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After an evening rain, the morning dawned bright and windy, with mounting promise for an unexpected adventure—that is, if you’re willing to suffer up a wet, slippery, unremittingly steep trail with giant, sharp, moss-covered rocks. But if you don’t know what’s coming, hey, anything’s possible.

Those who enjoy hiking solo go alone for several reasons. Hiking solo simplifies planning and coordination—you decide on a route, gather together what you need, and go.

I’ve always pushed the limits. That’s who I am. That’s why I was working for my black belt in karate when I was 50—gave it up after I tore my meniscus and had to undergo the first of 3 arthroscopic knee surgeries. It’s why I decided to learn to roll a kayak when I was 60.

One thing is certain when the members of the Santa Fe Chili and Marching Society convene for their Wednesday hikes. The hike will start at 7,000 feet altitude and it’s usually uphill from there.

A light breeze lifted leaves of mountain-ash and heart-leaved birch still in the dark shadow of Katahdin while morning bird songs mingled with sounds of water running from a thousand clefts and ravines overhead.

Hike up to an alpine meadow in peak flowering season and take in the magnificent view. Then stop and listen. Can you hear the buzz resonating from blooms all around you? Watch for movement darting between one flower and its neighbor, or whizzing by to a distant patch of plants. Up here, you’re deep in pollinator country, and what you see and hear before you is an intricate network of plants and animals that have coevolved over millennia to ensure each other’s survival and success. Now focus more closely on the insects landing and feeding on the flowers, it’s likely the first ones you’ll notice are among the biggest and loudest—the busy, buzzy bumble bees.