My Chaotic Baby Gemini Hiking Story On The Ashlyn Peaks Trail

Whatever you do, please learn from my colossal screw-up and avoid attempting the south ridge trail at Ashlyn Peaks with a six-month-old Gemini strapped to your chest while wearing non-breathable Lululemon knock-offs, because it'll end in chafing and tears. Mostly yours.

It was 6:45 in the morning. The gravel in the trailhead parking lot was already glaringly bright. I was frantically trying to shove three different types of wet wipes into a backpack that was entirely too small, while my husband Dave stood there sipping an iced Americano in a pristine cream-colored fleece. Who wears cream to the woods with an infant? A man who doesn't plan on holding the baby, that's who. Anyway, the point is, I was already sweating through my grey t-shirt, and my little Baby G hadn't even started his daily meltdown yet.

The dual personality of a summer child

They say astrology is mostly just for fun, but I'm telling you, having a baby gemini means living with a tiny, adorable dictator who changes his mind every three and a half seconds. Leo is a textbook June baby. One minute he's happily cooing at a pinecone, completely mesmerized by the magic of nature, and the literal next second he's arching his back like an angry feral cat because the wind blew his hair the wrong way.

It's exhausting. I spend half my day just trying to guess which version of my child I'm currently dealing with. Taurus babies just sleep and eat, which sounds like a literal dream. But no, I had to birth a highly opinionated air sign who requires constant, varied entertainment.

So, putting him in a restrictive carrier for a two-hour hike up a steep incline was, in hindsight, a totally garbage idea. He loved it for exactly fourteen minutes. Then the novelty wore off, the sun came out, and he decided that being attached to my sweaty torso was a violation of his human rights.

Dave and his useless trail advice

We hit the first major switchback on Ashlyn Peaks, and I was already breathing like a pug on a treadmill. Dave, who runs marathons for fun because he's a masochist, kept looking back and shouting, "It's just a little elevation gain, Sarah! Short, quick steps!"

I wanted to throw my water bottle at his head.

It's incredibly hard to take short, quick steps when you've twenty pounds of furious baby strapped to your front, kicking you rhythmically in the bladder. I had packed my own little aesthetic snacks for the summit—these beautiful little baby gem lettuce cups with chicken salad that I thought would be SO refreshing—but they were currently getting pulverized into green mush at the bottom of the diaper bag under the weight of three spare onesies. Nothing about this was aesthetic. I was a sweaty, angry pack mule.

The mysterious science of tiny ears

About halfway up the ridge, Leo's fussing escalated into this high-pitched, frantic shriek that echoed off the rocks and probably scared away every bird in a five-mile radius. I panicked.

My doctor, Dr. Thomas, who's lovely but always talks super fast and uses a lot of hand gestures, vaguely mumbled something at our four-month checkup about inner ear pressure. He said babies can't just chew gum to pop their ears at high altitudes, and something about their eustachian tubes being horizontal? Or maybe vertical? Look, I'm definitely not a biologist, and I kind of zoned out during the explanation, but I'm pretty sure he meant that when you drag a baby up a literal mountain, the changing air pressure just wreaks absolute havoc on their tiny heads.

I tried shoving a pacifier in his mouth to get him to swallow, but he aggressively spit it out and it bounced down a ravine, never to be seen again. Perfect. Just perfect.

What to actually shove in your backpack

I used to pack the entire nursery into a bag, obsess over the weather forecast, and try to stick to a rigid nap schedule on the trail, which honestly just made everyone miserable. You really only need a few absolute lifesavers, and the rest is just dead weight.

If you're also desperately trying to figure out how to dress these tiny humans for the outdoors without them overheating or freezing, you should probably poke around Kianao's organic baby clothes collection for some breathable basics. Natural fibers are a big deal when you're sweating outside.

For example, I bought the Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit for my older daughter, Maya, when we did a much flatter nature walk two years ago. And don't get me wrong, it's insanely cute. The organic cotton is super soft, and she looked like a little woodland fairy for about ten minutes. But honestly? The ruffled sleeves bunched up so terribly under the carrier straps, and the dirt just immediately magnetized to the fabric. She ended up with red marks on her shoulders from the friction. It's a gorgeous outfit for taking pictures at a family picnic, but it's totally impractical for hauling a kid through the woods. Skip the ruffles for the outdoors. Keep it simple.

What actually kept me from turning around and hiking back to the car in tears was the Panda Teether. Leo's top teeth were pushing through, because my kids ALWAYS decide to hit major, painful milestones when we're miles away from home, and he kept trying to aggressively gnaw on my collarbone.

I remembered I had this flat, bamboo-textured silicone panda thing shoved in the back pocket of my leggings. I pulled it out, wiped off a terrifying amount of pocket lint—I just rubbed it on my shorts, don't judge my mountain hygiene—and handed it to him. Total, immediate silence. It's weirdly perfectly shaped for them to hold onto without dropping it every five seconds. The textures on the paws really seemed to dig right into those swollen gums. A literal lifesaver.

The sweet relief of the living room floor

We did eventually make it to the top. I ate my crushed lettuce mush, Dave took a panoramic photo, and we basically ran back down the mountain. When we finally survived the descent, drove home, and dragged ourselves through the front door, I dropped Leo straight onto the rug under his Wooden Rainbow Play Gym.

I just needed him to look at something else while I peeled off my hiking boots and evaluated my blisters. The hanging elephant toy fascinated his chaotic little brain long enough for me to drink a massive glass of tap water and question why I ever leave my house. Sometimes, the best part of an outdoor adventure is coming back to the air conditioning and letting a wooden toy do the parenting for twenty minutes.

Before you accidentally ruin your own weekend by taking an angry infant up a steep incline, make sure you actually have the right gear. Go add that panda teether to your cart, and maybe grab some sensible clothing that won't give them strap-burn, because crying on a mountain is a special kind of hell.

My totally unprofessional hiking FAQs

Are Gemini babies honestly worse on hikes?
I mean, scientifically? Probably not. But in my totally biased experience, yes. One minute my kid is thrilled by a leaf, and the next he's offended by the concept of fresh air. It's the constant mood whiplash that drains your soul on a long trail. You can't just expect them to sleep the whole time.

Is Ashlyn Peaks safe for a baby in a carrier?
Look, people do it all the time. But the south ridge gets super steep, and if you've got a bad knee or a slippery pair of sneakers, it's sketchy. We survived, but I wouldn't call it a relaxing Sunday stroll. Stick to the lower loop if you value your sanity and don't want to sweat through your clothes immediately.

How do you handle diaper blowouts on a trail?
With sheer panic and an absurd amount of wipes. We had to lay Leo down on Dave's very expensive fleece jacket because the ground was basically sharp rocks and dirt. Always double-bag the dirty diapers because bears exist, and also because my car smells bad enough already without a hot diaper sitting in the trunk.

Do those silicone teethers seriously work outside?
The flat ones do! I wouldn't bring anything heavy or round that'll roll off the side of a cliff when they inevitably drop it. That panda one I mentioned is flat enough to just shove in your pocket, which is why it's the only one I bother taking out of the house. Just be prepared to wipe some trail dust off it.