I know I’ve mentioned it once or twice but the hiking trails of the Via Alpina (and really throughout Switzerland) are impossibly steep.

Here’s how most days of our Swiss hiking days unfold:

You crane your neck all morning looking up at the next pass, hiking the relentlessly uphill trail and willing your body to just please go one. more. step.

When you finally reach the top of the pass, the relief is palpable. Your legs are still shaking from the workout but you are delighted to be on top of the world, especially if the sky is clear, because ohmygoodness THE VIEWS.

But the relief is short-lived, because thirty minutes after you start down, your knees are screaming at you for slamming them into the ground step after step after step.

You finally hobble all the way to your hostel where you have a seat, a drink, a shower, some food and some sleep before you wake up to do it again. Seriously, it’s both AMAZING and AMAZINGLY HARD.

And that goes for the uphill AND the downhill.

But it’s the uphill struggle that we tell people to prepare for on hikes in the mountains.

For months, I send out emails and texts encouraging folks to go walk the hills closest to them. Go up and down them as many times as you possibly can.  For people who don’t live near any hills, I suggest finding some stairs or at the very least, a stair master machine at the gym.

But no matter how many stairs you force yourself to climb, you probably won’t reach the equivalent of what you will climb in a day on the Via Alpina.

When you’re staring at the side of a mountain and wondering how much further it is to the top, the answer is always: further than you think.

So how do you tap into the place deep within yourself that pushes you to keep going further than you’ve trained to go?

I don’t know how other folks do it, but being a person that does not excel at “will power,” I have developed a system for how to bypass the part of my brain that is telling me to quit.

I’ve been flinging my body up mountains for a long time, and I’ve lost count of the number of times that I have reached the place where I feel that I cannot take another step.

And this is what I do.

I tell myself I don’t have to climb all the way to the top. I only have to take 100 more steps.

So I count to 100 steps, and then I stop and catch my breath for a count of 10.

And then I repeat.

I take 100 more steps, then stop and take 5 deep breaths. In (1) and out (2), in (3) and out (4)…until I get to 10.

And then again. And again.

When 100 steps begins to feel insurmountable, I drop to 50.

I reduce the number until it is the amount of steps to which my brain will say yes.

In the Colorado Rockies, where the altitude is high and my lungs cannot seem to catch the air I need, I have reduced the number of steps all the way to 10. 10 steps, 10 breaths.

A slow plod.

When I am doing counts of 100, I stop for a longer break after 5-10 sets. Drink a little water. Have a bite of an energy bar.

And this is how I get up the mountain, in little bite-sized chunks.

Importantly, the counting takes my concentration.

It fills the space that is usually buzzing with all my thoughts.

Like:

When will it end?

Whose idea was this trip?

Why didn’t I train more ahead of time?

I think everyone else here is faster than me.

Instead of this pattern of unhelpful thoughts, all I can think is: one step, two steps, three steps…

Once I start counting steps, I can even get in a sort of meditative zone. I’m just stepping, counting and breathing.

I love walking with others because of how the time passes. Sometimes someone is telling me a story while we’re walking and I don’t even notice how many miles we’ve gone. But on the Via Alpina, there comes a point when the trail is so steep and you’ve been at it for so long that no one is talking anymore. You can’t spare the oxygen for talking, so you are just left alone in your own head.

This summer I began to share my counting system with some of the others who might have been similarly struggling to climb the Swiss Alps.

A few of the gals took this system of counting steps and made it their own, developing routines of how many steps to take, when to stop for a water break and when to stop for food.

It gave me great joy to see that the system that I have used with success since I was a teenager was also helpful to others. If you ever find yourself on the side of a mountain thinking that you just cannot go any further, I encourage you to give it a try.

PS. Here’s a little video Taido took of the steep ascent of switchbacks getting up to Bunderchrinde pass (2382 meters) on the day we hiked from Adelboden to Kandersteg on the Via Alpina. You can see Anna and I waaaay below, making our way slowly up the mountain. And I can promise you that I am counting steps.

