What I’ve learned from the hills

What I’ve Learned from the Hills

The hills do not shout.

They do not demand performance reviews. They do not send emails at nine in the evening. They do not care about titles or job descriptions.

They simply stand there. Quiet. Patient. Unimpressed.

And over time, if you walk them enough, sleep beneath them enough, sit still long enough, they start to teach you things.

1. Comfort Is Not the Same as Warmth

I learned this the hard way. You can lie on something soft and still be cold. You can own gear that feels impressive and still wake up at three in the morning shivering because the ground is stealing your heat.

The hills have taught me that details matter. R values matter. Down fill matters. Wind direction matters. Small oversights compound overnight.

But they have also taught me something bigger. Preparation is not pessimism. It is respect.

When your sleep system works properly, the night becomes restorative rather than something to endure. And that changes the entire experience of being out there.

2. Slow Is Strong

There was a time when I thought walking meant pace. Distance. Elevation gain. The hills disagreed.

Strength in the hills is consistency. It is steady breathing. It is one foot after the other without drama. It is knowing when to stop, take water, adjust a layer, or simply look around.

The dogs understand this instinctively. They do not rush a view. They do not measure a day by miles. They move, pause, sniff, watch. They are present in a way most humans forget to be.

Slow is not weakness. Slow is sustainable.

3. The Ground Does Not Care About Your Mood

You can arrive stressed. Frustrated. Overloaded.

The path remains the path. There is something grounding about that. The hills do not bend themselves around your feelings. They simply offer space. And in that space, things begin to settle.

I have arrived on many walks carrying far more than the rucksack. And more often than not, somewhere between the car park and the summit, something shifts. Perspective returns.

Problems shrink slightly when you are looking across a valley rather than at a screen.

4. Good Kit Is Not About Impressing Anyone

It took me a while to understand this properly.

Buying gear because it looks good online is very different from buying gear because you have lain awake cold and decided never again.

The right sleeping bag. The right mat. The right layering system. These are not luxuries. They are tools that allow you to enjoy the experience rather than fight it. When the basics are sorted, the mind is freer. You notice more. You worry less.

Trust in your kit builds confidence in yourself.

5. You Do Not Need to Conquer Anything

The language around mountains is often about conquering. Beating. Ticking off. But the hills have never felt like something to conquer.

They feel like somewhere to belong for a while.

You walk up. You look around. You sit. You eat a sandwich. You take a breath. Then you walk back down again. There is humility in that. And relief.

6. Being Alone Is Not the Same as Being Lonely

This has perhaps been the biggest lesson of all.

A tent pitched quietly at the edge of a field. A flask poured as the light fades. Two poodles curled up at the foot of a sleeping bag. Alone does not mean lacking. There is a difference between isolation and independence. The hills have helped me understand that.

7. You Can Change Direction

Paths fork. Weather turns. Plans adjust.

Sometimes you aim for a summit and settle for a ridge. Sometimes you turn back entirely. And sometimes that decision is the strongest one you make all day. The hills have taught me that changing course is not failure. It is judgement.

And that lesson stretches far beyond walking.

8. The Dogs Always Know

Buddy and Teddy do not analyse the route. They do not check the weather forecast three times. They do not worry about whether the pitch is perfectly level.

They step out of the car ready. They trust that wherever we are going will be worth it. They remind me that joy does not need to be complicated. A stream is not just a water source. It is an opportunity. A grassy summit is not just a viewpoint. It is somewhere to roll.

They do not care about distance covered. They care about moments experienced.

When I am overthinking, they are already living it.

They have taught me that enthusiasm is contagious. That routine can be broken. That adventure does not have to be grand to be meaningful.

And perhaps most importantly, they never measure a day by productivity. Only by whether we were together in it.

The hills have taught me many things. The dogs have made sure I actually listen.

1. What is something the hills have taught you that you did not expect to learn?
2. When you walk or camp, what helps you switch off from everyday life?
3. Who or what do you share your adventures with, and how does that change the experience

I would love to hear from you  please leave a comment or send an email