That Rain, That Mountain

A Weekend Alone

I woke up on Saturday morning, glanced at my phone, and saw it was 8:30.

It was raining outside—not the kind of heavy downpour that comes in sheets, but a fine, dense drizzle that seems to go on forever once it starts. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what to do today.

Work overtime? No. Play games? Boring. Scroll short videos? An hour later, I felt even emptier.

In the end, I made a decision that probably wasn’t very sensible: go climb a mountain.

Why a Rainy Day

To be honest, hiking in the rain is not a good idea.

The trails are slippery, visibility is poor, it’s easy to get hypothermia, and your phone might have no signal. Any outdoor blogger will tell you not to go into the mountains on a rainy day.

But I just wanted to get out.

Maybe it was because I’d worked overtime for three weeks straight, maybe it was because I’d had a fight with a client yesterday, or maybe it was simply because staying at home felt too stifling. Anyway, I put on my hardshell jacket, picked up my backpack, and left.

Rain in the Mountains

I drove to the foot of the mountain. The rain was still falling.

Mine was the only car in the parking lot. I checked the weather forecast: it would stop at 3 p.m. It was 10 a.m. now, so there were still five hours to go. I had brought enough water and food, my hardshell jacket was waterproof, and my backpack had a rain cover. It should be fine.

After I entered the mountains, the sound of the rain changed. On the leaves it was a rustling sound, on the rocks a tapping sound, and on the hood of my hardshell jacket a thumping sound. Mixed together, these sounds actually made things feel quiet.

It was real quiet. Not the quiet of an office, where there’s the hum of air conditioning, the clatter of keyboards, and colleagues talking softly on the phone. The quiet here was truly nothing—only the sound of rain and your own breathing.

The Stream

A stream on a rainy day looks better than usual.

The water volume was larger, it flowed faster, and the sound of it hitting the rocks was louder. I walked upstream along the stream, watching the murky water surge out of the mountains, carrying leaves and branches.

In one place the stream had overflowed onto the path, and I had to step on stones to get across. The stones were covered in moss and were incredibly slippery. I stepped on them carefully, but my foot still slipped, and I almost fell into the water. In the end I caught myself with my trekking pole, but half my pant leg got wet.

Standing by the stream, watching the water rush past my feet, I suddenly found it a little funny. I’m a programmer, and on the weekend I don’t play games or sleep in—I go into the mountains to get rained on. What for?

But I just felt happy. A kind of happiness I couldn’t explain.

Fog

When I reached the halfway point, fog set in.

The fog was thick, with visibility of less than ten meters. I couldn’t see the trees on either side of the path clearly—only the ground beneath my feet and a few meters of mountain path ahead. The whole world turned grayish-white, as if something had swallowed it up.

I stopped, stood in the fog, and listened to the rain.

At that moment I suddenly had a strange feeling, as if I were the only person left in the world. It wasn’t loneliness—it was a very calm feeling. It was as if all my worries, all my stress, all those messy things had been swallowed by the fog.

I stood there, not knowing how long. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten. It wasn’t until a gust of wind blew over and made me shiver from the cold that I kept going.

The Summit

When I reached the summit, the fog was even thicker.

The forecast had said the rain would stop at 3 p.m., but by 2 p.m. it was still raining. I found a wind-sheltered spot, sat on a rock, and ate lunch. Compressed biscuits, ham sausage, and hot water from my thermos. It wasn’t tasty, but in that environment, everything tasted good.

There was no view from the summit—just fog. But I didn’t care. I had come out just to walk around, not to see any scenery.

After lunch, I decided to go down. Not because I was tired, but because I suddenly remembered there was still a feature going live tomorrow, and I needed to get back and check the code.

Going Down

On the way down, the rain let up.

By the time I reached the foot of the mountain, the rain had stopped, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. I turned and looked back at the mountain. The fog was dispersing, revealing the green slopes.

There were a few more cars in the parking lot—probably people who had come to hike in the afternoon. I changed into dry clothes and drove home.

On the way, I turned on my phone and saw more than 200 WeChat messages. The work group was discussing tomorrow’s feature, and someone on Moments was posting about weekend afternoon tea. I turned off my phone and kept driving.

Final Thoughts

That night, I slept especially well.

Not because I was tired, but because my mind was clean. Those annoying things were still there—work still had to be done, clients still had to be dealt with. But somehow they didn’t seem as annoying anymore.

Maybe that’s the meaning of hiking. It’s not about conquering some mountain, and it’s not about posting on Moments. It’s about finding a place where you can let your mind be quiet for a while.

A mountain on a rainy day has no people, no scenery, but it has quiet.

Sometimes, quiet is enough.