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog a fabulous year of walking. During December, I’m inviting you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. Read more stories here.

The post Mini Walking Stories: Counting Steps Up A Mountain appeared first on Alison Chino.

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog what has been an AMAZING year of walking. Every day during December, I’m going to choose one photo and invite you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. Read more stories here.

Fear of the Highest Heights (on the Via Alpina)

The scenery is more than magnificent from the top of Sefinenfurgge Pass. At 2594 meters high (8510 feet), you can see for miles.

However, as I sat on the narrow bit of rock that makes up the shoulder of this gorgeous Alpine pass, I was not focused on how beautiful it was.

I snapped a few photos. I celebrated with everyone else that we had made it through the hardest climb of our day. I gulped down some water and ate a snack. I might have even laughed.

But everything I was doing outwardly was serving to (unsuccessfully) distract myself from my laser focus on one thing:

My fear of going down.

I have a long-standing fear of heights. I dug my heels in deep when my dad tried to get me to do a ropes course at summer camp, and then again when peer pressure was strong to jump off a high dive at the pool.

But over the years, I have managed to overcome a lot of the ways my fear of heights could have stopped me from enjoying some of my favorite views. I can climb to the tops of hills and mountains, but when I am near a drop, I sometimes feel like I lose control of my legs. I begin to shake, and if I am already quite tired from hiking, the shaking feels an awful lot like almost falling.

And so I freeze.

The day before, we had come down from a steep pass that I had not been expecting. Navigating an endless number of ladder-like stairs was the only way to get down off the mountain, and on the sides of the ladders, there were sheer rock-faced drops. I could not look down, so I ended up turning around and going down backwards so that I could look up instead. My friend Jermaine, who has known me for more than twenty years, happened to be behind me. And my sister-in-law was right behind her. They took my poles, so I could use my hands and feet to crawl backwards down the mountain. Even after I got off the ladders, we found ourselves on a lot of trails that seemed precariously near the edge of a ravine, so I was a little more wobbly than usual for a good part of the day.

I had been a bit caught off guard by how much the descent had freaked me out, so at our hostel that night, I researched (probably unwisely) how many more of these ladder-lined passes we would be crossing on the Via Alpina. From my bunk in the Alpine hut, I discovered that we had a very similar ascent and descent the very next day.

The great thing about how exhausting it is to hike straight up into the Swiss Alps is that I had to use energy just to step one foot forward in front of the other that I might have otherwise spent in dreading this descent from Sefinenfurgge Pass. But the closer I got to the pass, the more I remembered how I had frozen at the top of the steps the day before.

I might not have stopped on the pass, but I was shaking too much when I reached the top not to sit down for at least a moment. Every second I sat at the top served to enlarge my dread of going back down the other side. The series of steps and ladders that made up the descent were right in my line of sight, and I knew that I wanted to get them behind me sooner than later.

So as soon as I felt that I had caught my breath, I started to make my way down. This time I put my poles away ahead of time and didn’t even try to start out facing forward. I turned around right at the top and began to crawl backwards again. Looking up, I noticed that my precious friend Jermaine had come along right behind me. Conscious of my fear from the previous day, she was ready with her calming presence.

You can see Jermaine in the above photo standing there behind me. You can’t see me in front of her going down backwards, and you can’t see her face, watching me and encouraging me: You have two more steps before the end of this set and then to your left, a new set begins. We have about ten of these left. There is a bend to your right in the next step. The rope you are holding ends in about two feet. You’re doing great. The next rope is right behind you to your right. You can hang on to it for the next four steps. You’re almost there.

Like this, she talked me all the way down.

Truth be told, this descent was not as bad as the one from the previous day.

But it didn’t matter in my head. Once I knew I would be going up and down ladders again, I became very afraid.

And also I was exhausted. We had climbed over 3500 feet to get to Sefinenfurgge Pass, and we would descend that same number again before we stopped that day.

During our time on the Via Alpina, Taido and I noticed that the grueling climbs and descents of each day meant that folks had less resources to hold themselves together to face other things, like hunger or thirst, or relationship dynamics, or a little fear of heights. When you push folks to their edge, you perhaps shouldn’t be surprised at what comes out.

