A Short Hike felt unlike any other game I’ve played before. I begin as Claire, a young bird who seems bored, unmotivated, and slightly stressed about a call she’s supposed to receive. Her Aunt May tells her that if she wants phone reception, she should hike to the top of Hawk Peak. So off I go, talking to animals, finding golden feathers, and moving through areas that all have their own feeling.
At first, this sounds like a simple goal where I just climb the mountain and answer the phone. But the longer I played, the more I realized that A Short Hike is about what happens when the game lets you forget why you were climbing in the first place. Melissa Kagen writes that in wandering games, “The player is not wandering away from the point; the wandering is the point.” That line feels almost too perfect here because the game gives you a destination, then it quietly makes detours feel more meaningful than the destination itself.
From the beginning, animal characters give you tips, stories, errands, objects, and little tasks. One early moment that stood out was when an animal offered me a compass and asked if I ever felt “directionless.” It was funny because I had barely started playing, but I already felt that way and not just geographically. Claire’s responses were vague and unenthusiastic, full of the usual “uhh,” “oh,” and “okay.” So when the animal brought up directionlessness, it felt less like a navigation tip and more like a hint at Claire’s emotional state.
At first, I was still determined to climb Hawk Peak. The little tasks felt trivial, like cute distractions. But then I realized I needed seven golden feathers to climb higher, so suddenly I was on a mission. I wanted coins, feathers, and a direct path to the top. But the visitor center ran out, so I had to keep searching. That is where the digression Kagen highlights really began. I figured I could collect shells, find a shovel, open chests, and do a few errands while looking for feathers. Next thing you know, I was finding lost headbands, digging for treasure, racing animals, joining a climbing club, fishing, watering plants, and playing some game with a ball and a stick. Two hours had passed, I had ten feathers, and I had forgotten that the whole point was climbing and receiving a call, especially as I saw Claire become more expressive.
But that forgetfulness didn’t really feel like failure. If anything, it felt like the game had worked on me exactly how it wanted to. Kagen describes walking in games as part of a larger tradition where moving through a landscape can become “a contemplative, spiritual, or aesthetic experience.” A Short Hike does this through its small details. The music changes depending on where you explore. The scenery shifts from sunny and bright to quiet and rainy. The only place I noticed that was dark and rainy was the cemetery, and that made me pause. It felt like the game was saying grief or some anxiety is present, but it was almost hidden and not all consuming.
As I kept wandering, I became more invested in how I was showing up as Claire. I wanted my decisions to reflect myself, or maybe a better version of myself. When I already had enough feathers, I met a kid selling one for 100 coins. At first, he seemed sketchy and overpriced, but then I asked what his deal was, and he said he needed money for college. Without a doubt, I gave him 400 coins. I didn’t even need the feather anymore. I just wanted to help and it was after that, I finally felt ready to move on.
Then, I finally climbed Hawk Peak. The music became more intense and dramatic than it had been the entire time I played. The climb felt different from every other part of the island. It was still soft and beautiful, but also heavier, like the game knew I was approaching something I had been avoiding. And then, at the beautiful scenery at the top, the phone rang. It was Claire’s mom, calling to say her surgery went well.
That moment changed the game for me. The phone call that had seemed trivial suddenly explained Claire’s anxiety, her distance, and maybe why wandering had felt so necessary. Claire wasn’t wandering away from this phone call, but rather she was wandering until she was ready.
I realized Claire and I had been on this little pilgrimage together where we healed and improved along the way. Kagen talks about a game journey as “a grief walk, undertaken in the hope that the mourner will find peace through this journey,” and while A Short Hike isn’t explicitly about grief, that phrase captures what the summit felt like to me. It wasn’t just a place with phone reception. It was where all the errands, music, gliding, helping, and delaying finally made emotional sense as I realized how our pilgrimage had even supported my own current grief and anxieties.
After the call, I took the updraft and flew around, and it just felt like a release. I went back to Aunt May and took a nap, thinking it would just be a nap. But then the game ended. At first, I was surprised. Then I realized how fitting it was. A Short Hike doesn’t end when you conquer the mountain. It ends when you’re finally willing and able to rest or move on.
