Fear and panic

At night I lie awake sweating. Not because I’m warm. Not because something is happening outside my shelter. Fear is in my head. Old trauma of getting lost suddenly resurfaces. I feel almost the same panic as back then: the near-death experience in Slovenia. The ravine in Spain where I dared not move forward or backward. That endless wandering through a pitch-black forest in Croatia.

I will not hike the Bohusleden

These are experiences I have learned a lot from. They will probably not happen again. But fear cares little for logic. I am therefore certain. I will not walk the Bohusleden. And yes, I have already planned the route. Downloaded maps. Made preparations. All for nothing, you could say. Yet it doesn’t feel that way.

No supermarket in sight

While further planning, I saw that there are hardly any supermarkets along large parts of the route. Even a few kilometers off the path, there’s often nothing to be found. This means carrying food for days, well for about five days. Normally, that would still be manageable, but my solar panels still aren’t charging properly. And without power, there’s no navigation. For many hikers, a dead battery is annoying. For me, it feels like losing my safety net.

Reset

Yesterday I saw that there was an outlet by the church, a fifteen-minute walk from my shelter. My power bank needs to be fully charged to reset the system (I did that in the hostel). Then it needs to drain completely (that happened these past few days) and then charge fully again. Only then should the solar panels work properly again. I hoped that a few hours of charging would be enough, but that turned out to be empty hope. So I stay here all day by the church.

Fortunately, there is also a lovely restroom facility. I can wash myself, rinse my clothes, and get everything in order again. I have happily spent hours doing that.

Do I have the wrong hobby?

Sometimes I wonder if I have chosen the wrong hobby. I have Developmental Topographical Disorientation (DTD) and aphantasia. A unique combination when you walk alone through nature for thousands of kilometers.

DTD means that I cannot form a mental map of my surroundings and that I can even get lost in Alkmaar, where I have lived for twenty years. Aphantasia means that I cannot conjure images in my mind. If I close my eyes and for example think of an apple, I see nothing but black. This makes navigation much more energy-consuming for me than most people can imagine.

Courage is facing your limits.

Yet I continue to walk. Not because I don’t feel fear. Quite the opposite, despite that fear. Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is being honest enough to face your limits without giving up your dreams. Sometimes that means continuing. Sometimes it means choosing a different route. That too is progress.

Rare combination.

Statistically speaking, this combination is quite rare. Just Google it to see what it entails. Only 2 to 3% of the world’s population has DTD and 2 to 4% has aphantasia. I have been gifted with both. Yet I keep walking.

Overnight stay: Skjeberg.