But in the end, my moments on, what are for me, the highest of heights turned out to be a confirmation that I am going to be ok, and that I walk the scary ridges and descents the same way I have walked so many paths before me, one step at a time, and with a little help from my friends.

The post Mini Walking Stories: Fear of the Highest Heights appeared first on Alison Chino.

Mini Walking Stories is a project I’m doing this month to catalog what has been an AMAZING year of walking. Every day during December, I’m going to choose one photo and invite you to come along with me for a few minutes on one of the walks I took in 2022. Read more stories here.

A Sliver of Shade in Redondela on The Portuguese Way

80 degrees (F) is not that hot if you are sitting still in the shade.

It’s actually the perfect temperature for dining outside under an umbrella, especially by a river or a lake with a soft breeze blowing.

But 80 degrees on a walk in the sun, with very little shade, is a different matter altogether.

When you are stepping one foot in front of the other, again and again for more than 10 miles, and maybe you didn’t sleep very well because you still have jet lag or because your room feels too hot compared to your climate controlled, air-conditioned bedroom back at home, well then, 80 degrees feels like a heat wave.

And all of a sudden, you might feel compelled to tell me, the person whom you followed to a strange, new country (Spain) to do a strange, new thing (walk day after day after day) that you’re regretting very much having said YES when I invited you on this adventure.

You might feel inclined to tell me in great detail how you are feeling at the moment about this decision to be here, but you can’t really bear to waste the energy it would take to talk to me right now, so you’re relieved when someone else asks…ALISON, HOW MUCH FURTHER???

YES, you think to yourself, How much longer must I carry on before I can collapse?

You hear me say: It’s not far at all! Honestly, we are practically there. Here we are at the outskirts of Redondela. And LOOK, over there is a place selling ice cream! Let’s stop for an ice cream. My treat!

You follow me across the street to a tiny convenience store. When you crowd in with everyone else, you expect to feel the cool relief of blasts of air conditioning when you walk inside, but alas, it seems like it might actually be hotter inside the small shop than it is outside. You have to go back outside for relief, but first you choose an ice cream off the picture board. Only it seems that only some of the ice creams pictured are actually stocked by this small shop, so you have to settle for a drumstick over your first choice of a fudge bar and your second choice of a cookies and cream bar.

But it doesn’t matter. You don’t even care about the ice cream. You have to leave the stuffy air of this shop right now or you’re going to be sick. So you step back outside into the hot sun.

I finally emerge from the shop with my arms full of random ice creams and a few cold bottles of water. Then you follow me down the street to a teeny tiny corner of the sidewalk that the sun has not found with its relentless rays.

And for one moment, you feel some relief.

You eat the ice cream, even as it is melting and becoming ice milk, sticky and dripping onto your wrists, mingling with the sweat on your arms. You drink the water. You wipe your face with a bandana.

Ten minutes ago you thought you were not going to make it one step further, but right now, you are okay.

You don’t know that I am about to lead you into town, only to discover that in order to reach our lodging for the night, you will have to walk up a rather steep hill. And then after you march up that hill, you will have to climb four flights of stairs to your room. And then after you get up all of those stairs, you will find that your room is almost as stuffy as the ice cream shop and of course, there is no air conditioning. You don’t know what’s ahead of you, and that’s for the best.

Right now you have a tiny bit of shade and a very modest boost of energy thanks to cold water and a sugary treat.

Ten minutes ago, you were ready to sit down and cry but now here you are smiling and laughing.

The post Mini Walking Stories: A Sliver of Shade appeared first on Alison Chino.

So for our family vacation this summer, in addition to spending some time in the Shenandoah, we went camping for a long weekend in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Porcupine Mountain State Park.

Our connection to Porcupine Mountain began the summer Simon was born.

Taido loaded up the three big kids + one cousin and took them all camping there. He drove our mini van (pulling a flat bed trailer full of gear) all the way up to the north of the north of the north.

