Backpacking and Wilderness Trekking

It's NOT about Self-Reliance

photo by Lon

"Backpacking? What's that?" A young woman asked me that recently.

Hiking, Backpacking and Wilderness Trekking

I explained that a wilderness area can be traveled by foot only; there are no roads, and few signs; no motorized vehicles are allowed; one sleeps on the ground; there are no restrooms, lodging or showers, and you have to carry everything you need to keep yourself alive for a week, including tent, sleeping bag, spare clothing, emergency gear, food and water. For that you need a backpack.

Oh, and your phone and tablet are useless.

There was no judgment in my response. The first time my dad asked me to fetch him a ball peen hammer, I didn't know what he was talking about.

I did reflect, though, that our environment is already in peril. Things will not get better until we learn to take care of it collectively. But that is not a hopeful prospect unless we develop the moral compass to take care of it individually, and that is not likely to happen if we don't cultivate a love for our planet by living on the surface of it for a few days every so often.

If people don't even know the term for living on the surface, then the environment can't hold much of a place in their moral consciousness.

What Backpacking is Not

I might pack fifty miles on a wilderness trek, which isn't that far when you spread it out over a week. But if you're carrying fifty pounds on your back at thirteen-thousand feet and climbing and descending three-thousand feet each day, fifty miles is a long way. It can be grueling.

That last sentence kind of summarizes what backpacking is. It might help to also consider what backpacking is not:

Hiking

Backpacking is not hiking. Hiking is a day trip. It is fun. It is superb exercise. It is spiritually refreshing and exactly the kind of communion with nature which can mend the dissociation that exists between our planet and her occupants. Get out there! Go for it.

Hiking requires minimal cargo. Snacks. Water. Usually the trails are groomed.

There are dangers: People get lost, and when they do they don't have tent or sleeping bag or enough food. That's the tradeoff between traveling light and traveling long.

Backpacking

Backpacking is not backpacking.

You read that right. A lot of energetic people spend their summers and holidays seeing the world. They travel by bus or Eurorail. They'll even put out their thumbs alongside the road and hitch a ride with truckers and the open-minded drivers of passenger cars. These travelers carry their goods conveniently in backpacks. Rightfully, they call this practice backpacking, as in: "I backpacked across Europe after graduation," or "I backpacked to my cousin's wedding in Oregon."

One appreciates their adventurous spirit. Between bus stations and train stations, one hopes they take-in their share of nature as well.

Camping

Camping gets you outside. Good. Now you're sleeping on the ground—and hiking each day!

“I might pack fifty miles on a wilderness trek, which isn't that far when you spread it out over a week. But if you're carrying fifty pounds on your back at thirteen-thousand feet and climbing and descending three-thousand feet each day, fifty miles is a long way.”

Wilderness Trekking

That's probably the best term to use for what I call backpacking. You're in a wilderness area, letting it be, not trying to pave it or otherwise domesticate it. And you're

Solo-backpacking

I most often travel alone. It's uncommon to find a friend who has the free time to come along. But then again, I like solitude. You have to take extra care when packing alone.

A beautiful, vivacious woman, my wife's friend, once noticed my backpack in my living room. She asked where I was going, and I explained that I had just gotten back. (I confess that when I get back from a trip, I tend to procrastinate about stowing my gear; I suppose I hang on a little tightly to the recent memories.)

She asked me where I had been. I gave her the facts: remote location of the wilderness area in Colorado, elevation, distance traveled, weight of my pack, number of nights spent alone, sleeping on the ground, and so on. As I reiterated the details, a look of horror came over her face. I supposed the cause to be one of the usual suspects: snakes, bears, escaped convicts.

But no. That wasn't it. "You mean you have no one to talk to? Not for a week?"

I immediately intuited how solitude would conflict with her gregarious social nature. It was a profound realization that she was more afraid of silence than she was a bear. But she was transparent about it: "I need to talk. Every day! I don't know how I could get through one day, much less eight."

It's NOT About Self-Reliance

In my other career, I had a salesman who tried to be relational by asking me lots of questions about how I spend my personal time. I gave him the same basic facts which I gave my wife's beautiful friend—the same facts I have given you.

"You mean you have no one to talk to? Not for a week?"

I could tell he was having a difficult time being relational when he couldn't identify with my pastime. "Why do you backpack?" he finally asked, after calling-on me for months.

I described the solitude. Then I tried very hard to explain how you wear yourself down to the point where you no longer worry about your job; the mortgage doesn't matter; you no longer need anything. The nearest road is twenty miles away. The nearest law enforcement officer and grocery are thirty miles. The nearest doctor is sixty. Even if you needed those things, you can't have them.

He did not scratch his head. But in my mind's eye, I mentally saw him mentally scratching his head. "I suppose you're talking about self-reliance," he guessed.

"It's the exact opposite," I told him. "You find yourself in a situation where you know you can't rely on yourself. You're going to try your best, but you can't guarantee anything."

When you're weary enough, when you're far enough from everything, you find out how little you really need. You don't need a mortgage; you have a tent. You don't need a job; you're alive and preoccupied with being alive on the surface of the planet in the present moment. Your mind is brought to a state of focused attention similar to meditation.

You don't need food; you could live without it for weeks. You don't need your tent; you could construct a shelter, or you could wrap up in your clothing and sleep on the ground. You don't need water; you could live without it for days.

You are alive right now. Right now, you don't need anything.

Do this, right now. Hold your breath. For a short period of time, you see, you don't even need air. Now breathe and listen.

If the Universe has decided a mountain lion shall maul me, nothing can stop it. If the Universe has decided I have a place in the world, the mountain lion will go hungry. If God wants me dead, nothing can save me. But if God wants me alive, nothing can kill me.

Final Thoughts

Don't let me lead you astray by that last thought. I plan all my trips carefully because I don't want to die. I assess myself as I travel each day, so as not to get in a position from which I can't recover. But you can hardly call that self-reliance; it's being conscious of my limitations and respecting them.

On that note, the world is full of outdoorsmen who are much more robust than I. I am not an elite athlete. So I am careful, and I encourage you to be careful. But I do encourage you to get out there and let the wilderness stretch you, and let the earth calibrate your thinking.

See, when I come home from these excursions, having reached the limits of self-reliance, the wilderness makes me think differently about everything. It makes me think differently about my occupation. It makes me think differently about my life-priorities. I treat my wife better. And it makes me think differently about how we all rely on the earth.

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Here's your payoff for seeing-through my pedestrian ramblings:

Spend Christmas in a Yurt

Lon published an article in Snowshoe Magazine a few years ago. It's quirky, but fun. Here's hoping it inspires you to visit the folks at the Hinsdale Haute Route in Lake City, Colorado. Here's a link: https://www.snowshoemag.com/?s=Hinsdale+Haute+Route

https://www.snowshoemag.com/?s=Hinsdale+Haute+Route