I hiked 24 miles, and all I remember is the parking lot.

Sometimes, what we cherish is different from what we expect.

Do you have memories that you may forget from time to time but they keep coming back? Oftentimes when I am overwhelmed I look to my favorite moments in nature to calm me down, but sometimes memories overtake me like a sneeze: unexpected and all-consuming. The other day at work I was making my way through hours of OSHA online training (if you’ve done OSHA 10 or OSHA 24 you get my pain), I remembered a moment that I never thought would become so important to me almost a year later. In that moment, sitting in a truck on a landfill outside of Minneapolis, Minnesota, I was swept back to the fall of 2022. I was working in housekeeping in Grant Village, a small area in Yellowstone National Park. Of all of the beautiful places I could have been transported to in that moment, I was taken to a parking lot.

One day after many hours of cleaning lodges, I drove over to Heart Lake trailhead, not necessarily out of interest, but because it was close by. In fact, when I was asking a more seasoned employee for trail recommendations, he discouraged this trail because he has a friend who didn’t like it.

How bad could it be? I thought.

I’m in Yellowstone, after all.

I always make a point to give every hike a chance, and find it a bit off-putting when people describe a natural area with polarizing words such as “good” or “bad.” How can you call a waterfall ugly?! With that being said, I will admit I have hiked trails that I hope I never have to traverse again.

Nevertheless, I was more than willing to give this trail a chance—even if somehow it wasn’t beautiful, I would still get in a workout and some precious time alone. I set out that evening with few expectations. When I got back to the trailhead, I knew it wouldn’t be my last time there; not because of breathtaking views, but because for the first four miles of the hike, I was just following a path through a coniferous forest with blazing red undergrowth as the only fall colors. It was still beautiful, but I can see how, in a park containing geysers such as Old Faithful, the Grand Prismatic, and herds of bison, someone could be disappointed. But just as I was about to turn around so I could make it back before dark, the air became thick with mist. I kept walking until I realized I passed an opening and finally made it through the tunnel of trees. What laid before me were geothermal vents in the back country and…a mountain?

A mountain among the mist...would I be summiting it?

It was hard to make out, but I was pretty sure there was a mountain ahead. But, curiosity kills the young woman hiking by herself far from home, or whatever that saying was. I turned around, and when I got back to the trailhead, I took a closer look at the map, now curious about this trail. Heart lake, which was 8 miles away, had been unattainable for this evening but seemed doable for a weekend, and 4 miles beyond that laid the peak of Mt. Sheridan, which would be a stretch. My longest hike prior was 27 miles, my longest solo hike was 17. I was up for the challenge.

Back at Grant Village, we were wrapping up for the season. While some areas like Old Faithful stay open all year long, most of the winter roads aren’t plowed. Even though less people were visiting Grant, many room attendants had quit so there was still a lot of work to be done. The next weekend was the last I had in the area, and because we were so short staffed, we only got one day off instead of two. Most of my coworkers didn’t even take their day off because of the large amount of work to be done, but they assured me that I should do this hike.

I had to be a bit crafty preparing for this adventure. We ate at a staff-only food court, and the few overpriced tourist shops were closed for the season. The closest grocery store was in Jackson, WY, eighty miles away. I had some food in my car for emergencies and from driving out to Yellowstone, but that was limited to some dried fruit and granola bars, not enough to happily sustain me on my ~24 mike hike. Luckily, the chefs at the food court would make a to-go lunch if you signed up. Unfortunately, I misunderstood my coworkers directions on how to do this and showed up the morning of to have no lunch prepared. But I explained the situation to the cooks and they were kind enough to put together a bag consisting of a pb n’ j, and some potato chips. I loaded up on powdered scrambled eggs and potatoes and hit the road.

Side Note: Alongside food, I wanted to make sure that I was as prepared for this hike as I could be. I brought layers, as it was October and I would be hiking up a mountain, weapons (pepper spray and a knife), plenty of water (I didn’t have a water filter), electrolytes, and a backpack to fit all of this (I had to use a full-size backpacking backpack and shrink it down as much as possible). In addition, I had a knowledge of the area and wildlife that was detailed enough to keep me out of trouble.

I have been unprepared in the wilderness enough times to know how scary it can be, and this hike was far enough outside of my comfort zone that I needed the confidence knowing that I had prepared myself as much as possible. Nature is unforgiving, that’s a lesson I leaned well living on the shore of Lake Superior, where storms, the cold, and currents have tragically taken the lives of so many souls. Later on in this hike, this confidence in my preparation was the only thing keeping me going.

The hike up to the spot I had gotten to previously was uneventful. The air was crisp, causing the mist from the geothermal vents to block any sight of what was ahead. Through my fear of the unknown I pushed ahead and past the geothermal vents. Yes, there was a mountain, but not yet Mount Sheridan. I walked a little further to see the most gorgeous valley I’ve ever seen.

The hiking trail takes you down into this valley, all the way to Heart lake, which is barely visible in the background. The combination of the geothermal vents and the crisp fall air created the mist that is blocking Mount Sheridan.

It didn't even feel real. What magical place was I walking into? I was filled with awe, and another feeling that kept coming up again and again on my trip out west: Having to experiencing all of these life changing moments alone made me yearn for someone to share this experience with, because it was too much to take in on my own. After taking some time to appreciate the view, I kept on walking. I hiked down into the valley, walking past the initial mountain I saw until eventually Mount Sheridan came into view. It was a relief to see it after miles of hiking, but then again, it was still so far away! I crossed streams that were steaming because of geothermal vents, and even saw a miniature version of the Grand Prismatic, just feet off of the trail!

