Monday, 28 November 2022
I awoke early, called not only by the glacier, which had been on my mind all night, but by a grand flood-storm. The wind was blowing a gale from the north and the rain was flying with the clouds in a wide passionate horizontal flood, as if it were all passing over the country instead of falling on it. The main perennial streams were booming high above their banks, and hundreds of new ones, roaring like the sea, almost covered the lofty gray walls of the inlet with white cascades and falls. I had intended making a cup of coffee and getting something like a breakfast before starting, but when I heard the storm and looked out I made haste to join it; for many of Nature’s finest lessons are to be found in her storms….
—John Muir, Stickeen,1909
I am not tough. Nor I do not aspire to be. That’s not to say I’m weak. Rather, I’d characterize myself as cautious, intelligently so. I am open to challenge, but I wish to be prepared, and would like to see myself as resilient.
I read Muir’s account of his travels in Alaska with astonishment. The streams flooding, the wind a gale, the waterfalls blasted into mist. And Muir so anxious to be out in it he forgets to have breakfast! That’s tough! I would be considering the integrity of my rainwear, and checking the weather on my phone, and pondering whether the day might be better spent indoors.
But I should not sell myself short. I have, intentionally and with forethought, gone hiking in the rain. It is pleasant, in the right garb. I have even struggled over several kilometers of lava-rock trail with sleet blowing horizontally into my face, though had logistics permitted would happily have deferred to another day. It was not pleasant, but worth it in the end. Still, I am no Muir, to pit myself against the elements for the sheer joy of it.
To the extent I pit myself against nature, it is in the imaginings that drive my preparation. What are the likely ways I might injure myself, and with what manner of remediation ought I be prepared? If I wander off the trail and get lost, and have to bivouack overnight, might I need? Such imaginings recently involved me purchasing a pair of kneepads made for skateboarders – on a recent trip I was traveling along a trail with great chunks of broken granite, and considered the consequences of slipping on the grus as my fatigue increased and I headed back downhill. I will note, in defense of these imaginings, that I like to hike on my own, often in remote areas with poor cell service, and cannot rely on companions or passersby for aid.
And I have to confess that I take a sort of delight in the process of preparation and organization. I have my precautionary gear separated into small packets based on how likely I am to need it. There is the “ready to hand” packet, which has insect repellent, sunscreen and snacks; the “near to hand,” pack, which has toilet paper, matches, and a compass; and other packets designed for specific situations such as ‘out after dark,’ bivouacking,’ ‘it’s raining,’ and first aid. I will also have trained for a specific outing, trying to do stairclimbing if there is a lot of elevation, and doing exercises to fortify my achilles tendons if they’ve been giving me any twinges. All of this coalesces into what I hope is a reasonably fit body, and an unreasonably heavy pack.
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