Why Preparation Feels Divine

A guy, a trail, and way too much thought about zippers.

I’m heading back to the High Sierra Trail this July. 72 miles from Crescent Meadow in Sequoia National Park to the summit of Mount Whitney at 14,505 ft.

This time, it’s not the distance or the difficulty that stands out. It’s a hard hike, sure, but boy scouts do it. What’s stayed with me is the preparation. There’s something sacred in it.

Last year, unmoored by my Grandmother’s death, all I could manage was a last-minute trip to REI, grabbing whatever mass-produced, overpriced crap they sell to Instagram hikers. Against everything I know and believe in, I showed up in new trail shoes, hauled a rain jacket meant for winter, and mostly relied on my uncles’ surplus gear.

This time, the pilgrimage begins long before we set foot on the trail. There’s something oddly devotional about the early-2000s website where I tweak zipper colors on my fully custom hammock - handcrafted by Dutch, a mythical cottage fabricator from Lancaster, PA. A quiet satisfaction in testing sun shirts with different UPF ratings. A small ritual in following the two-month training plan ChatGPT built for High Sierra trail fitness. Joy in replacing the insoles of my new hiking boots. And a warmth in the group chat with my uncles, where Tom shares powdered cocktail recipes and clings to the sacred hope that we might, after all these years, catch a fish.

And in all of it, the gear, the plans, the small rituals, a reminder of something ancient: anything holy begins with preparation.