Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary.
-- Henry David Thoreau
A few weeks ago, the big news of the day for me and a backpacking buddy did not include Hurricane Ike churning through the Gulf or the unnamed storm buffeting the financial markets. We were oblivious to the demands of our respective offices and to crises on the home fronts.
Our biggest concern most mornings was whether to have a second cup of coffee or tea before leisurely packing up and heading farther into the wilds of northern Colorado.
With our minds clear of disasters natural and man-made and uncluttered of mental detritus that washes up like hurricane flotsam, we were free to concentrate on what really mattered in life: staying alive or, at least, remaining ambulatory enough to drive back home at the end of the trip.
Fortunately, no disasters of our own making befell us. The unpleasantries were confined to benign aches thanks to a generous supply of over-the-counter painkillers that went down with the frequency of dark chocolate M&Ms.
Best of all, we managed to keep our spirits elevated without dealing with the kind of brute nature Thoreau had in mind. We were a tad weary at the end of the day, but we certainly were not cold or suffering from hunger. And despite the occasional stormy weather, including a dusting of snow on the high peaks, we remained dry.
Years ago, after an ill-fated backpacking trip that was the wilderness version of the movie "The Out-of-Towners" and which caused a dear loved one to ever since view a backpack, tent and sleeping bag as playthings of Satan, I swore I'd never again be cold or wet or hungry.
So, with no equipment worries to hand-wring over, I am free to focus on the basics, which in the mornings means first extracting myself from a sleeping bag that, to save weight, has no zipper. I don't get out of it as much as I pupate from it.
Once disgorged from this nylon chrysalis and contorting myself from the tent, it is time to fire up the stove and brew the day's first hit of tea. With a hot mug in hand, leaning against a log, tree or boulder, I'm ready to greet the day and heat more water for a hot bowl of oatmeal. A second cup of tea may follow, depending on the mood and the view.
Lunch is simple fare, a bag of nuts and dried fruit nibbled on the trail. Dinner, one-pot entrees made from dehydrated ingredients, comes after pitching the tent and gathering and treating a few liters of water. Dessert is another hot brew or two sipped slowly at the edge of a crackling fire.
Sleep comes easily and quickly unless, as we experienced one night tucked among a pearl string of alpine lakes, a banshee wind threatened to uproot the entire mountain.
Thus the cycle repeats. No clocks necessary. Nary a calendar or datebook or personal digital assistant in sight. Our entire universe reduced to the sacks on our backs.
Out of the wilderness at last, we embraced the truck that would take us to a hot shower. On came the radio and back we were in that other world, hungry for news of storm-tossed loved ones along the Texas coast and of shrinking retirement accounts and of impending national economic ruin.
Two worlds. I know which one I'd rather be real.
nGordon D. Fiedler Jr. can be reached at 822-1407 or by e-mail at gfiedler@salina.com.
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