Rain, Ridges, and Reflections - Lessons from the Aberdare Traverse

 

It’s been a minute since I did a traverse hike.

And I must have been out of my mind to think I was back in shape for one. Say what? The weather in the Aberdares is always something else, wild, moody, humbling. This year, hiking has been what I’d call polite, not easy, but kind. The mountains have given grace.

But last week, I prayed for rain.

I missed the chaos, the kind that tests not just your boots, but your spirit. The Aberdare trails answered generously.

The ascent up Table Mountain was brutal. The kind that leaves you talking to yourself, bargaining with your breath. My rain pants stayed forgotten somewhere at home, so the rest of me had to make peace with the soaking. But the boots held firm, my Salomons biting the mud like loyal soldiers. By the summit, the wind came from the belly of the clouds, the cold biting deep. We stayed barely ten minutes,  there was no view to steal your breath, only mist, wind, and the silent kind of triumph that doesn’t need an audience.

The walk to Seven Ponds was a reward, gentle flats, spring water washing away the mud and fatigue, long grass brushing against my gaiters like a kind hand. Every step forward whispered one truth: one foot in front of the other, and you keep moving.

And yet, descending was the real sermon.

Sliding, falling, laughing , sometimes crying inside. My knees questioned my life choices. But when we finally reached the gates after seven hours, soaked and humbled, heaven answered my whispered prayer. Rain poured again, washing off every trace of mud and exhaustion.

There, in that moment, I remembered Viktor Frankl’s words, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

That’s what the mountain does: it changes you. It reminds you that control is overrated, and surrender can be sacred.

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Reflections from the Trail

This has been a quiet season, reading old books, sitting with silence, learning to find meaning again. I’ve been revisiting The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, a book that feels reborn each time you open it. Every poem hits differently now, maybe because I’ve changed.

Gibran writes, “Work is love made visible.”

Maybe hiking is that too,  love for life, made visible through movement, through mud, through sore knees and satisfied hearts.

And then there’s Carl Jung, whispering from somewhere between philosophy and faith: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

On the trail, your mind quiets enough to hear those unconscious voices, the ones that remind you who you are beneath the noise. The mountain becomes a mirror.

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A Chance Encounter

The week after the traverse, I found myself on the road again, scouting for accommodation near Mount Kilimambogo. That’s where I met someone I hadn’t seen since 2021, a waiter I once trained on my line of duty in the alcohol industry. His warmth for service and the genuine way he made people feel at home hadn’t changed a bit.

We caught up, talked about life, culture, and transitions,  the kind of simple yet meaningful conversation that reminds you why human connection matters.

A quiet walk followed, and along the path, I met a one-toothed man with stories about marriage, work, and greetings. His wisdom came clothed in humor, but it was pure philosophy, the kind Socrates would have admired. Sometimes the universe sends teachers in muddy boots and missing teeth.

That encounter reminded me of Nietzsche’s idea of the “Übermensch”,  the person who finds meaning and joy in ordinary life, who creates purpose from within rather than waiting for it to appear.

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The Path That Finds You

As Gibran says, “You have not found your path. The path has found you.”

I think that’s true. We chase meaning, but sometimes it’s the mountain,  or the storm, or the stranger on the trail,  that finds us.

Last week’s rain wasn’t just weather; it was a teacher. It washed off not just mud, but hurry, ego, and distraction. It whispered that growth isn’t always in the sunshine,  sometimes it’s in the storm that refuses to let you stay comfortable.

Days later, my body ached, but my soul felt lighter. I’m learning that meaning doesn’t always come in grand gestures; sometimes it hides in wet socks, kind strangers, and cold wind that forces you to feel alive.

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Closing Thought

The Aberdares, Gibran, Jung, and Frankl,  each in their own way,  teach the same truth:

Life’s path isn’t about control. It’s about presence.

It’s about walking through discomfort, surrendering to the weather, and finding joy in the simple miracle of movement.

Maybe that’s the whole point of Bold Tracks & Bag Packs, that every muddy step and every deep conversation is really just an invitation to know yourself better.

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Written by Mercy Gitari

Hiker, thinker, and believer in rain’s quiet lessons.

Bold Tracks & Bag Packs ,where the trail meets the soul.