Admitting Failure

I’m writing this today to record a failed hike.

Not one of those stories where “it was exhausting, but I made it in the end”—I really didn’t finish. I turned back halfway. I used to think that kind of thing was embarrassing and didn’t want to talk about it. But later I realized failure is part of the experience too. It’s not shameful.

Setting Out

This happened last December.

I wanted to hike a local point-to-point route. It wasn’t long—about 15 kilometers, doable in one day. I checked the weather forecast: sunny, around 5 degrees. I figured there was no problem, so I packed my bag and set off.

My condition that day wasn’t actually great. I’d had insomnia the night before and only slept four hours. I had a bit of a headache when I got up, but I thought walking would make it better.

That was my first mistake: pushing through even though I didn’t feel well.

Changes in the Mountains

When I entered the mountains, the weather was still decent. The sunlight felt warm on my body.

But after walking 2 kilometers, the sky began to cloud over. I knew mountain weather changes quickly, but I didn’t expect it to change that quickly. At 10 o’clock the wind started picking up; by 11 it began to sleet.

I was wearing a hardshell jacket and fleece pants. They were waterproof, yes, but not warm. Once the wind blew, I was shivering with cold. I picked up my pace, hoping to hurry to the pavilion at the summit and take shelter for a while.

That was my second mistake: I didn’t adjust my plan in time when the weather changed.

Slipping

Halfway there, the trail started to get slippery.

Sleet fell on the rocks and formed a thin layer of ice. I was wearing ordinary hiking shoes, and the tread on the soles had already worn smooth. I took every step carefully, but I still slipped and fell.

It was the kind of fall where your feet slide out and you land on your backside. It wasn’t serious—just wet pants and a sore backside. I got up and kept walking, but I started to feel uneasy.

After another few hundred meters, I slipped again. This time I slid sideways, knocked my knee against a rock, and gasped in pain.

I crouched there, looked at the bruise on my knee, and seriously began to consider whether I should turn back.

The Decision to Retreat

To be honest, the decision to retreat wasn’t easy to make.

I had already walked 6 kilometers. Another 3 kilometers would take me to the summit, and then it would be downhill. If I turned back now, the day would be wasted. Besides, I had told my friends I was going to hike this route—going back empty-handed would be so embarrassing.

But then I thought about it again: if I kept going, there were still 6 kilometers of trail left, the weather was getting worse, my knee was already bruised, my shoes had no grip, and my phone signal kept coming and going. If something happened, even calling for rescue would be inconvenient.

In the end, I decided to retreat.

Face isn’t worth much; knees are.

The Way Down

The way down was even harder than the way up.

Going uphill, I could still control my center of gravity; going downhill, my legs were shaking and I couldn’t control them at all. I practically squatted and shuffled down step by step, planting my trekking poles on the ground until my hands went numb from gripping them.

By the time I reached the foot of the mountain, it was already dark. I got into the car, turned on the heater, changed into dry clothes, and then realized my hands were shaking.

Not from the cold—from lingering fear.

Lessons

After that, I set a few rules for myself:

  1. Don’t push through when you feel unwell. Insomnia, a cold, a headache—any kind of discomfort means don’t go into the mountains.

  2. Adjust promptly when the weather changes. If the wind picks up, add clothes; if it starts to rain, consider retreating. Don’t gamble on luck.

  3. Your shoes must have good grip. I later switched to shoes with Vibram outsoles and never slipped again.

  4. Your phone needs signal. Check the route before you go—where there’s signal and where there isn’t. If there’s no signal along the entire route, either don’t go or bring a satellite phone.

  5. Retreating isn’t shameful. The mountain is always there; you can come back next time. But if your knee is ruined, that’s really the end.

Later

Later I hiked that route again.

I went in spring. The weather was great, and flowers bloomed all over the mountains. I completed the whole route, stood at the summit, looked at the distant scenery, and thought about that retreat in winter.

I didn’t feel regret; instead, I felt a little lucky. If I hadn’t retreated that time, I might not have dared to come back.

Failure isn’t scary; what’s scary is not daring to try again because of one failure.

“The mountain will always be there, but you only have one body.”