FEATURE
"Travelling is a fool's paradise... At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance
It's safe to say that Emerson didn't think too much of those who undertook recreational travel. His attitude seemed to be, "a fool at home is a fool abroad," and so be it. Trying to lose oneself in any experience is playing a fool's game -- when it's over, you'll still have yourself to contend with. It reminds me of a quote from the film character Buckaroo Banzai: "No matter where you go, there you are."
Perhaps Emerson would look more kindly on backpacking. Backpacking takes us into the wilds not only geographically but spiritually as well. The distractions of our everyday lives are taken away, the annoyances of school, career, and competitive advancement replaced with a simple set of activities: cooking, walking, eating, and making camp. In such a setting it's nearly impossible to avoid recognizing who you are and coming to terms with yourself. Nature provides an unusually uncompromising mirror. I suppose this could also be experienced in a solitary cell at your local state prison, but backpacking is a much more pleasant way of accomplishing the same thing.
Unless you've done it, it's hard to understand the experience. To begin with, a backpacking trip is the ultimate in self reliance: it's you and nature. Everything necessary for your survival you must carry with you. The food you eat and the water you drink are up to your devices -- either pack it in or purify it. Your shelter and the level of comfort it gives you are up to you as well.
My wife and I recently returned from a three-day trip in Big Sur, California, which was also my first backpacking trip. My mindset changed dramatically over the course of the days we were gone. On the way in -- a relatively strenuous seven-mile hike up and into the coastal mountains -- I focused my attention completely on reaching camp, our day's ultimate goal. Starting about mid-morning, I began the hike as if I were running a race-pacing and pushing myself over hills, up switchbacks, past ridge tops that baked in the sun and slopes that languished in shady canopy. I had been working out consistently before the trip, so I viewed the hike as a sort of test. I stopped the times my wife needed to rest, made insinuations as we waited that she would probably be making better time if she had been working out too, and trudged on.
We eventually reached camp only to face a variation on Emerson's travel query: once you get away from it all, what do you do when you're there? Being away from it all means that you can't hide yourself in television or other diversions. Having no grand task to set about doing, I was left with just myself and the woods. This is where the miracle happened -- my senses began to clear from the dynamics of life as I usually live it -- filled with deadlines, driving, the din of the media, and the hum of my hard drive. Instead there was the sound of a river running its course, insects serenading the evening breeze, and the smell of coastal wildflowers in bloom. All the hard edges to life that I had accepted as givens faded away as the natural dynamics of life on earth moved to the forefront. The sun fell to reveal more stars than can be viewed in a city month, and I slept. The following days were a joy. Instead of focusing on the destination, I began to enjoy wherever I was on the way. Finally reaching the destination was great, too, and allowed for selection of a new goal -- but the path on the way was more than just an obstacle standing between me and where I wished to be.
Unanticipated problems confronted us and were dealt with in the best way possible at the time. My sense of adventure returned along with my curiosity. I'm sure that there are other recreational activities that give the same results. Backpacking isn't the only way toward self-knowledge, but it does provide a useful metaphor. How often do we focus on achieving a goal, forsaking all enjoyment until we reach it? Or refuse to move in a new direction because we can't anticipate all the obstacles we might encounter? These are all lessons taught by the trail. I wonder what I'll learn on my next trip.
Jay Hipps, Petaluma, CA, USA
jhipps@crl.com
