I was terrified of the dark as a kid. I’m not talking about needing a cute Disney character-shaped nightlight emitting soft illumination in my bedroom. Nope—I required a bright lamp right next to my bedstand and lights blasting from the nearby bathroom, much to my father’s frustration. I recall him saying, “I told you to turn the damn lights OFF!” countless times.
Fast-forward three decades, and as a grown-ass 35-year-old woman who pays her own bills, I’m still getting scolded by my dad for leaving lights on when I come to visit.
I’m not entirely sure where this fear came from, but my colorful imagination might play a role. I recall seeing the Blair Witch Project back in 1999 as a kid, totally terrified but entranced. At night, I’d flesh out the screenplay to a sequel in my head, starring me. Plus, there’s a psychology angle: light gives me a sense of control. In darkness, that’s gone.
Today, I live alone (with, you guessed it, a sky-high electric bill!) and regularly embark on long hikes by myself—something made easy by having countless trails just minutes from my apartment in Phoenix, Arizona. The sun shines intensely (and for a long time) here, making it easy to navigate trails in brightness.
But to conquer truly challenging trails, something I’ve found myself pursuing in recent years, confining hikes to daytime isn’t always possible. Case in point: Mount Whitney in California, the tallest peak in the continental U.S, at 14,505 feet, with a massive 6,000-foot elevation gain and a 22-mile round-trip trek. To complete the hike in a single day, you have to start anywhere between midnight and 3 A.M.—something serious, outdoorsy folks probably wouldn’t balk at. But for me? That’s goddamn Blair-Witching hour.
Still, to conquer a mountain that spectacular was enticing. I’ve reached a point in my thirties where I’m tired of taking easy, paved roads—quite literally. I feel as though I’ve been in coasting mode since the pandemic in 2020 (conveniently, the year I turned 30)—almost as if I haven’t been able to emerge from a stagnant state. I drank more wine. Ate more crap food. Watched more TikToks. Stopped pushing myself to try new experiences.
I had driven 12 hours to get here and spent countless hours physically and mentally preparing for this moment. There was no turning back.
I dug myself into a comfort hole in my thirties. And I’m sick and tired of it: I want to truly challenge myself, both physically and mentally.
After scoring a single permit to hike Mount Whitney by chance (they’re hard to come by given that the U.S. Forest Service only hands out a limited number out each year, and they are scooped up super fast), so hiking solo was my only option.
I began to prep for both the excursion and how I’d overcome my major fear of darkness.
I Invested in Good Gear
As a total ‘fraidy-cat, I needed—rather, required—the most intense headlamp I could find. Luckily, that’s something my father, an avid hunter, had handy, and he allowed me to take his with me. That thing shone like the headlights of a suped-up F250 truck driven by a bro with rage issues.
Speaking of my dad: he was definitely supportive of my aspirations, but like all dads, he was worried about the fact that I was hiking solo. In fact, he suggested I carry a backup headlamp just in case the first one went out. My mom, who drove with me out to California from Arizona to act as moral support for my trek, didn’t share those same hesitations—she’s way less of a worry-wart than he is. (I did not inherit her chillness, as you might have guessed.)
The shoes and poles were also a biggie. The last thing I needed to worry about was a misstep from faulty, slippery soles or flimsy poles while I’m on the lookout for nearby ghostly figures. I decided to hike Mount Whitney in the same Salomon Genesis Trail-Runners and R.E.I. Co-op Hiking Poles I brought to hike the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim earlier in the year, both of which I found to be super sturdy, reliable, and comfortable.
I Played One of My Favorite Psychology Games
Leading up to my hike, my knack for disaster-movie storytelling went wild. A lot of hikers have reported seeing brown and black bears near the start of the trail, so naturally, I imagined somehow encountering one of their cubs and then getting mauled. I saw myself tumbling off a cliff due to going off-trail by accident in the dark.
For these scenarios, I asked, ‘What’s the absolute worst that could happen?’ If I saw a bear, I’d be startled, yes, but likely more so from the speed at which the big mammal would sprint away from me. Say my headlamp and my backup headlamp went out, and I was left to fend for myself in the pitch-black. I had my phone flashlight and a rechargeable battery at hand, but moreover, I could always wait to join another group of hikers on their way up. (Yes, I did spend a significant amount of time by myself on the hike in the dark, but I passed about five other groups before the sun came up.)
I Sought the Assurance of a Familiar Face
I may have completed the hike solo, but I started it with my mom, who dropped me off at 3 A.M. to start on September 27th, 2025. As she left me in total darkness at the trailhead, with only a few other people sifting around in their vehicles nearby, she said, “You’re amazing. You can do anything. I love you.” That assurance was like fuel for me.
The hike got off to a spooky start, though. Roughly 20 to 30 yards from the trailhead, I saw a headlamp in the distance. A man called out to me, “Is that the parking lot? Is this the end of the trail?” He sounded confused, and by the time I got up to him, I could see that he was disoriented and his knee was bleeding. He asked me if I had seen his friend, to which I replied that I had just arrived. I asked him if he needed help, and he declined. It was a really odd interaction.
Not going to lie, that rattled me. But goddamnit, I had driven 12 hours to get here, and spent countless hours physically and mentally preparing for this moment. There was no turning back.
I Put on Broadway-Worthy Performances
As I trudged forward on the trail, I began to realize that I was completely alone in the dark. I thought I was going to pass more hikers than I did. (Again, I only saw about five groups before the sun appeared, and that was roughly four miles into the hike.) I guessed that most of the cars in the parking lot started earlier than I did, or were campers.
The forest around me was simultaneously silent and abrasively loud. Rustling bushes would interrupt my heavy breathing every few minutes, sending my heart rate spiking. I’d twist my neck abruptly, and harshly, to whatever side the suspicious noise came from, only to see…nothing.
Conquering Mount Whitney was, in many ways, about facing my childhood fear of the dark. But the trek was truly about being willing to test my limits as a thirtysomething who is tired of taking easy, comfortable roads in life.
In part to warn nearby animals of my presence, and in part to quell my fears, I began to hum and eventually sing. The first line that popped into my head? Wicked’s infamous: ‘LOATHING… unadulterated LOATHING!’ I figured that any world where the main character (a.k.a. me) is singing a plucky Broadway duet is a world in which that character wouldn’t get possessed.
Next up? Les Mis, and then Hamilton. Here’s to hoping those forest demons are casting directors.
I Continuously Reminded Myself of My ‘Why’
Between the disoriented guy at the start of the trailhead and the lack of human presence early on, there was a lot making my stomach churn while climbing Mount Whitney. What’s more, by the time light started to slowly creep up the cliffside, I still had at least five miles left to go. My heart rate barely had time to settle from the total fear I was experiencing in the dark before it had to jump up to tackle the toughest part of the trail: “99 Switchbacks.”
After that point, however, it was smooth sailing to the top. The sun was shining. There were plenty of people up and down the trail, cheering one another on. I have to say, sunrises are pretty damn sweet after pushing through darkness for hours.
Conquering Mount Whitney was, in many ways, about facing my childhood fear of the dark. But the trek was truly about being willing to test my limits as a thirtysomething who is tired of taking easy, comfortable roads in life. It was one of the most challenging physical and emotional feats I’ve experienced.
That night, following my big adventure in the dark wood, I slept like a baby in my Airbnb bed—bathroom light blasting.
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The post I Hiked Mount Whitney to Overcome My Biggest Childhood Fear appeared first on Outside Online.
