Getting Out: The purpose of this column each week is in its
title: Getting Out. I hope that sharing stories of walks in nearby
hills will prompt you to strap on sturdy walking shoes, stuff a
field guide in a fanny pack and get out. Our area of the world is
blessed with an unequaled variety of landscapes that can please
every taste and any appetite, large or small, for adventure.
The purpose of this column each week is in its title: Getting Out. I hope that sharing stories of walks in nearby hills will prompt you to strap on sturdy walking shoes, stuff a field guide in a fanny pack and get out. Our area of the world is blessed with an unequaled variety of landscapes that can please every taste and any appetite, large or small, for adventure.
But honestly, I hope for something more.
A couple weeks ago, while I was browsing at BookSmart bookstore in downtown Morgan Hill, I noticed a flier announcing an upcoming appearance by a fellow named Edwin Andersen, who would speak and sign his book, “Lessons of the Wild: Learning from the Wisdom of Nature.” I made a point to go, and I am glad I did. Andersen’s presentation reminded me that there is more than just an elevated heart rate and fresh air waiting out there. Getting out, sooner or later, pays your effort with magic.
Andersen’s readings and the stories he shared reminded me of a few of my own special moments that could only have happened alone in nature and away from the hubbub.
I remember lying in my sleeping bag on a moonless night in the Sierra high country, watching the annual Perseid meteor shower. Another time, as I sat resting by the trail, my head down between my legs, lost in my fatigue and the effects of the altitude, a Rosy Finch landed on my knee and lingered there. Walking in our neighboring hills, I have seen the carcass of a lion-killed deer strewn in the midst of grass, tamped down during a life and death struggle.
I was so undistracted and the moments so intimate that these brief and simple experiences are incredibly vivid in my memory. They revealed profound wisdom that were indelibly impressed in my heart and mind because of how they were revealed to me: directly, alone, quietly.
The Perseid meteor shower taught me that I am part of an incomprehensibly vast universe. Through my friendly Rosy Finch, I felt an intimate connection to Earth’s other creatures, which, like all of us, struggle to make our way in life. The lion kill taught me about the brutality of nature and the finality of death which awaits us all. Getting out not only builds a bond with nature, it brings us closer to those with whom we share the trail.
I have written before about walking the John Muir Trail for three weeks with my son. Memories of that trip will always lift me, and I know the experience vastly expanded what he thought were his limits. We met a woman on that trip, Rose, perhaps 40 years old, who had come over from England and was walking the entire 220-mile trail alone. Wouldn’t you like to sit down and chat over coffee with such a soul?
These moments are waiting for us in ordinary places by the seashore, over the mountain, or along the trail. So, I hope that this column will do something more than simply push you out the door. Besides exercise and fresh air, there are experiences, visions and knowledge out there that is available in no other classroom. Venture out with an open heart, carefree and alert, and the natural world will reward you handsomely.
