Where the Wild Places Are
Ever find yourself somewhere that just softens things a bit?
I spend most of my days surrounded by people in a busy environment. It’s energizing until, as an introvert, it isn’t. And I think we all, at some point, crave the opposite. Something quiet. Contemplative. Natural. A place that doesn’t demand your attention, or really anything other than your presence.
This could be a pathway, a room in your home at a specific time of day, when the light filters softly through the blinds. It could be something as simple as the view from your back porch—a place that is effortless to reach, but still feels like a step outside the everyday. Or a location that demands something of your time, effort, and physicality to get to. It could be a place you’ve returned to many times. Or one you may never visit again, but still feel imprinted somewhere deep.
I think part of what makes these places matter is how they change the way you feel just by being in them. Nothing really happens…but something shifts. Your thoughts begin to settle. The noise fades a little.
Here are a few wild places I find myself returning to.
Unnamed Rock – Manitou Springs, CO, USA
Partway up the Barr Trail towards the summit of Pike’s Peak, there’s a giant boulder suspended above the drop on Mt. Manitou. It’s not hidden exactly, but reaching it requires a small leap of curiosity, clambering over nearby rocks. Once you’ve summitted it, though, you’re greeted by a large flat surface—like standing on a rooftop at the edge of something wild.
I came across this spot nearly a decade ago and have been lucky enough to return several times since. From the edge of the rock, the treeline falls away dramatically into a lush canyon below. Above, the horizon is anchored by Cameron Cone, a gently sloping, forested peak that rises gracefully. Its slope is dotted with rocky outcroppings, including two towering formations ominously named Gog and Magog.
I’ve spent hours up here, usually after hiking the nearby Manitou Incline, and the view still takes me by surprise. I’ve always felt like when I’m in the mountains in Colorado, I’m being held by the landscape. Surrounded but not enclosed. It’s a different kind of mountain experience than the ones closer to home in Calgary. In the Canadian Rockies, the air always feels colder. There’s a sharpness to it.
This spot, though, feels softer. Warmer, somehow—even in the early morning hours. Like it’s okay to just linger. And so I do.
I think I’ll return here someday soon but, oddly, feel like if I never do again, that’s OK. It was never really about checking something off a list. Just being there when I needed to be.
The Wild Space – Alberta, Canada
My home is perched on a ridge at the edge of town. Beyond my back gate, the ridge extends for miles, folding in on itself here and there—each dip its own small world.
This patch of undeveloped land full of low, rolling hills and scattered trees, sat mostly undisturbed, with no signs to explain it. In the years before the pandemic, I used to walk or run through—after work or anytime I needed to clear my mind. The trails that wove themselves through this space were subtle, and in the depth of summer, nearly disappeared completely. The tall grass brushed gently against your fingertips as you waded through, trusting that each footfall would find level ground.
It’s difficult to explain, but even though—at times—my home and others in the neighbourhood were still visible, it felt like you were somewhere much further away. Somewhere wild. On maps, the area was labeled as ‘protected’, and while access wasn’t gated, it was rare to spot anyone else.
Since the pandemic, this space has changed. Many more pathways have been cut into the landscape like scars, and an additional phase of housing has encroached on its borders. The area isn’t quiet or as wild anymore. I used to feel protective of this space, maybe even a little possessive. I think in part because I wanted it to stay beautiful and untouched. I resented how it had been hollowed out by development and human traffic. But I think we were all looking for the same thing. To be closer to a space that feel more natural and wilder.
Still, there’s a melancholy that something so beautiful and close by changed. We’re fortunate in Alberta to have mountains and national parks within a few hours’ drive. But the thought occurs that we shouldn’t have to travel so far to experience these wild, natural spaces. Preserving more of these near our homes could be the solution to a lot of modern-day problems.
Spaces like these don’t always last, but there’s something powerful in recognizing how they make you feel. Like time has slowed down, and the problems or worries in your life fade into the background.
What do those places look like for you?
The author, seen here, pretending to be reflective but mostly out of breath.
If this reminded you of a wild place that’s stayed with you, maybe someone else will feel the same. 🌲
