Lately, I’ve taken to hiking alone. It’s not because I lack friends willing to join me, nor because I have something to prove. The truth is simple: I’ve become captivated by silence—the thousand shades of it that nature and life offer us every single day.
There are so many kinds of silence, and I like to collect them the way others collect hiking badges or travel souvenirs.
Thousand shades of silence
Take, for example, the quiet of an early morning when you wake up in a tent. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and the birds are just starting to argue over who gets to wake you first. At night, the only sound might be an owl hooting in the distance. Fairy tales romanticize roosters crowing at dawn, but even they seem to have grown lazy. Instead, I wake up to the chatter of magpies. Soon, turtledoves chime in, followed by the occasional rooster and the cheerful chirping of hungry swallows and other birds.
You crawl out of your tent, stretch, and stand on a forest trail. The air smells of pine, and everything around you feels as though it’s still asleep—except for the birds. It’s a silence full of anticipation, as though the world is holding its breath, waiting for the day’s first challenge.
Different silence
Then there’s what I call windy silence. You might think the wind howling around you on a mountain ridge is noisy, but sit still among the pines for a while, and you’ll notice something magical. The wind pauses now and then—tiny, fleeting moments of absolute stillness. It’s like listening to nature’s symphony, complete with rests and crescendos.
Contrast that with heavy silence, the kind you find in fog. When it’s drizzling and the mist is so thick you can barely see a step ahead, sound feels muted and distant, as if the world itself has withdrawn. You will experience this even at the first heavy snowfall.
And then there’s the deep forest silence. This kind of silence has a richness you won’t find in any city. It’s not completely quiet—a rustling leaf here, a snapping twig there, the faint tapping of a woodpecker—but these sounds only accentuate the serenity. They remind you that in the forest, there’s no need to shout. Silence here commands respect.
The most intense silence I’ve experienced is absolute silence. You can find it deep underground, in abandoned mines or specially designed soundproof chambers. Some people even pay for this experience—being locked away in complete silence and darkness for days. It’s just you and your thoughts, with no distractions. Sounds meditative, right? But spending that much time alone with your inner monologue is surprisingly challenging.
Silence Fuels the Imagination
I also love exploring old, abandoned factories, caves, or mysterious ruins. The mystical silence of these places stirs my imagination, making me question what’s real and what’s a product of my mind.
But my favorite is what I call exhausted silence. It’s the kind of quiet that envelops you when you reach a summit—like Great Mengus Peak—or when you’ve pushed your limits cycling up a Via Appia in Roma. 🙂 Your legs are burning, your lungs begging for air, but you sit down, filled with endorphins, unwrap a snack, and look around.
In that moment, nothing else matters. No nagging thoughts, no to-do lists—just the pure joy of being present. That silence feels like a reward, and it’s the kind I can never get enough of.
Why I Hike Alone
This is why I often hike alone. In a group, you rarely get to experience silence. Someone is always talking: “Look, there are sheep!” or “Should we stop for a beer?” Even without words, people create noise. Silence seems to make them uncomfortable, and they feel the need to fill it.
But I don’t. Silence, to me, is like an empty room where I can finally organize my thoughts. Hiking has taught me that not everything needs to be shared on Instagram, nor does every experience require discussion. Some moments are meant to be lived and nothing more.
The Silences at Home
Even at home, silence has many forms. Take domestic silence, for example, or the pleading silence I encounter when I suggest to my dog Bekyna or my wife Hanka, “Let’s go to the forest or take a scooter ride.” They pretend not to hear me.
One of my favorite silences is the crackling silence of a fireplace. Watching the flames dance, listening to the wood pop and hiss, I can sit for hours. It’s a far better way to unwind than scrolling aimlessly through TikTok or enduring commercial breaks on TV.
Of course, silence can have an edge. Imperative silence—like when someone snaps, “Be quiet!”—is unfortunately all too common.
And then there’s the awkward silence I sometimes encounter in a pub or sauna when I share my rational opinions with friends. It’s like walking through a minefield. These days, I’d rather just listen than argue.
Silence as Therapy
I’ve come to realize that silence often holds answers to questions you didn’t even know you were asking. It soothes the mind, reduces stress, and improves both sleep and overall health. It sparks creativity and imagination.
Still, my favorite silence remains the exhausted silence. It’s the silence of accomplishment, of reaching a goal and allowing yourself to simply be. When I sit on a summit, basking in the quiet, I feel connected to every shade of silence all at once.
Do you know other shades of silence? Share them in the comments—I’d love to hear about them. 😊
