Not So Wild
Last year I read Cheryl Strayed’s excellent book “Wild.” If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend you do so. Not right now though. Now you should be reading this somewhat less excellent but still hopefully entertaining story.
“Wild” is Ms. Strayed’s account of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. Naturally, it’s about more than that. The author is a former heroin addict who is also dealing with the death of her mother. Fortunately I have no experience with heroin and even more fortunately, my mother is still around so it’s only the hiking part that concerns me today. When I read the book, I was stunned at how many rookie blunders she made. Poor equipment choices and a general lack of experience amounted to what I believed was a recipe for disaster. I considered myself qualified to make these judgments because I’ve been camping and backpacking since I was very young. Now, if this were a movie, there’d be a little devilish looking “expert guy” on my shoulder reinforcing the idea that I am indeed an expert. But there would also be his counterpart, “reality check guy,” on the other shoulder, reminding me that not only am I not an expert, I’ve made plenty of mistakes (really stupid dangerous ones) of my own.
I couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven when I went on my first overnight camping trip. I went with a friend who was my age and two brothers who were a bit younger. We had little to no equipment. I carried an old canvas rucksack. The two brothers lugged suitcases (wheeled suitcases had not been invented yet). We camped in some woods behind the elementary school and were close enough to run home for whatever we forgot. As I recall we cooked a can of beans by hanging it on a string over our campfire. I also remember hoping the beans cooked before the string caught fire. We only stayed one night but it was enough for me to be hooked.
By the time we were in high school we’d acquired a fair amount of actual equipment and the experience to go with it. By then we’d ventured farther from home and stayed out for more days. As a result, I considered myself to be quite the expert. So naturally when my friend Frank suggested we try some winter camping, I thought I was ready. I wasn’t.
After hiking a few miles through the snow we found a place to camp and set up the tent that Frank had borrowed from a friend. When dinnertime rolled around, the wind had picked up considerably and cooking was going to be a problem. So we decided to cook inside the tent. Immediately I had “expert guy” on one shoulder assuring me it would be okay and “reality check guy” on the other reminding me that I knew better. That made for a crowded tent but the truth is I did know better. Tents are incredibly flammable and it only takes seconds for one to be engulfed in flames. But like idiots, we did it anyway. Remarkably, we managed to cook dinner without incident. The trouble came afterward when we decided to make some tea. A small amount of fuel (white gas) leaked out when we lit the stove, and it caught fire. So now we found ourselves zipped up inside a tent with a burning stove (“Reality check guy” would have been screaming, “I told you so” had he not already bolted). Using a bandana as a potholder, Frank grabbed the burning stove while I fumbled with the tent zipper. I’d also grabbed my knife and was prepared to cut our way out if necessary. Somehow we got the tent door open and tossed the stove into the snow. We added some more snow to extinguish the fire and surveyed the damage. The tent floor had a not so nice, new hole in it but that was all. We were lucky. A few moments more could have been fatal. “Reality check guy” had been right. That was the end of cooking inside a tent for me.
But it was not the end of backpacking. There were lots of great hikes including a school trip organized by a student teacher where we hiked fifty miles of the Appalachian Trail in Virginia. After high school, my move to California opened up a whole new series of mountains to explore. Eventually, I settled into an annual excursion with friends and a yearly solo adventure as well. On the trips with friends, there were plenty of times when the voice of “reality check guy” was required. I can still see our friend Mike insisting he could swim across the lake we were camped at. Fortunately we talked him out of that. He still tried it but stuck to the left shore where he could stand if he needed to. And he needed to.
For obvious reasons, solo hiking is more dangerous than going with a group. But if one is careful (and listens to the advice of “reality check guy”) it can be a great experience.
On a solo trip to the Desolation Wilderness (also highly recommended but again, not right now), I was five miles in from the trailhead when I somehow lost the trail. I’d just gotten to a lake in a beautiful valley and the trail had grown fainter and fainter until I finally lost it. I backtracked several times but still couldn’t find it so I decided to bushwhack my way to the crest of the mountain. I figured I’d either come across the trail or possibly when I reached the top, spot the next lake that the trail ran near to. As I made my way, “reality check guy” continually reminded me that veering that far off the trail when hiking alone was not smart. And it isn’t.
Although I made it safely to the top, there was neither the trail nor another lake in sight. I was no closer to finding my way and the daylight was waning; I started back down to the lake, kicking myself the entire way. It should be noted that kicking one’s self while carrying a heavy backpack is not recommended. I made camp by the lake and the next day, when I tried to find the trail, I spotted something I’d missed originally and suddenly I was back on my way. Safely.
Since that trip, I’ve made it a point to get better at reading maps, I’ve managed to stay on the trail, and I’ve learned to pay closer attention to “reality check guy.”
That in itself sounds like great advice, but as the risk taking “expert guy” on my shoulder points out, if Cheryl Strayed had listened to the “reality check guy” on her shoulder, she probably wouldn’t have written “Wild.”
Keep that in mind as you read it, which is okay to do now.