To Lake Superior.

It was 2006.

The barefoot child in the above photo just graduated from college.

15 years ago, these four ran and played and swam and threw rocks…

And experienced the joy of being in this beautiful place.

While I was at home nursing a baby, they climbed through forests and made trails over their own little mountains.

They even enjoyed a little (probably enforced) camp chill time.

They walked the long staircase every day to stand in the freezing cold lake, and to watch the sunset.

And then they drove back home and told me all about it.

But I forgot about this place I had never been to.

Until 15 years later, Taido suggested we go there again. He said it would be cooler in the summertime, and that the drive would be shorter since we don’t live in Arkansas.

So a plan was made.

A long weekend in July was marked off on the calendar.

And off we went.

Again there were four kiddos. Much bigger this time.

And a different set of kids, save Ben.

We drove to the north of the north of the north and escaped the hot summer sun.

We walked the same long stairway down to Lake Superior.

We hiked the same trails.

And found ourselves in the middle of quiet woods.

And alongside waterfalls.

The kids crawled over rocks.

They sat by the river and watched the water flow by.

Now that the kids are older, sometimes we left them back at camp and went on morning hikes while they were still asleep in their sleeping bags.

We walked along the river in the cool shadows before the sun was high.

And we pondered how it is possible that piles of rocks can be so gorgeous.

When the kids were awake we drove as far north as we could go.

And everyone at least touched the ocean-like lake, and some brave folks got all the way in.

And then more hiking!

Porcupine Mountain State Park has miles and miles of beautiful trails.

This trail above The Lake of the Clouds might have been our favorite.

But it’s hard to choose! We also loved the river hike along the waterfalls.

And we enjoyed not having to watch little guys so closely.

I remember when Taido came home in 2006 and he showed me pictures of the giant staircase down to the lake, I thought that if I had been there, I might have been a little nervous about the kids camping up so high. Of course, this time I didn’t even think about the kids running down to the lake on their own.

Though I was still tempted once or twice to tell Ben to be careful.

And after hiking and swimming, we had a little camp chill time.

Napping + Outside = Dreamy Summertime.

This time, no one had to be forced to nap.

We had no cell service at our campground. Such a rare gift in 2021, y’all.

My niece Emily let all the cousins use her drawing materials.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw these boys drawing.

And just like in 2006, we went down to the lake every night to watch the sun drop below the horizon.

The colors were different each night.

It’s amazing how the sunset happens every day but is never the same.

And of course, the kids still got their shoes wet.

And they still spent hours skipping rocks.

Our sweet camping trip reminded me again and again that you’re never too old to play in the sun.

I found this passage about teaching kids to love the outdoors in a Mary Oliver book of essays recently that I just love:

Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin flowers. And the frisky ones — inkberry, lamb’s-quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones — rosemary, oregano. Give them peppermint to put in their pockets as they go to school. Give them the fields and the woods and the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit. Stand them in the stream, head them upstream, rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms.

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

(from Upstream)

My little kiddos grew up so fast (just like everyone told me that they would.)

This camping trip was a blessed pause, a moment to see that yes, I think we did give them the field and the woods.

I hope we showed them the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit.

And I will always rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms.

A few details for if you go to Porcupine Mountain:

There are two campgrounds in Porcupine Mountain State Park: Presque Isle and Union Bay. Both of our camping trips were at Presque Isle (no electrical hook-ups + pit toilets), but we drove one day to Union Bay, and it is lovely as well. Reservations are accepted (and recommended) at both campgrounds. There are also several great-looking backcountry sites, which we have our eye on for a return trip. The closest town to Presque Isle is Wakefield, which was a good 30 minutes away, so stock up on ice and firewood when you drive through there on your way.

The post Porcupine Mountain State Park in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula appeared first on Alison Chino.

The numbers of those who are sick continue to grow.

As do the number of protestors.

Some days all I can see is that the sick are forgotten and the protestors are gassed.

It seems insignificant to say this amidst so much turmoil, but I cancelled another trip this week.

And I finished packing up our house for another move.

