hiking » Random Says...

A is for Awesome

Apr 012012

There are many things in the world to inspire awe, so selecting a handful for this post is a challenge. Of course, I could go with something in nature. I’ve been on hikes where I’ve been awestruck by the view of a mountain peak so close it felt like I could reach out and touch it.

Or, I could go with one of the feats of strength, balance and skill some are capable of. The first time I saw Cirque du Soleil was on their Quidam video. I remember thinking what they were doing seemed impossible. Here’s a segment from that video.

When I was in college, my favorite band was Rush. Their musicianship struck me — especially that of Neil Peart, their drummer and main lyricist. While I was always deeply impressed by Peart’s playing, it was this solo that made me realize how awesome he really is.

Then there’s an expression of creativity that blows the mind, like this sketch by Cody Rivers, one of my favorite Bellingham duos.

The Cody Rivers Show from ENW with Deb Slater on Vimeo.

Yeah, the awe-inspiring is all around us if we notice it.

And, since I was just informed that April is also National Poetry Month (and, since putting together words just so, in a perfect way that sends shivers down my spine is awesome), here’s a poem for you:

love is a place… (58) by E. E. Cummings

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

Nature therapy: Hiking

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Jan 152012

Since I’m on the topic of hiking, here’s one more post on the subject before I move on.

In the weeks after 9/11, I was raw, for want of a better word. The world felt different. Life seemed even more fragile and uncertain than usual.

Hidden Lake, hiding

One thing that seemed to mean was that I needed to be outside, to experience the beauty of nature because it seemed to be one thing I could do to ground myself and not feel the world was completely insane. So, on September 30, 2001, a good friend and I hiked to Hidden Lakes Peak not far from Cascade Pass.

On the four miles it took us to reach the top, we passed through forest before breaking into rocky meadows that gave us views of the terrain all around us, including the meandering trail and other hikers above us. The stunning beauty of the mountains and the fact that we were far from cities, roads, news, and most other reminders of humanity made it seem as if we had entered a different world.

It was quiet in the way mountain trails are — the only sound being a breeze, a bird’s call, a trickle of water, and our footfall on the packed dirt of the trail. Climbing thousands of feet carrying a pack is hard work. To go on, climbing for hours, is a sort of meditation. After the first mile, the body gets used to the activity and the mind stops bitching about the effort. What’s left is one foot forward followed by the next.

Since I grew up in the flatlands of the Midwest, I appreciated the mountains once I moved close to them. Amazing hikes to stunning views were only an hour’s drive from where I lived near Seattle. Every time I got on the trail, I felt that sense of peace that comes from being away from the noise and hubbub. The air is fresh and new there, and almost always there comes a point when some awe-inspiring sight appears in the form of a peak, a glacier, a pristine lake, or a painted meadow.

Deafening silence at Cutthroat Lakes

It was on a hike when I first really got the term “deafening silence”. We were sitting on rocks in a meadow around Cutthroat Lakes. It was autumn and the heather was turning. At one point I realized there was no sound whatsoever – no bird, no insect, no trickle of water, not even a breeze whispering. I was afraid to move for the sheer perfection of it.

Here’s the stupid part. Given all I’ve just said, it seems that I would want to be out hiking every weekend from May to October, but the truth is I often find myself dragging my feet about going out. I think about having to get up early and gathering all the gear and I focus on the hard work of climbing. It’s as if my mind naturally remembers only the unpleasant parts of things and I have to consciously force myself to think of the joy of being out there and seeing things that a relatively small number of people are lucky enough to see.

What the heck is that all about? Resistance to doing the things I know are things I love? Do you do that at all, or is it just me?

My butterfly buddy

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Jan 112012

I often feel absurdly pleased when an animal “likes” me — especially if it’s an animal that doesn’t typically like people. You know, like the dog that comes over with her tail wagging and the owner says, “Oh, Abby doesn’t usually like men.”

But how many people have had a butterfly befriend them? (Okay, so maybe it’s more common that I’d like to believe, but I don’t want to know if that’s true.)

We were having lunch at Hannegan Pass in the beautiful Cascade Mountains, and I saw this cool little blue butterfly. It did that random fluttery thing butterflies do and fluttered its way to where I stood admiring the view. As it flew close to me, I held out my left hand. I guess I just did it out of a futile hope that the butterfly would land there, but I was still surprised when it ended up settling on my index finger.

