My full moon hike

For a large part of my life, I’ve enjoyed doing fun and/or adventurous activities on nights with the full moon: sailing, skiing, swimming in the sea back Europe, hiking, or long walks at the beach along the ocean in California. 

Since moving to Colorado I had only gone for a few full moon walks in the open space near where I lived — nice but nothing much, not really comparable to what I used to do. 

During the holidays this past December, spurred partly by the mild winter we’re getting and partly, to be honest, by my big crush on the gay climber, I decided to go on a night hike for the first full moon of the New Year and I suggested it to the gay climber who had never done anything like that & accepted the invitation enthusiastically. 

So on Saturday, 3rd January, we went for an 8-mile hike on a trail I had recently discovered and which had quickly become one of my favorites. It was lovely. We hiked for nearly three hours on a clear, mild night, with no need for headlamps, the moonlight so full and bright. It felt good, even magical to me. But after the gay climber’s painful rejection of me as anything more than a platonic friend last Thursday, I needed to reclaim the full moon hike for myself. 

I did so last night, taking advantage of another mild, and relatively clear, evening. I only did half of the hike since I had run over 10km yesterday afternoon, but it was still lovely. And it was all mine: my trail, my moonlight, my night, my experience. My own passion, my habit for full-moon activities, yet another of my own rituals being reclaimed by me again. 

For the first two-thirds of the hike, the full moon was covered by a relatively thin layer of clouds so I had to use my headlamp for the first half-mile or so, in order to make sure I didn’t go off trail at the beginning. But then, I switched off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust to the relative darkness, to the delicate, almost ghostly light. It was a mild night, more than I had expected it to be, so I had to stop and remove a layer. As I hiked along the ridge, I could feel my heart thumping and realized I was walking really fast. “Slow down, no need to rush”, I told myself. And then, once my eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness and my emotions had settled into being out in nature alone at night, I started taking in my surroundings, noticing everything: every little rock on the path, the boulders on the hillside, the stars in the part of sky that wasn’t covered by clouds, the sound of distant traffic, the lights of the planes coming in further southeast. Being alone made everything sharper, everything more clear and detailed than when I had hiked with the gay climber. Because it was just me: just me and the trail, just me and the full moon, just me on this night reclaiming one of my favorite places, one of my favorite activities, another important part of my identity. 

And then, for the last mile or so, the moon finally came out of the clouds and everything was bathed in such bright light that it felt like day. I could see my shadow stark against the path, outlined against the hillside, and everything as clear as if a spotlight had been shining. And maybe, for me, it was shining. A spotlight back on my life, on what is mine and belongs to me deep down inside and is independent of any crush. 

I cannot have the relationship I was hoping for with the gay climber but I can have my places, my rituals, my full moon activities. I can give space to, hold onto, and enjoy all the important parts of my identity, including my full-moon adventures, even if I’m by myself. And I know that by reclaiming one of my places, one of my rituals, one of the activities that define my multifaceted identity last night I started my journey of healing from the pain of this most recent rejection.