I used to go on nature hikes when I was a kid. The best hikes were the ones we went on after dark. “Midnight hikes,” my camp counselors would call them, even though I doubt they started any later than 8pm, and were probably done by 9:30pm. But that didn’t matter. To a kid who was used to being in bed early, those hikes were magic.
When I think back to those hikes, I remember what I loved about them: the chill in the air—not too cold, because it was summer, but just cool enough to remind you that it was dark and past the time when kids were out playing; the crunch of our tennis shoes across rocks and sticks; dozens of flashlights pointing off into the trees, up into the night sky, or down at the dirt beneath our feet—every direction but the one we were supposed to be walking in; and the excited chatter of the group of kids and counselors trooping along through the night to an unknown destination. We didn’t care where we were going; we were just thrilled to be outside and on an adventure.
This past weekend, I went on a “midnight hike” for the first time as an adult. It was a twilight snowshoe tour, to be exact, and it 
wasn't midnight this time either, but it had all the trappings of a wild and thrilling adventure, just like those childhood hikes I remember so fondly. There were about 12 of us in the group, and we were accompanied by four guides who knew the history and lore of Mt. Pluto (aka, Northstar), as well as the path we would trek through the trees over the next 2 & ½ hours.
It hadn’t snowed for nearly a month, so the path was snow-packed in some places and completely bare in others, the lack of snow cover leaving rocks and sticks exposed to the unwary snowshoer. We had all different sorts in our group: one guy walked along with his hands in his pockets, as carefree as if he were on a leisurely stroll, while another woman held both arms out wide, flailing wildly with every shaky step.
My husband was amongst the twelve adventurers, and two of our best friends as well. With every step, I felt myself leaning more into the experience and letting the thrill of it envelop me. It reminded me of how much I’d loved those nature hikes through the darkness as a kid, and how as an adult, I’d always sought the thrill and mystery of being out in nature after sundown.
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We sounded like a troop of gangly horses crashing through the woods as we made our way back, our snowshoes clopping along, our booted feet crushing the snow. It was just like it had been on those midnight hikes as a kid: the danger and excitement of being outside in the woods after dark mixed with the comfort of having friends and strangers around you; on this adventure with you.
As we stomped down Village Run to the fire and s’mores that awaited us, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. This was fun. This was good. I felt alive and energized—invigorated. I had begun the night tired, a little hung-over, and not entirely thrilled about hiking through the snow for a couple of hours. But I was ending the night in an entirely different state of mind. My fatigue was replaced with energy, and my lack of enthusiasm was replaced with happiness.
And of course, I knew why. I’d spent the evening doing two of the things I’d loved since I was a kid: exploring the outdoors, and adventure. I didn’t realize it before, but I’d missed doing those things, and even though they were very important to me, I hadn’t given them much thought in the past 15 years. I’d forgotten how good it felt to do something you love, even if it’s silly or doesn’t serve any purpose other than to make you happy.
My snowshoeing adventure will go down in the books as an exciting new experience, as well as a welcome reminder: Do the things you love. They are what make you who you are, and they are as important to your wellbeing as the food you eat and the water you drink.
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