind me I spotted some snow studded mountain tops, Sisters. By that time, my old friend fear had slipped away and I soaked in the morning moment.
I continued on through the lava field, admiring trees that found their way through tight cracks, growing thin but tall, even amongst the harshest conditions. The path descended into another forested area and my heart skipped a beat. Fear was creeping back again. I could hear something in the distance but I couldn’t decipher between my mind and reality. I turned the final corner and the sound of water rushed towards my ears. A stream. A brook actually. Barely anything at all. But where there’s water, there could be animals. Fear held my hand as I walked toward the water, picking my way across wet rocks, careful not to slip.
Once I reached the other side, I heard something again. Something different this time. Something big that stands on two legs. I heard a voice and then a laugh. Humans. Two of them. I spot them starting to cross the brook behind me. Funny enough, even though I was afraid to be alone, I felt this urge to outrun them, to have the whole place to myself again. It was empowering to feel like I was forging this path. Up ahead, the trail split in two, I had reached the lollipop. I chose the path to the left, hoping they wouldn’t follow. They didn’t.
As I meandered through fallen trees and dense greenery, the incline began to pick up. Between heavy breaths I savored the cool mist of the morning, noticing a darkening in the clouds. I could feel little drops here and there. The sky rumbled and I wondered if it was airplanes or a storm rolling in. The smoke was slightly heavier now, still barely there but I could smell it. I found myself walking beside a stream that I could hear but could not see. The sound of trickling water became my new company.
Time slows when you’re alone in the woods. The seconds crawl by and every time I check my phone it’s only been a few minutes. I wonder how many miles I have done so far, and how many more I have to go.
Then, the escalating sound of water interrupts my thoughts. I turn the bend and see a small side trail veering toward it. Curiosity gets the best of me and I peek over the edge to see a modest cascade. Instantly the smell of wet dog fills my nose. I panic. Haven’t I heard that bears or cougars smell like wet dog? I don’t know if it’s true but it’s enough to keep me moving, quickly. (Turns out it’s likely just a type of plant!).
As the incline picks up I’m on autopilot. I move at a steady pace. Then I see a sign. Ah, the Pacific Crest Trail, we meet again. I’ve put my boots on this trail a few times in my life, near San Diego, Mount Hood, and now Sisters. It beckons me and I inch closer toward it. Not just in this moment, but in every moment that I’m on a trail. For now I will follow a short section, but someday we will get to know each other well.
PCT hikers zoom past while I huff and puff. I marvel at their quickness, wondering how many miles they have hiked so far, how they’re sleeping, how the fires have affected their hike. I take a break when I spot Mount Washington, Three Fingered Jack, and Mount Jefferson in the distance. Salt gathers around my lips and I grab for my water.
A short time later, I reach the pinnacle of the trail. North and Middle Sister come into clear view. The ground is peppered with obsidian and wildflowers. I take in the sights. More PCT hikers fly by with a friendly greeting. They don’t have time to stop and savor the spectacle. They have places to be.
I keep walking. I see small ponds of water and then another stream. This time, people are lounging alongside it near a crossing. They point me in the direction of Obsidian Falls. This trail has everything! I take a side path to the base of the waterfall and welcome the mist. Luckily, it’s still a cool and cloudy day, but by this time I am soaked in sweat.
Past it, Obsidian Trail splits off back toward the parking lot. I feel the PCT pulling me the other direction. Alas, with a daypack I wouldn’t last long. So I continue on, leaving the comfort of human interaction behind, embracing the lonely wilderness once again. It grows quiet.
Then the rain joins me. It lightly pitter patters against the ground and hidden obsidian comes to life. Dull dust is washed away and glimmering jet black glass shines with its fresh polish. While harder to spot at this point, you can still see that speckle in the earth beneath your feet. I wave one last goodbye to Middle Sister as I pass through a meadow, just before the woods begin to sweep in.
Tucked in my sleepy cove between days of scorching heat, I feel lucky to be here in this moment. I pass a thicket of purple wildflowers that offer wafts of divinity. The scent is sweet and gentle. Then it gives way to a deep breath of wood and earth, heightened by the sprinkle of rain.
Everyone is walking up now. I hear chirping, squeaking and buzzing around me. My thoughts wander, ever circling my aloneness, and Oregon’s wildness. I want to impose as little as I can. I want to preserve and protect it. I want to know that somewhere nature wins over man. I stumble as I write my notes, oscillating between the present moment and my passing thoughts.
Little patches of snow cling to nooks and crannies and I imagine the entire forest dusted in winter. It would be a sight to behold, and yet I am not too keen on the cold. I’m happy to experience it in summer.
At 11am I run into rangers checking permits. I had forgotten time for several miles. That’s what nature will do to you. Time becomes unimportant. Your life is measured in distance now. From tree to tree to field to steam to mountain. Then, all of the sudden, the mountains become the most important thing to you. When will I travel to the next one, how far do I have to go, what stands in my way? In this sense, we do not move mountains, the mountains move us. I start to feel like a pebble rolling down a hill, stopping only to watch a frog cross my path.
Finally I am back at the first viewpoint, in the lava fields. I stop for a bite to eat. The overnight oats I couldn’t stomach on the morning drive. I enjoy my first and last view before I complete the final leg.
The rain continues ever so slightly. The trees look a little greener, the moss a little brighter, happier. There’s more people on the trail now and my fears are kind of washed away, tucked into an alcove. A few mosquitoes find me but I swat them away.
I jog little bits here and there, anxious to cross the finish line. The final mile stretches on to infinity. The last bit is always a slog. All my parts are creaking and aching as the end comes into view. I finish at 12:15pm, completing the hike in 4 hours and 45 minutes.
Success! And I didn’t die. In fact, I had fun. I don’t think I conquered fear, but I am learning to be friends with it. My new hiking buddy.
Thank you for reading this! If you liked my blog, and want to hear from me occasionally, please subscribe to my newsletter! I write about vegan-friendly businesses, hiking and adventures.