He (Hey, how the heck am I supposed to know if it was male or female?) just stayed there and did whatever it is that butterflies do when they’re not fluttering or eating sugar. At first I tried to be so careful not to move too much because I wanted him to hang out on my finger. But, after minutes passed and he just stayed there, I began to move around, walking in the little meadow in which we found ourselves.

The whole time he stayed, clinging with his six little white legs, enjoying (I hope) the ride, and I took pictures, showed him to my hiking buddy, and was amazed at how long this tiny little creature seemed content to hang with me.

So, why was I so tickled by this? I mean, is it really such a significant thing to have a bug land on me? But, it was a butterfly, a beautiful thing. It was also more rare than, say, the flies that had no problem paying us all too much attention during our hike. And, its attentions were more gentle, more sublime (at least, so I felt in my fuzzy little brain).

It’s as if I was being honored by the little fella. Here was a living being, much smaller than me, who trusted me enough to rest on my finger. And, maybe there was some weird background idea that animals (even butterflies!) are somehow able to sense the innate goodness (or badness) in a person, so this funny blue critter hanging out on my finger was almost a sort of stamp of approval, like, “Hey, this guy’s alright.”

And maybe with our pets, or with the animals we encounter in nature, we can imagine some spark of consciousness that is not bogged down with all the crazy human crap that fills our minds. “I like you.” “You scare me.” Simple, straightforward.

Or, maybe I just want to be one of the few, the proud, the liked-by-butterflies…

*****

Full disclosure: I stole this piece from one of my previous, now-extinct blogs hardly anyone saw. Partly I’m posting it to “prove” that not all my hiking experiences were distinguished by stupidly flirting with disaster.

Partly I’m re-posting because I got a kick out of my little butterfly buddy and wanted to honor him (or her).

Mostly, though, I’m re-posting because I’m lazy. Is that so wrong?

The 10 Anti-essentials or, how not to hike

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Jan 042012

When I first moved to Washington from the Midwest, I was fascinated by the big bumps in the land called mountains. Naturally, I wanted to try my hand at hiking in them, so I got the name of a good trail from a co-worker and set out with two visiting Midwesterners. In other words, we were three noobs setting out into the wilderness.

Since then, I’ve taken courses from The Mountaineers, and have gathered the gear and basic knowledge that will improve my chances of not ending up in the local newspaper with a headline that includes words like “Lost”, “Fell”, “Death”, “Exposure” or “Airlifted”.

Back then, though, it was a different story.

The trail we attempted was to Snow Lake and started from the parking lot of the Alpental Ski Area. It’s about four miles to the lake. We made it halfway before running into snow and having to turn back. That was probably a good thing.

If you’ve done any mountaineering, you may have heard of the “10 Essentials” — a list of ten things to bring whenever you go hiking. Well, let me offer you a counter-list.

The 10 Anti-essentials for Hiking:

Bring no water. Hydration is for wussies.
Wear tennis shoes, preferably low-top. If you have weak ankles, they’ll get stronger. Or break. And if you step in a puddle, your feet will be kept nice and cool by all the water that will seep in and soak your [cotton] socks (see item #3).
Wear lots of cotton. It soaks up the sweat and stays wet for hours, just what you want in the cold mountain air. This will encourage you to keep moving.
Don’t bring a map or compass. How lost could you get in the mountains? Where’s your sense of adventure?
Bring no food. If you get hungry, perhaps you can find some berries to eat. Besides, you may lose weight. If you run out of energy and can’t go on, maybe you can become food for some of the mountain creatures.
Don’t bring any rain gear — especially in Washington State. It hardly ever rains in Washington.
Go alone or with a party that has no experience. That way no one will tell you that the tiny pond in the valley below is not Snow Lake, and you can cut your hiking time in half.
Get a late start. It’s more exciting when you’re racing against the coming darkness. And, if you lose the race, you can enjoy the challenge of walking on an uneven trail without being able to see the roots and rocks. (That’s assuming you even stay on the trail.)
Don’t bring a flashlight. That will help with #8.
Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. If something happens, chances are someone will notice your absence eventually. Of course, even once they notice, they won’t have a clue where to start looking, which may well make their heart grow fonder. Plus, if you do get out alive, you can hear about how worried they were, which is bound to make you feel good. And isn’t that really what it’s all about?

By the way, I did finally make it all the way to Snow Lake several years later. I don’t have a great photo to share, but this gives some idea of what we missed that first time.