Introductions and Recollections
Posted: Jun 28 2017 5:39 pm
I’ve been a member of this forum for nearly a year but am just now getting in the mix. By way of introduction, I thought I’d share a tale and ask you if you’d share one in return.
What was the hike that awakened your passion for the outdoors?
Reviewing my journals, I notice today is the second anniversary of my first (and only) on-trail black bear sighting. Until that time, I had been largely indifferent to outdoor recreation. It wasn’t my favorite thing to do but I did enjoy the occasional short hike. Same with camping. It was fun on occasion but, as I got older, I found it less and less desirable, what with the aching back and creaky hips.
Growing up in Northern California, the Sierra Nevada was never far and, while all that granite made for some impressive scenery, it was still too close to home for a kid who longed to see the ends of the Earth. I was also very much a creature of my environment. My formative years were spent in the suburbs; I fantasized about long road trips more than wilderness adventures. A few years in rural Sonoma County gave me an appreciation for the rugged coast and redwoods but only from an emotionally safe distance and never far from the car.
In 2015, I found myself back in easy range of the Sierra while on a temporary job assignment in Carson City, Nevada. In an attempt to escape the early summer heat, I headed for the high country with all my car-camping gear crammed into the back my Subaru. My destination was the North Yuba River, near Sierra Buttes. I’d explore some back roads, find a nice meal somewhere, have a campfire, and generally be cooler than hanging out at home.
Having spent a restless, solitary night at Wild Plum Campground, listening to the other campers, with their partying and loud radios, I was all to ready to pack up camp at first light and go home. The next morning, with the car packed, I recalled I had resolved, in some attempt at forcing myself to get out into nature, to take a short loop hike that began and ended in the campground. After the negative experience with “stupid camping,” I was ready to be done and back home in my comfort zone again, hike be damned. The trail was probably crammed with urbanites anyway and it was going to suck like the camping did. I just knew it.
But I made myself do it. Two or three miles at the most. Then back to the car and home in two hours.
Up the trail I went, dutifully trudging along, as if assigned some sort of menial task. Before long, I happened upon a clearing that offered some humbling scenery, along with the chance to reflect a bit on how fortunate I was to be where I was and how I might benefit from slowing down and allowing the majesty to work on me. After a half-hour spent in contemplation, my journey proceeded more purposefully as I circled around back towards the familiar.
Ambling down the trail, approaching a narrow wooden bridge, lost in thought, I saw the bear. It was on the same trail, heading for the bridge as well. My heart about exploded. I figure I must’ve been downwind because the bear did not seem to notice me at all. Calmly, I backtracked to give it some space, watching from some distance but still not feeling entirely safe. I quickly lost sight of it in the dense forest growth so, when I resumed my course, I made plenty of noise on the way.
Back in my car, I had plenty of time to reflect on the experience. It was like looking at a replay in stunning slow motion; the sight of the bear’s shoulders rolling left and right; its massive paws; its dusty, cinnamon coat. I felt changed; somehow different, as if I had been granted access to a special club or had revealed to me an important secret. My senses felt sharpened and my eyes scanned the landscape for other surprises as I headed home.
A switch had been flipped and, after forty-five years, I finally understood what so many others saw in the wilderness. From that day, I wanted more. I knew instantly that I wasn’t going to get it by clinging to the car, safe in a camp with my picnic table and pit toilet nearby. Suddenly, there was gear to acquire, conservation work to learn, skills to hone and online forums to join. Sure, it would mean leaving the comfort zone, getting reacquainted with the dirt, and learning things much younger people had likely forgotten. And while I’m envious of those whose eyes were opened earlier and, thus, have more experiences to treasure, I’m grateful mine were opened at the time they were. What a gift it’s been.
What was your moment?
What was the hike that awakened your passion for the outdoors?
Reviewing my journals, I notice today is the second anniversary of my first (and only) on-trail black bear sighting. Until that time, I had been largely indifferent to outdoor recreation. It wasn’t my favorite thing to do but I did enjoy the occasional short hike. Same with camping. It was fun on occasion but, as I got older, I found it less and less desirable, what with the aching back and creaky hips.
Growing up in Northern California, the Sierra Nevada was never far and, while all that granite made for some impressive scenery, it was still too close to home for a kid who longed to see the ends of the Earth. I was also very much a creature of my environment. My formative years were spent in the suburbs; I fantasized about long road trips more than wilderness adventures. A few years in rural Sonoma County gave me an appreciation for the rugged coast and redwoods but only from an emotionally safe distance and never far from the car.
In 2015, I found myself back in easy range of the Sierra while on a temporary job assignment in Carson City, Nevada. In an attempt to escape the early summer heat, I headed for the high country with all my car-camping gear crammed into the back my Subaru. My destination was the North Yuba River, near Sierra Buttes. I’d explore some back roads, find a nice meal somewhere, have a campfire, and generally be cooler than hanging out at home.
Having spent a restless, solitary night at Wild Plum Campground, listening to the other campers, with their partying and loud radios, I was all to ready to pack up camp at first light and go home. The next morning, with the car packed, I recalled I had resolved, in some attempt at forcing myself to get out into nature, to take a short loop hike that began and ended in the campground. After the negative experience with “stupid camping,” I was ready to be done and back home in my comfort zone again, hike be damned. The trail was probably crammed with urbanites anyway and it was going to suck like the camping did. I just knew it.
But I made myself do it. Two or three miles at the most. Then back to the car and home in two hours.
Up the trail I went, dutifully trudging along, as if assigned some sort of menial task. Before long, I happened upon a clearing that offered some humbling scenery, along with the chance to reflect a bit on how fortunate I was to be where I was and how I might benefit from slowing down and allowing the majesty to work on me. After a half-hour spent in contemplation, my journey proceeded more purposefully as I circled around back towards the familiar.
Ambling down the trail, approaching a narrow wooden bridge, lost in thought, I saw the bear. It was on the same trail, heading for the bridge as well. My heart about exploded. I figure I must’ve been downwind because the bear did not seem to notice me at all. Calmly, I backtracked to give it some space, watching from some distance but still not feeling entirely safe. I quickly lost sight of it in the dense forest growth so, when I resumed my course, I made plenty of noise on the way.
Back in my car, I had plenty of time to reflect on the experience. It was like looking at a replay in stunning slow motion; the sight of the bear’s shoulders rolling left and right; its massive paws; its dusty, cinnamon coat. I felt changed; somehow different, as if I had been granted access to a special club or had revealed to me an important secret. My senses felt sharpened and my eyes scanned the landscape for other surprises as I headed home.
A switch had been flipped and, after forty-five years, I finally understood what so many others saw in the wilderness. From that day, I wanted more. I knew instantly that I wasn’t going to get it by clinging to the car, safe in a camp with my picnic table and pit toilet nearby. Suddenly, there was gear to acquire, conservation work to learn, skills to hone and online forums to join. Sure, it would mean leaving the comfort zone, getting reacquainted with the dirt, and learning things much younger people had likely forgotten. And while I’m envious of those whose eyes were opened earlier and, thus, have more experiences to treasure, I’m grateful mine were opened at the time they were. What a gift it’s been.
What was your moment?