These short sentences do not even scratch the surface of the sadness of this summer.

But they also do not reflect the hope.

Or the light.

When the darkness in the world feels newly oppressive, and it reaches further than I previously realized,

I take a deep breath, I lament.

And then I let my eyes light onto joy.

I have found myself wondering what we will remember when we look back on the summer of 2020.

So for my own heart, I want to make a small record of the things I don’t want to forget.

The light, the hope and the joy.

Here’s what I have so far:

Picture book puffy clouds in a bright blue sky.

Riding with the windows down to Arkansas and back again >>> Sun-burned arm and wind-blown hair.

Sunrises while driving. The one that was pink and sprawling, covering every direction I looked. And the one was gray and yellow and blue, breaking through a hazy fog that covered the road for the better part of an early morning drive.

Fields and highway shoulders full of yellow flowers.

Seeing the (long overdue) removal of a Confederate monument in Little Rock

Protesting on Juneteenth with my brother in my hometown

Seeing the George Floyd Memorial in Little Rock

Getting a weekend of hiking in with Taido while Simon was away.

Giant ferns covering the trails.

Hiking up to sweeping views of the Mississippi River.

And back down through every possible shade of green.

Eating many, MANY rice bowls with hummus, vegetables and beet kraut or kimchi. Our most regular + simple quarantine meal.

Returning to the Oh-Be-Joyful Recreation Area in Colorado.

Being flooded with memories and making new ones.

Hiking in Aspen groves with dear friends.

Spotting Columbines (the Colorado State flower) in the woods, usually hiding, but always a delight to find.

Visiting a longtime favorite bookstore.

Camp 4 Coffee.

Teocali Burritos.

Playing games around the campfire.

Climbing to the top of Mt. Crested Butte and then riding the lift down.

Celebrating with pizza or burritos and drinks after long days of hiking.

Soaking sore feet in the cold river water.

How much better food tastes when you’ve been outside all day.

Remembering that I love to sleep outside, with rushing water nearby.

The star-filled night sky.

Watching Simon climb mountains all day and read by the fire at night.

Taido waking us up in the dark to climb.

Hot coffee in a familiar blue enamel cup.

Watching the moon and the sunrise while driving to a trailhead.

Long last day of climbing.

The slow, methodic meditation of one step after the other.

Counting out 100 steps. Then 75. Then 50.

Remembering to just breathe.

Slowly reaching the shoulder.

And then getting to the top of Mt. Shavano.

Being above 14,000 feet, on top of the world.

Feeling shaky and scared looking down.

Remembering other climbs in younger days (on younger knees).

Packing up camp and heading home with sore legs, tired feet and new Colorado memories.

Listening to Simon talk about climbing mountains while driving long stretches of highway.

Receiving the beautiful book Braiding Sweetgrass in the mail from a friend and fellow hiker/nature lover, and soaking it up as a perfect follow up to my weeks in the woods.

So. Many. Gifts.

This week, I started walking together with a group of ladies through the body practices from My Grandmother’s Hands via Zoom.

Next week we move to a new duplex across town, and then the next week Simon returns to online schooling.

So even though the heat is hanging on, I will release summer for now, and look ahead to what comes next.

Whatever comes, I will not forget that each day (and each season) holds a kind of secret gift, but kind of like a Colorado Columbine, it seems I have to be looking for them.

The post Summer (Oh Be) Joyful appeared first on Alison Chino.

A little over a year ago, we packed up all our worldly possessions (again) and headed off to Switzerland before moving back to America. We said goodbye to our friends and rolled our suitcases down the street to the bus stop on an early morning in Tübingen.

And then we rode buses and trains to Engelberg, Switzerland, a familiar place we all love dearly.

It was pouring down rain when we arrived, and so we made our way up the hill to our friend’s house, where we took off wet clothes and breathed big sighs of relief.

Ben and Simon had just finished an entire year of German school. We would be headed back to the US in a couple of weeks to try and pick up where we left off in the summer of 2013, but for now, we would rest.

