My partner, his son and I just returned from a four-day backpacking trip in Yosemite National Park. We hiked the High Sierra Loop—32 miles in all, reaching elevations of nearly 9,400 feet. In the high country, there are no roads of any type and resupply was by a mule train; no electricity; no cell service.  At the 3 camps we stayed at, they had food, water and sometimes even a shower although I went two days without.

The first day was, by far, the most challenging for me. Carrying a 20-pound backpack while climbing through the altitude and a long series of switchbacks, I began to doubt whether I could make it. It was not looking promising. Thankfully, our two guides graciously took some of my gear, lightening my load just enough to make all the difference. What a relief.

After eight demanding miles, we arrived at Glen Aulin, at an elevation of 7,800 feet. I was exhausted, but deeply relieved—and proud—that I had made it. Our camp was near a waterfall, and a delightful group of people prepared an incredible dinner for us. One thing about this kind of hiking: you need to eat—a lot.

I rarely indulge in dessert, but if there was ever a time, this was it. That evening we had lemon pound cake with berries and whipped cream—divine. It was a lovely ending to a brutal and beautiful day.

We were among some truly elite athletes. There were eleven of us, and we divided into three groups. I was in the last group, of course, but my only goal was to finish. Much of the journey became a battle between my mind and my will. There were moments of despair, certainly—but they were woven together with moments of pure joy.

The next two days were the longest and most challenging of the journey.

On the second day, we hiked eight miles, much of it uphill. We crossed two switchbacks, which my partner and I approached with some consternation. Still, we made time to pause and absorb the magnificent views. We had earned them.

That night, we stayed at a new camp near May Lake, at an elevation of 9,270 feet. After eight demanding miles, the view from our cabin felt especially beautiful—a quiet reward for all we had climbed.

The third day was unquestionably the hardest: nine miles, with a formidable stretch of relentless uphill switchbacks. It began deceptively, almost comfortably—fairly flat terrain that gave little indication of what lay ahead. Our wise guide kept warning us, but I do not think I fully understood.

At times, I felt as though my body might burst from the exertion. I had not trained for this hike; truthfully, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Yet I did not want to let the group down, so I kept trudging forward. Fatigue set in, and I learned quickly that one must remain fully alert. It would have been easy to slip on a rock and tumble.

And yet, I was profoundly present. Hiking became a kind of moving meditation. Nothing felt more real than the terrain beneath my feet. Each step required immediate but careful attention. I would go slowly, worried about only today not tomorrow; sometimes just focus on one hour at a time.  At times, I fell into a rhythm almost like a dance: my feet moved with authority, my breath deep and steady—for a while.

Then I would hit the wall, when nothing worked and everything hurt. That was the moment to stop, remove the pack, eat something, and regroup. Somehow, I would find my rhythm again and continue, trying not to think too far ahead—to what the next day might bring.

At such a high elevation, well above what I was accustomed to, even the nights were challenging. I often woke suddenly, needing to catch my breath.

Our third camp was Sunset, at an elevation of 9,400 feet—8.5 miles into the trek. By then, my dream life had become wonderfully colorful and intense. One night, I dreamt that I could see in complete darkness. In our tent of six, I seemed to scan the interior and clearly see each person sleeping, though in reality it was pitch-black. There were other wild dreams as well—an unexpected form of entertainment that I thoroughly enjoyed.

On the final day, we hiked 7.5 miles back to Tuolumne Meadows Lodge. We said goodbye to our group and headed back to the city. I had no cell service throughout the entire journey and, surprisingly, did not miss it at all.

The experience has inspired me to get into even better shape. I have ordered a 20-pound weighted vest, which will become part of my training gear for the next adventure. I will turn 72 in November, and I have no plans to stop anytime soon.