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Hiking teaches me lessons I didn’t ask for but often need. Chief among them: expectations rarely match reality. Sometimes they’re delightfully surpassed. I map out distances, estimate pace, and anticipate interactions with participants. But the trail, the weather, and my companions’ realities always bring surprises. In the past ten days, I’ve had three hikes that had me adjusting expectations.

On a trip to Tuscohatchie, Pratt, and Olallie Lakes with my CHS-2 group, we finished faster than I’d expected. I even breezed home through light traffic. What truly exceeded expectations, however, was the camaraderie. With a new co-leader and old friends, it felt like I’d found my tribe. At Blanca Lake, a heat advisory nearly doubled the hike’s length, but time on the trail with my daughter gave us conversations worth the extra time. And on Mt. Pilchuck, what I thought would be a three-hour hike with our dog and friends became a hot, lingering march nearly double that, which tested patience and persistence. Each outing reminded me that adjusting expectations is where the learning, and often the joy, lives.

When Expectations are Surpassed – Tuscohatchie, Pratt, and Olallie Lakes

Some hikes test patience; others feel like gifts. My CHS-2 trip to Tuscohatchie, Pratt, and Olallie Lakes fell into the second category. I went in expecting a solid day on the trail, moderate pacing, and the a traffic snafu on the way home. Instead, everything unfolded beautifully, including 45 minutes at Pratt Lake where three of us enjoyed a swim and two other hikers dunked their feet. As a group, we moved efficiently enough that I was home by four o’clock, blissfully free of the northbound gridlock I’d faced in previous weeks.

But the real surprise had nothing to do with our pace. With a mix of hikers I’d met at different times during the summer, and a new-to-me leader, I had no expectations about the group dynamic. It felt like a homecoming. Conversation flowed easily, everyone encouraged one another, and by the end of the day, I felt like I’d found my tribe. My expectations for pacing were surpassed, while my expectations for connection were rewritten. That blend of efficiency and belonging set the tone for reflecting on how expectations shape our experience.

When Expectations Stretch – Blanca Lake with My Daughter

Blanca Lake has a reputation for being both breathtaking and unrelenting, 8 miles on sometimes steep, root-filled trails. Last Friday my daughter and I faced high temperatures and perfect blue skies. By the time we reached the turquoise water, we’d snacked on berries the whole way and taken 4-5 short breaks. It took nearly twice as long as I’d expected. But we made it, an accomplishment in and of itself.

At first, I caught myself feeling impatient. How could I help my daughter recover faster? When would we get to the predicted breeze? How much farther to Virgin and Blanca Lakes? Expectations can do that: they whisper that things should be easier or quicker, and they leave you irritated when reality disagrees. But somewhere along the way, I leaned into the chance to set a slower pace so we could talk  — really talk. Our conversations — the kind that surface only when we have hours together without distraction — turned the hard effort into something more meaningful.

High Pay-offs

The lake itself was as stunning as promised, but the real treasure was the reminder that sometimes it’s not about how quickly you reach your goal. The unexpected length of the hike gave us time to connect in ways we wouldn’t have otherwise. Expectations stretched, and something richer took their place. When my daughter commented that “The suffering was worth it,” over a Dairy Queen blizzard on our drive home, and my husband had a homemade meal waiting for us, I knew we’d both remember the good far more than the bad.

When Expectations Drag — Pilchuck with Friends and Our Dog

If the Tuscohatchie trio was a gift and Blanca Lake a stretch, Mount Pilchuck was a challenge, pure and simple. On paper, it looked easy enough: a well-traveled trail we hadn’t done in decades, 5.4 miles and 2300 gain. Friends we enjoy hiking with. Our daughter, wanting to see a lookout tower. And our dog, at ten years of age, always eager to join us for an adventure. I expected a 3 to 4- hour trip, one that would get us out of the extreme midday heat and back in Lake Stevens for lunch with our friends.

Instead, the heat bore down, the trail seemed endless, and every break sapped more of my energy. What I thought would be a quick jaunt stretched into an overly hot, slow plod. The longer it dragged on, the more I noticed my frustration mounting — not with the people, my daughter, or Ajax, but with my own misplaced expectations. I had set myself up for disappointment by assuming “shorter” meant “easier” and “quicker.” And I’d forgotten just how much the heat saps my energy.

The Good in the Tough

And yet, even in the plod there were moments that mattered: the dogged determination to finish what we started, the laughter when our dog flopped belly down in the shade, the priceless photos of Ajax by kind women who were leap-frogging up the mountain with me. Pilchuck reminded me that unmet expectations need not sour the entire trip. They can teach resilience, patience, and perspective, qualities that serve just as well off the trail as on it.

Balancing and Learning from Expectations

Looking back at these three hikes, I noticed how differently expectations played out. At Tuscohatchie, the group connection surpassed anything I could have hoped for. At Blanca, the extended time created rare space for meaningful conversation with my daughter. And at Pilchuck, the grind of unmet expectations pushed me to find patience when the sun beat down on me.

I also saw how my expectations shift depending on who I’m with. On solo outings, I often set ambitious goals around continuous movement and efficiency, listening only to what my body needs. When hiking with CHS students or club members, I balance those instincts with a gentler approach, adjusting to their needs, honoring their experience, and holding space for surprises.

With family, I must let go of my reputation as a hard-core hike leader and listen to what my loved ones need. Even if they can’t voice or don’t know what that is. Weather, terrain, and energy levels all add layers I can’t control. This means the crucial skill isn’t perfect planning, but rather learning to adjust with grace and self-compassion.

Loosening the Grip

Expectations will always be part of hiking, as it is in life. We plan routes, estimate times, and imagine how things should unfold. But Mother Nature reminds me that reality has its own ideas. Sometimes our journey is easier than expected, sometimes harder, and sometimes it simply stretches sideways into something I never would have pictured. Something that teaches me humility, patience, and gratitude.

As I prepare for my final CHS-2 hike of August tomorrow morning, I know I’ll carry these lessons with me. To welcome the days that exceed expectations, find meaning when things take longer than planned, and stay patient during the hottest slogs. The best moments — belonging, connection, resilience — often arrive when I stop shoulding all over myself and open myself to the way things are.