Everything else was far, far way except for this one thing:

Tomorrow there would be mountains to climb.

The next day was all blue sky and beautiful views.

We got up and wandered a few of our favorite nearby trails.

We returned to the abbey to buy the cheese that is made there.

We hiked high above the town on the little switchback trails that run behind the Swiss chalets.

We watched clouds roll across the sky.

For a week we rambled around Engelberg.

We went on long hikes in the morning and shorter wanders in the afternoon.

We sat around the house in the sunshine nursing our sore feet in the pool.

We found new trails and hiked old familiar ones.

We missed those who had been with us the last time we were in Engelberg.

And we enjoyed being together.

Just the other day, Simon said to me, “I miss walking in the forest.”

“Yes!” I said, “I miss it too.”

In the last year, we haven’t spent nearly the amount of time in the forest as we did in Europe.

So I dug out these pictures to remember our epic hikes in Switzerland.

I remembered how I love trailing behind my boys while they are running down a mountain.

I can feel their glee as they bound down a trail.

And I remembered how I love tea and treats after a long hike.

At the end of our first week in Switzerland, we did a large group hike up Mt. Titlis.

They had stations set up all along the way where we could fill up our water bottles with hot soup or tea, because it was super cold.

It was by far our hardest hike of the week, pushing me for sure to my limits.

The weather played chicken with us all day, and I was frequently ready to give in to it.

But then the sky would clear in places and the most amazing views would appear.

Sometimes the views below were just over the edge of some pretty harrowing clifftops.

But it was gorgeous.

The other hikers snaked above and below us. It was amazing to me that so many folks had come out for such a hard hike.

It was by far the highest I have hiked in Switzerland.

As part of the hike, we got to ride the gondola back down the mountain, saving my knees from the descent.

For our second week in Switzerland, we had friends from Scotland join us.

It’s always fun to share a favorite place with friends. Our boys had especially looked forward to the arrival of the Fitches, a family with three boys!

We took them first to maybe our favorite valley in all of Switzerland.

We hiked to a small hut for drinks and cake.

We had gorgeous weather for most of our time, with full views of all the mountains.

The next day we hiked up to the alpine lake above Engelberg.

Then we came down another gorgeous valley, a hike we did with all four of our kids in 2014.

On another day we took a gondola up to a mountaintop restaurant.

Just above the restaurant is the perfect spot for family photos!

Then we hiked back down to Engelberg after lunch.

We did one cloudy day hike in the lower hills of Engelberg.

This trail led us to a lower part of the river that runs out of Engelberg.

And then there’s a trail along the river that leads back up the valley, over a suspension bridge and back into town.

Taido and three of the boys managed to squeeze in a via ferrata one day that looked particularly harrowing.

Proud fellas.

For our final few days in Switzerland, we took the train to a different part of the country.

Lauterbrunnen.

We stayed in a hostel for just a couple of nights, so we could get in an epic hike before heading home to the US.

We started early in the morning. The boys are all pointing to the sign telling us how long it will take us to reach our destination, Kleine Scheidegg.

Higher and higher above Lauterbrunnen we climbed.

After a while, we started to get views between the clouds of Jungfrau, Monch and Eiger.

No matter how high you hike in Switzerland, there are little villages and huts.

And we crossed several times over where the trains climb up.

We constantly marvel at Swiss engineering while we hike around the country.

The temperatures dropped as we got closer to the tops of these mountains.

Finally we could see our destination, as well as the helicopters bringing tourists in and out. After lunch, we hiked down a different (and longer) way to another town (Grindelwald) before taking the train back to Lauterbrunnen. All in all we hiked well over 20 miles on our last day in Switzerland.

The next day we took the train to the airport and headed back to America with sore legs and loads of memories!

Goodbye Switzerland. And goodbye Europe!

The post Return to Switzerland appeared first on Alison Chino.

Last summer, we knew our time in Germany was winding down, at least for a while, so we spent our Saturdays finding new trails even though we were perfectly happy to walk the same gorgeous trails around Tübingen over and over again.

