Navigating my fear of heights on the mountains

By Umar Farooq

You might think that having a crippling fear of heights is an obstacle to hiking high up in the mountains.

While there may be some truth to that, I have learned that you can also grow to respect and embrace your fear of heights while continuing to enjoy the beauty of nature up close. 

I learned this the hard way when I hiked the famous, for me infamous, Old Rag trail for the first time in my life. The trip began on a Saturday morning in late autumn. I was on my way to Shenandoah National Park to complete this hike I had always wanted to do since I was about 11 or 12 years old.

I arrived at the trailhead a few minutes before 7 am and grabbed my backpack in which I packed everything I could need, except for bear spray, which I later learned is a helpful accessory for a solo hiker. 

The trail started off simply enough, but I quickly realized why people from all over the country travel to hike this trail.

After a lengthy uphill walk, the traversable path seemed to disappear, and I came face to face with a fat slab of rock. I stared at the slab curiously, wondering where the trail went. Then, a man came up from behind and stopped a few feet behind me. He was from Michigan and had traveled all the way to visit Shenandoah and hike this trail. It wasn’t his first time.

He told me this was the trail, and that I’d need to scale the rock formation in order to continue. He also told me if I was afraid of this, there were far greater things to be afraid of ahead of me.

After the brief rock climbing stint, more trail continued before I found myself perched up on an open-faced ledge, staring out into an abyss.

The weather was overcast that day, and that high up on the mountain I was walking in and among the clouds themselves. It also meant that while on this ledge, I could not see how high up I was. The unknown height was even scarier to me, and I stayed squatted down with my back leaned against the mountain for a good 15 minutes.

My heart rate increased by probably an additional 20 beats a minute, and my body seemed unable to move from its position no matter how much I tried. Passersby came and went, asking if I needed any help. I told them I was fine, and just needed a moment to get my bearings straight.

On top of my fears, I was incredibly frustrated, even angry at myself. Part of the reason I chose to do this hike was that I wanted to vanquish my fear of heights once and for all. It was a fear that only I seemed to have in my social circles, and it’s something my wife playfully teases me about. I envied those who could just walk up to the edge of a ledge and stare down at what was below them.

But as I sat there motionless and unable to continue the trek, a realization struck. What I thought was a “crippling” fear that hindered me was actually an important and potentially life-saving instinct. After all, I was doing this hike by myself, and there were no harnesses or ropes that would keep me from falling off this mountain if I wasn’t careful.

With that realization, I slowly got up, hugged the side of the mountain, and carefully finished the hike. I then reached the summit, where I saw many people perched up on the ledges enjoying their time. I sat myself down far from them, next to a large rock that I could lean back on. I sat there for a while, eating my lunch and observing those around me. A different version of me would have seen me as lesser-than, but I completed the same hike as them. And it was my fears that helped me to do so.

All in all, I was able to complete it in about eight hours. And as I headed back to the parking lot, I walked away from my sojourn on Old Rag with a newfound respect for my fear of heights, and a recognition that that fear is not my adversary, but an ominous guide just trying to help.