The privacy of this geothermal feature made up for its small size.

I'd heard stories of people falling into hot springs; even if they emerged alive, they died days later because their insides had been cooked by the heat. Being this far along a trail meant that these beautiful features weren't guarded by fences, so you had to be careful.

I didn't see Heart Lake until I reached it's edge due to a wall of conifers running along the border.

I finally allowed myself to sit down for a break. I snacked on the best Lay's potato chips I've ever eaten while watching two ducks swim across the lake. To my right I saw Mount Sheridan, still so far away. I was reaching mid-morning, and I still had an entire mountain to climb before I was even halfway done with my hike. I gave myself extra time and was on schedule, but on my own, my anxiety was difficult to control. As I set out again along the shore, I reminded myself of how prepared I was; this hike would be a challenge, but I was ready for it.

If you look really close, you can see the shelter at the top of Mount Sheridan.

The further I walked from the lake, the greater my anxiety got. Even as I was surrounded by beautiful fall colors, I couldn't help but think of every possible scenario that could go wrong. What if I was got tired or injured and couldn't make it back before dark, exposing myself to the predators of the night? What if my body wasn't able to generate the heat it needed to exist at the chilly top of the mountain? What if one of the hikers I passed wanted to take advantage of a young woman all alone, out in the middle of nowhere?

As I made my way up the mountain, I fought so much self-doubt.

As I walked up the mountain, my footsteps got heavier, not only because I was tired, but because I was weighed down by my fears. I forced myself to think positively and realistically. At the same time, I thought about what my goal was. A lot of hikers get in trouble because they focus on reaching the top of the mountain, when the reality is that they should be worried about making it back to the trailhead, happy and in one piece. Was I being irresponsible by hiking such a distance alone? Could any amount of preparation be enough to justify my decision to take on such a challenge? My fatigue made it difficult to differentiate between my irrational anxiety and genuine risk: should I go all the way to the top of the mountain? While I thought, I kept climbing higher and higher, fighting to put one foot in front of the other as the temperature dropped and the winds picked up.

Even as I approached the summit, my steps were excruciating. The words I had been thinking to myself became verbal. Over the high winds I shouted at myself,

"You can't quit now!"

"You can do this!"

"Keep moving!"

Approaching the top of Mount Sheridan. Heart Lake lies below to the left.

These affirmations pushed me to the shelter at the very top of the mountain. I was in tears. I may have only been halfway through my hike, but I already showed myself how strong my mind can be. Even when I was filled with fear and doubt, I was still able to rationalize and move forward. This is somewhat a metaphor for my whole trip out to Yellowstone: each day I stepped into more unknown territory, and so much confidence and experience was forged in that process. Summiting Mount Sheridan was just as mental of a feat as it was physical. In a battle between my anxiety and my determination, the latter won.

I moved quickly down the mountain and away from the lake. At the base of Sheridan I found a meadow of flowers to lie in. I couldn't stomach a sandwich, but luckily I had some candy and a granola bar. It felt so good to lie down, I would have laid there forever if I wasn't still haunted by a fear that I wouldn't make it back. When I reached the shore of Heart Lake I passed a man who made me slightly suspicious, so I walked quickly the through the valley, periodically turning around to make sure he wasn't following. At that point I was exhausted, and my ability to walk so fast came from somewhere deep inside of me. When I reached the edge of the valley, about to head into the monotonous woods that scared away my coworker's friend, the exhaustion caught up with me. I took a few minutes to rest and drink water, and I headed out at a much slower pace.

The woods looked like this for miles. On my way back, I felt like I was walking through a never-ending tunnel.

At this point I realized that the hike would be several miles longer than I originally intended, but luckily I gave myself some buffer time and I had been staying on schedule. But even if I would be able to make it back in time for dinner, those last few miles were exhausting.

I was getting slightly delirious. Being alone and fighting my doubts for so long wore on me as much as the physical activity itself. I started talking to myself, about realizations, about life events, about how much pain I was in. I'm afraid that I was in a state where if I did come across a grizzly, I wouldn't have responded well.

Through all this, I knew the best thing I could do was get out of there. I walked the trail that at this point I had been on four times, motivated by the the desire to finally relax, safe and sound in the parking lot. For what seems like forever I kept walking, no longer thinking anything, only putting one foot in front of the other. That's all I had energy to focus on.

Eventually, just as the sun started to dip below the trees, I reached the parking lot. Yes, I was relieved, but I was also exhausted. And, I was very hungry. I rushed back to Grant Village so I could make it to dinner before the food court closed. If that didn't work out, I would have had to cook my dinner in quite the dazed state.

Fall flora.

Maybe, after reading all this, you are confused at why I get nostalgic over a parking lot. If that's so, I'm with you. Clearly this hike led to some significant personal growth, and there were tough moments. Why, on such a grand hike, do I most keenly remember something so unremarkable, I didn't even take a picture of it? Hell, I didn't even stay there long!

I like to think that all of the emotions I experienced on that hike would be too much to handle at once, so my brain packaged up all of them into a simple feeling that I associate with a trailhead. I won't deny that it is incredibly difficult to push yourself like I did that day, but I can't take myself back to those intense emotions. All I can remember is the sense of relief, clouded by an aura of nostalgia that accompanies periods of self growth and exploration. This phenomenon will likely keep luring me back into adventures like this.

I'm sure that as I encounter similar challenges, I will further unravel the parking lot phenomenon. Please let me know if you have experienced something similar!