The boys had gone camping in the Black Forest in the spring, which is a couple of hours away from Tübingen. They loved it so much that we decided to go back for a long day hike.

Taido found a hike to a small lake (Glaswaldsee) along the western way (Westweg) of the Black Forest, so we packed a picnic lunch which we planned to eat in the sunshine by the lake.

Black Forest Wandering

These are perhaps the moments with my family I love the very most.

I have been on more of these walks than I could possibly count or remember, but I know that each one is a treasure.

Every time we head for the hills or follow a new trail through the trees, my heart fills up in a familiar way.

Even if my legs are tired or I’m weary from the week behind me, I know as soon as my feet start taking steps that any stress is going to fall right off of me onto the path.

Following my family to new lookouts never gets old.

Perched high above the the Black Forest, the world and all its problems (and my problems as well) grow small.

Down below we can see the lake were had just picnicked. Was that ten minutes ago or an hour? Who can tell because of the way time has slowed down…

There is only this hill to climb.

There is only the view before me.

There are only these pink flowers to smile at.

Walking is the very best way I know to be in the present moment.

To accept what is.

To come alive again.

I love the walk and I love the way I feel when I collapse into a chair after the walk.

Tired, but rested.

Truly content.

The post A Walk in the Black Forest appeared first on Alison Chino.

We’ll have to get up early.

We’ll need to leave by 6am, but I’m pretty sure we can do it all in one day. 

It will take us over three hours to drive there, somewhere between 5 and 7 hours to climb it, and then three hours to drive back home. Plus I think we should stop somewhere for dinner. 

Taido was talking about climbing Ben Nevis,

the tallest mountain in Scotland (and the UK) at 1344 meters (4414 ft).

We had wanted to climb it the whole time we lived in Scotland.

It had been on our list since moving there. We had even considered trying to climb it on our very first fall break but had opted to wait for better weather or for when we had more time.

We waited a long time for better weather and more time. I had pictured us spending a week in the area of Fort William, climbing munros, taking ferries and seeing many of the parts of Scotland we had “saved” until the end.  

But somehow, the time got away from us.

Three years slipped by so quickly.

So in our final weeks, with less than a month left in Scotland, Taido was still determined for us to tackle Ben Nevis.

It’s not even supposed to be difficult.

he said.

Just a lot of elevation gain. 

(Note to self: He always says things like this.)

So we gambled on the Scottish weather and ended up with quite possibly the most gorgeous day ever.

Less than a week after I flew to Scotland from Arkansas, I found myself climbing up, up, up.

High into the blue, blue sky.

I huffed and puffed and did major penance for the weeks of drinking margaritas and lying by the pool back home.

But I made it.

Along with everyone else.

Our friend, Amy, came along to share in the fun with us, and she was super gracious about waiting for me to bring up the rear.

We spent a little while on top before heading back down with the throngs of other folks climbing Ben Nevis on that gorgeous August day.

These cairns and the mountains beyond them where my final view before heading back down.

And the going down, well, it was harder than going up. It actually went on forever and ever.

At least that’s what my knees would tell you.

The kids would get way ahead because they can run and do not have creaky knees.

Also, I don’t think they stop to take it the views.

The gorgeous-ness of Scotland on a sunny day.

I knew on this day that our departure was looming so I was trying to hold each frame a little longer.

All those shades of green and blue.

And heather all in bloom.

But my legs were aching something fierce coming down these rocky trails.

I was so happy to reach this little loch and the end of the trail. We celebrated big with a stop at a pub for classic Scottish fare. Burgers and fish and chips and beers were all ordered up and promptly devoured.

By 10:30pm we were home and in bed.

Taido was right.

You can do it all in one day from Aberdeen, but man it was a doozy of a day.

I still hope we get more time one day in that part of Scotland, but I don’t imagine we will ever have more sunshine and blue sky than we did on our epic Ben Nevis day together.

So glad we did it!

And it wasn’t the last mountain we climbed in Scotland. We managed to fit one more munro in: Mt. Keen! Stay tuned for that one next time!

PS. Here’s the map info, directions and trail notes for climbing Ben Nevis!

