I’ve been reading about and thinking about wildernesses lately, particularly American wildernesses. In part that is why we watched Meek’s Cutoff. Nothing like a good pioneer story to make you appreciate the American wilderness. Also, a friend loaned me her copy of Bill Bryson’s book A Walk in the Woods about two middle-aged, overweight men who don’t seem to much like raw nature but set out to hike the Appalachian trail.
My favorite moment in the book is when the two are in Maine and find they have to cross a creek. They go into the mossy, rocky creekbed barefoot and fall down. Standing, they fall again. Not only are they soaked, but their packs and everything else is as well. While one is prone, two fit young college students come along. They lift their packs over their heads and stride easily and confidently through the creek.
Another favorite moment is when Bryson reaches a lovely dam in Virginia. He waxes poetic about the dam, its history and engineering and beauty. He seems in general to write more about getting off the trail and various amenities (snack bars, hostels, etc.) than the experience of the trail itself.
My first backpacking trip was near Santa Barbara, where I went with a friend who knew backpacking well and also knew the area where we were hiking. I fell quite a bit. The second day we slogged ankle-deep in mud for several hours before reaching a campground. I was so happy to reach an actual campground. We set up our tents and started boiling water and I was feeling really proud of myself when two men came crashing through the underbrush with lawn chairs strapped to their packs. No biggie. They were looking for the hot springs and their camping activities included hanging a laundry line and shooting targets.
At the end of the next day we suddenly came to a large hydro-electric dam and I said, “Wow. Isn’t it beautiful!” My friend Emily almost gave me up for lost at that point. Surrounded by breathtaking beauty for two days and this is what I remarked upon. For me, and quite often for Bryson, most of nature felt like one big booby trap. Emily and I spent a fair amount of time trying to scare off a rattlesnake, and eventually she made me walk around it– on loose gravel, with which I did not have a good track record. After another mile we ran into a family who were on a dayhike and warned them about the rattlesnake. They shrugged and said, “Yeah, there’s one about a half-mile back this way, too.” I gave that mother very poor marks for marching her children past a rattlesnake.
Bryson’s accounts of the worst weather in the world, which seems to take place on the relatively low heights of Mount Washington in New Hampshire, made me think about Mt. Rainier. When I was there ten years ago with my sister and her children, we saw a helicopter and rescuers who were bringing down the bodies of several hikers who got caught in a snowstorm near the summit and died. There was snow even on lower parts of the mountain, and we saw tourists in flip-flops and shorts playing in the snow near the visitor center.
Over the New Year, more than 100 people had to spend the night at that visitor center when a veteran with PTSD killed a park ranger near there. The man took off into the woods with guns and not much else. He died of hypothermia and was found face down in a stream, missing a shoe and sock. I was reading Bryson’s accounts of people in the grips of hypothermia who feel like they’re burning up and will actually remove clothes right when this story was being reported. I also got a Christmas letter from a friend who had hiked several New England peaks on the AT this summer the next day.
In so many ways, America seems so packaged and harmless. And then there are people like the guy in 127 Hours, plucky individuals who saw off their own arms and escape from canyons. I always thought the Appalachian Trail was just long. I had no idea it was also as dangerous as it clearly is. There are poisonous things, steep edges, high winds, snow, bears, mountain lions, rushing rivers and men with guns out there. A lot for someone like me to worry about.
I am still mostly an indoor person. I embraced this last year when I sold my backpack and water filter and nifty nesting pots. If I go camping again, it will be car camping. Though I do have some memories from the Sierras I wouldn’t trade for anything.