Have a Spiritual Experience on These 4 Awe-Inspiring Hikes

I had been in Sedona for only one day, and I was already sick of hearing about vortexes. How they change lives. How they twang the great tuning fork of the soul. How they go really well with peyote. 

Sheesh. If my eyes rolled any harder, they might have gotten stuck that way. 

For the uninitiated or unbelieving, a vortex is an allegedly spiritually-powerful destination where the vibes swirl, goosebumps rise, and revelations abound. And according to the Sedona tourist bureau, there are at least seven of them luring gullible dayhikers toward geological oddities in central Arizona. That’s not me. I’m a Serious, Logical hiker. Over the course of a lifetime, I have often moved my feet. But the spirit rarely moved me. 

I was looking for a fun, early-morning hike in Sedona, and Gaia GPS pointed me toward the Boynton Canyon Trail—a 6-mile out-and-back into a box canyon. According to Sedona spiritual savants, it has an especially strong vortex. But my own vortex aversion was no reason not to go. 

I hit the trail before dawn, enjoying the solitude, the silence, and the way the sun warmed fragrant pine needles and made the canyon walls glow. At trail’s end, social paths lead up onto the haunches of a red-rock ridge, so I followed the ghost footsteps on high. When I sat down, I finally had the chance to really look, and listen, and sniff, and God help me, feel. 

I was in a f’ing vortex!

What does that feel like? Like the verge of tears. Like the run-up to an orgasm, without the histrionics that follow. Like the instant after your basketball hero releases a perfect shot, but before it tickles the net. Like a thousand goosebumps rising in salute of the ineffable. 

I felt all of that and more in Boynton Canyon. And my hiking life changed: I realized a spiritual destination is as good as any reason to hit the trail. Maybe even better. 

“This is all pretty woo-woo crazy,” admits Victoria Loorz, founding pastor of The Church of the Wild. She was a church-bound minister for 20 years, until she realized that her most profound spiritual experiences were out among living trees, rather than in buildings made out of dead ones. Now there are 200 wild churches across the land, encouraging seekers to go deep, not just high.

“The intention is to reconnect a tragic severance,” she says. Remember in the Bible, where “man” was given dominion over every living thing that moveth up on the earth? Forget it, says Loorz. All living creatures are stewards for each other, she insists. A spiritual hike is one that reinforces that sacred connection. 

“It’s as simple as heading out into nature and paying attention, in a respectful way, to the creatures that share our yard, and our planet,” the outdoorsy pastor says.

I asked her to name specific hikes or places where she practiced that dynamic, but she wouldn’t take the bait. She insists that as long as you’re outdoors, in a place you love, you’re back in relationship with what’s most important. 

“Be open to re-enchanting,” she advises. “Slow down, deepen into a sense of awe, allow that to impact you. Be playful, and it cracks open that disconnection between self and nature. Learn more about this tree from the tree itself.” 

But if you’re looking for specific places to get your spiritual ass in gear, Christopher Ives is eager to help. He’s a professor of religious studies at Stonehill College and author of Zen on the Trail and its companion volume, Meditations on the Trail.

 “A spiritual hike helps you rise above daily concerns,” he tells me. “You see the big picture of life, to gain expansive views of what’s important. It’s about mindset, not location.” A couple of times in our conversation, he repeats his mantra: “With this kind of hiking, it’s about tapping in, not topping out.” 

Ives names some specific locations where he lets this mindset go wild:

Lost Palms Oasis Trail in Joshua Tree National Park (7.4 miles, out and back). “It offers the simplicity of the desert, the uniqueness of the boulders, and the presence of the early people who lived here,” including the ancestors of the Serrano, Cahuilla, Chemehuevi and Mohave communities. 

Hoh River Trail, in Olympic National Park (17.4 miles to Glacier Meadows). “Right out of the parking lot, it’s a classic northwestern rainforest, with nurse logs and ancient Douglas fir. It’s primeval, with a sacred dimension–like you’re humbled by something larger than yourself. It feels like a cathedral.” Editors note: As of March 6, the Hoh Rain Forest—which includes the campground and surrounding roads—area is closed. Check conditions before your trip. In the meantime, Ives suggests hiking in the Quinault Rain Forest.

Cape Cod National Seashore, in Massachusetts (40 largely empty miles, aside from seagulls and the occasional beached whale). “Walking the beach is so nourishing, with the salt air, the expansiveness. If you walk 200 yards, it will be just you and the ocean, engaging your senses, with the sand under your toes, jumping into the surf and being moved by the waves. It takes you out of your head and into your body, with that spiritual feeling of being part of something larger in an immediate physical way.”

Pacific Crest Trail from Route 90 through Snoqualmie Pass in Washington (75 mile section, or hell, just continue on to Canada). “For the first few miles, the trail goes through old-growth Douglas fir, but when you get above treeline there’s a vista looking north, and you can see the Enchantment Mountains.” 

There you have it: If you do it right, enchantment is built right into the landscape. 

A decade ago I negotiated myself out of my office job to trek in Nepal. But the weather at the airport in Lukla was scary, so instead of targeting Mt. Everest base camp, we opted for a Langtang/Gosaikunda trek instead. Both Ives and Loorz cite religious pilgrimages as evidence for the spiritual benefits of hiking, and few people do pilgrimages quite like the Hindu and Buddhist communities of that country.

And so I found myself on an upward path at 14,000 feet, approaching a body of water said to have formed when Lord Shiva pierced a glacier with his trident. He did it because he had just swallowed a poison that had threatened to kill the whole world, and needed to wash it away. When I reached Lake Gosaikunda, I could see dark stones underwater—said to represent the crown of Lord Shiva’s head. Nearby, pilgrims were stripping down and plunging in, so they too could wash away the sins of the world. 

I did, too. I’ve never felt cleaner, inside and out.