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The post Climbing Ben Nevis in Scotland appeared first on Alison Chino.

We felt the freedom to stop for anything along the trail that we felt was beautiful. After years of walking trails with the men in my life, being able to stop whenever I feel like it is a luxury and I was thankful that my walking partners were patient with my stops.

What follows is a collection of some of those pauses, mostly for flowers, windows and doors. I have fallen in love with the Spanish countryside and in my limited experience, I cannot imagine that there is a more gorgeous month to walk in Galicia than June!

Our journey along The Camino de Santiago was made possible by Macs Adventure, who found us the most wonderful places to sleep and made our giant suitcases magically appear in our rooms each night. 

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The post Snapshots of The Way: Stunning and Sublime appeared first on Alison Chino.

Our second week of walking new trails in Scotland was on the Kintyre Peninsula in Scotland.

My sister and her husband, Robert, and their three kiddos were in town in July for two weeks. The first week we spent in and around Aberdeen, and then we rented a second car and headed west.

We stayed way down at the very bottom of Kintyre in Machrihanish, right across from a golf course and the beach on the west coast.

The sunsets looking towards the Isle of Islay and Isle of Jura were the highlight of every day.

Often these golden hours were the least rain-drenched part of the day, so we looked forward to heading out to the beach for as long as we could stand the cool air in order to watch every last drop of color drip from the sky.

Our days were filled with walking and with warming up from walking.

We took walks on the beach, around the Mull of Kintyre and Campbeltown.

Then we would head for the nearest pub for something warm or hunker down with hot water bottles and blankets in our gorgeous, but drafty holiday rental.

The kids played poker, read books and watched movies while my sister, Anna and I sipped tea and read our novels on the couches overlooking the sea.

Taido and Robert went for walks with us too, but then they took a few days to head off to the island of whisky (Islay) on their own. Before traveling west, they also managed to catch a day at the British Open in St Andrews.

On the days they weren’t at the Open or doing a special warehouse whisky tasting, they were enjoying those same two worlds (golf + whisky) from the inside of a dark, cozy pub down the street from our house. So basically, they were in man heaven.

During our week in Machrihanish, we tried to get the kids outside no matter how icky the weather was.

This blurry photo is a hysterical interchange in which Taido is negotiating with the kids and saying he will take them all to a pub for lunch if they will go for a walk in the mist.

This is the kids regretting listening to him.

So the next day, when Anna and I went for a walk on the farthest south end of Kintyre, no one would come.

And it turned out to be so pretty.

Of course a few hours later it was raining again.

One afternoon we talked the big kids into going on a boat tour by themselves while we took the little guys for horse rides.

They came back with blue lips and frozen fingers, but they got to see puffins and seals and had all kinds of fun.

And oh my goodness, Simon and his cousin, Phineas loved this horse ride more than life.

Well, at least Simon did. He told his guide that he would like to become a horse rider please.

Phineas told someone on his return to Chicago that his favorite part of Scotland was the pubs. Love.

Our last day on the West Coast we walked a causeway just outside of Campbeltown to Dunvaar Island, a spot that is only an island twice a day, when the tides roll in. So you have to check the tide times to make sure you can get back.

Everyone made it out on this day and it was our grand farewell to Kintyre and to Scotland for our cousins.

The next day we drove back to Aberdeen, and we managed to turn the five hour journey into an all day affair with a flat tire (tyre), a tow truck and some car sick kiddos. Yikes.

And the next morning we said a sad goodbye as we put my sister and her family on a plane back to Chicago.

I ugly cried all the way home from the airport and for most of the weekend.

I miss Anna like crazy and the kids are all long faces without their cousins.

But I’m holding tight to these memories of sunsets and sweet sister moments.

Who would have dreamed I would get to walk so much Scottish soil with so many of my dear family and friends?

Oh, summer in Scotland. Despite having to turn on my heat and wear a constant raincoat, you have been lovely.

The post Chasing Daylight in July: Part 2 (The West Coast) appeared first on Alison Chino.