Pack your gear, pack your demons: Dealing with CDT relapse

My updates are generally anecdotal, but today I want to deviate from my usual style and talk about something deeply personal. I want to talk about alcoholism, the effect it has had on my experience on the trails, and the broader idea of ​​hiking as a means to finding yourself or solving your problems.

A detour for Exit

In my last update, I was happily about to leave Salida to head north towards Collegiates. Then, I did something I’ve done time and time again against my better judgment: I had a drink. As always happens when I do this, it sent me spiraling out of control, one that left me literally fearing for my life, shaking in a Salida detox center for days.

You see, I’m an alcoholic; I have been for years and I will be for life. The reason I haven’t mentioned this on this blog, on the trail to my fellow hikers, or really to anyone in my life unless it has directly affected them, is because I have lived in fear of the judgment of others.

The illusion of the 3,000 mile cure

This is a hiking blog, not a circle of chairs in a church basement, so how does this relate to hiking? For me personally, my alcohol problem tried to sabotage my hike on the Appalachian Trail in 2024, and has followed me to my current hike on the Continental Divide Trail. This is not to say that trail or hiking culture is an inevitable trigger for an addiction problem. Drug and alcohol use on the road is present, but it is no more threatening to an addict trying to recover than it is on the front. The ubiquity of temptation permeates all facets of the world equally.

My experience on the AT and CDT has taught me this: just as you pack your gear on a hike, you also pack your demons. I have the feeling that many hikers believe that a five-month hike in the mountains will be the panacea for whatever problems they face in the “real world.” While hiking a long trail is a life-changing experience that allows you to see new things, meet new people, and challenge yourself physically and mentally, your problems will stay with you (on the trail and at home) unless you’re actively doing something to solve them. By itself, there is nothing magical about walking thousands of miles that will do it for you.

So far, this may seem quite pessimistic, but I prefer to see the optimism in the situation. You really have a lot of time on the road to think about or actively address your problems. The trick is that it’s not easy. Hiking a trail is hard work; you’re busy hiking, filtering water, fighting the weather, and managing all the other countless things that a grueling hike entails. My point is that you can start to solve your problems here, but it’s going to be difficult. Of course it is: hiking is already hard, and I can tell you firsthand that addiction is harder.

Lessons learned

I need to take a lesson from this experience. I’ve left out many details about my Salida lapse, but I can assure you that it was terrifying, eye-opening, and life-changing. I don’t offer simple solutions here, but these are the lessons I’m taking forward, and I urge anyone struggling to pay attention:

• Shame belongs to the past. If I’m embarrassed to tell the people in my life that I’m an alcoholic, then it means I haven’t recognized that it’s an illness, a literal allergy to a substance. I need to accept that it is part of who I am and move forward without shame or guilt. By extension, if anyone decides to judge, I feel sorry for them.
• I’m not a failure. For as long as I’ve battled this disease, I’ve come to consider myself a failure: a failure as a friend, an employee, and a person in general. I think this is why I have continued to fight. However, I now realize that this is not true. I move forward knowing that I am not a failure in any of these aspects and that I have a lot going for me.
• Silence creates pressure. I have lived for so long hiding my problems from the world. This creates immense pressure and I think that pressure has been part of the problem. From now on, I will be more open about my experiences and my struggles.
• Asking for help is a strength. Lastly, I learned that you should never be afraid to ask for help. Fighting alone is incredibly difficult and I think you would be surprised how many people are willing to lend a hand in a time of need.

We keep walking!

After going through a harrowing experience, I left Salida emboldened with a new perspective and life lessons learned. I realize that the road before me is long and difficult, both the literal road of CDT and my own road in recovery. Simply walking the trail won’t solve my problems, but I’m determined to put in the effort to work on them as I go. I will no longer suffer in silence, I am not ashamed of who I am and I know I will make it.

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.