On the morning of March 20th, the rustling of packing bags echoed in front of the teaching building as we repeatedly checked our gear lists against the route map. When the backpack settled on my shoulders, my heart was filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness—I was eager for this special journey, yet the fact that it was an exam added a layer of tension. Knowing that the next three days would be a dual test of physical strength and will, I was still full of longing for the unknown ahead.
We set off for Conghua at noon，and by evening, we arrived at the campsite. We pitched tents on the soft grass as water bubbled in our pots, steaming as we added dehydrated rice. Holding the warm bowls, we sat in a circle with friends, sharing food and chatting animatedly. In those moments, the day’s fatigue quietly dissipated. Thinking about the 40 kilometers of mountain trails awaiting us in the next two days, this moment of relaxation felt especially precious; the bond and camaraderie among companions quietly warmed up in the wilderness.
A light rain fell as we slept, pattering against the tents, making us feel incredibly cozy inside.
The next morning, before the sky was fully bright, the grass was dripping with dew, and the air was mixed with the scent of green grass and earth. We set off with our heavy packs, holding maps the size of dining tables and gripping compasses tightly. Passing through villages and trails covered in fallen leaves, locals would curiously ask what we were doing, joking that we were there for a “wilderness survival” challenge.
To save time on the trail, we ate snacks while walking. When some group members grew tired, we would slow down or stop, setting down our heavy bags to sit by the roadside and rest quietly together. When some members got injured, others would help carry their packs or contact the teachers. With everyone’s mutual help, we finally completed the first day’s 19-kilometer trek by evening. We sat on the grass at the campsite, sharing the day’s various experiences with friends.
On the third day, we trekked through a bamboo forest path. Damp mist swept over the treetops, bringing a refreshing coolness. It was on a mountain, wrapped in morning fog like a mysterious tropical rainforest. It was incredibly quiet, like a forgotten corner where few had ventured, with only vegetation growing wildly. Occasionally, we encountered thick tree trunks lying horizontally across the path, but we managed to get past them.
Pushing aside the wet leaves overhead, we moved forward, each step feeling like exploring a secret realm. We stepped over thick logs to cross pits and tread on small stones to wade through streams, our trouser legs and shoe soles covered in thick mud, each step bearing the mark of the wild. At every fork in the road, we had to deduce which route to take. Unconsciously, everyone began to analyze calmly, pulling out maps to compare contour lines and time, using compasses to take bearings, or observing landmarks on the map. The moment we determined the direction, there was a sense of anticipation for the unknown, while our team member‘s unspoken bond grew stronger.
Looking back on the three days, the sweat-soaked clothes, mud-stained trousers, and moments of smiling at each other in the rain have all become precious footnotes of our youth. Hill walking has taught us that it is not just about finding direction in rugged terrain, but also about supporting each other in exhaustion and staying curious in the face of the unknown.
We set off on this journey with anticipation and returned with unforgettable experiences. We will always remember the wind in the mountains.
- Article / Mira Shi
