05.17.20
At the base of Mt Elden on the northern side of Flagstaff I am picking my way among various paths that criss-cross and arch and meet and bend off toward another experience. Very few of these are marked but together they constitute The Northside of town, adjacent to Buffalo Park where granite boulders jigsaw and fall into place. From a distance Mt Elden looks like an unassuming heap resting inconspicuously in the shadow of Arizona's tallest peak, Mt Humphreys; snowcapped until May and surrounded by miles of dormant volcano fields.
I live at 7,000 feet already. A few clouds. The same striking southwest blue sky that seems to blanket the world. Juniper, pine, chatter from the wildlife, dusty tracks passing the occasional hiker. Walking is still what makes sense a year and a half after the PCT.
I still regard the "Real World Paradigm Flip" to be among the most significant takeaways from the trail and when I'm out here I feel home. When I'm home I feel trapped somehow and my hands are always busy. Lists of projects to augment a new home which is 'back home' in some ways...and other times when I'm editing photos of the Matterhorn or that starry night at Gelmersee my heart starts beating. A rush of endorphins. Whatever you call it. It felt like this for a year after the trail as well. Every picture brought back a memory. "This is where I was watching water thaw at Miller Lake realized there's no accidents in life." "This is where we had our first trail magic". Things like that. Day in. Day out.
I turned 40 last year and also realized I still feel like a feral orphan in some ways. Despite the slowly-accumulated skillsets and books and one-too-many rites-of-passage, most free time is spent ambling through the thickets, crunching and scrambling, staring into the distance, occasionally working something out. Walking has developed into more of a philosophy; an adverb-like other exercises for the spirit. That is, it's often just as much emotion as action but there's no telling which emotion will appear and hang out or for how long. It depends on the terrain and if you go bushwhacking as I do often (with the summit of Elden resting behind a deep walled canyon), you may find all the adventure needed for a whole set of emotions At some point you may have climbed too high and turned around, backtracking to a point you thought you just passed, only to stumble to the edge of a cliff with no immediate means of descending while the sun rests above the horizon and a sudden chill fills the afternoon air.
In this case, I opted to continue up because up seemed like my only option. (If I made it to the radio towers by 5pm, I'd hit the Sunset Loop trail and find a way down) and I did. It was just one of those days.
I set off in street shoes earlier thinking I'd wander south on the AZT which was well-maintained in the area as it mingled with the Flagstaff Urban Trail System but sometimes the sight of a 'thing you can climb' pulls and my feet started following my gaze like a compass adjusting to North.
Each wander took me further and further into Elden and the surrounding areas. Some days were shoe-gaze lost-in-the-head strolls that offered the right amount of respite from 'all that other stuff'. Then a spark would hit and I'd find myself pushing up the most ominous cliffside deer trails with an almost mechanical determination. Whatever the mood called for.
I'd tried and failed to find Blue Dot Trail which was listed on a list of others but never apparated long enough before fading out and leaving me wondering how to get up and get down from some boulder field or canyon wall. Many trails weren't marked at all and it turned into a matter of choosing a direction and placing my bets on the sun and water rations, but I was never disappointed.
Even this morning, which started as a southward coast back on the AZT to see what might transpire...I ran into a woman who was hypnotized by a caterpillar cocoon bobbing in the leaves of a cottonwood tree. Then I approached what claimed to be an official detour and ended up heading the wrong way back into downtown along Route 66. Of course, pavement was the last thing I was interested in and the swarms from Phoenix were already milling about. You wouldn't have known that just weeks ago downtown Flagstaff looked like a ghost-town. I'd walked the streets under a heavy snowfall below the amber street-lights and the eeriness was difficult to describe.
I've got 101 opinions about recent events, but this isn't a recent events blog. It's about real things, like finally swerving off 66 and wandering into an outdoor store and tripping over a Deuter 65L+10. At this point I'd thought of putting off the big purchases until later. The CDT was starting to loom in my mind still a year away. Life happens regardless of that little flame in your chest and I'd been distracted more than once since the PCT, but this green pack kinda looked up at me like a hopeful stray at an animal shelter. I think it had fallen off the rack and it sat there leaning into some other apparel and I just picked it up for the heck of it. "Nice pockets" I mumbled. I turned it over..."Good padding." I took off my day pack and hoisted it over my shoulders and something clicked about the way it felt but I said "Hmmm" instead and walked a little back and forth. "Feels awesome..." "Hmmm". Then I sort of compulsively ran through the straps and buckles and readjusted everything and brought it down to the hips and shoulders..."Wow. I think this is it." I had no desire for anything before walking into Babbit's on San Francisco this morning, but I left with my next trekking pack.
See, the pack is everything. You're going to have an intimate relationship with a few things on the trail. Shoes, food, and your pack (and the things you decide to put in it). I suppose when you know, you just know, so I forked over the money and walked up to Cedar Ave and sat it next to the massive Osprey Escalante 80L + guide's pack I'd lugged for six months and compared the two; also comparing the person with the streamlined feature-filled Deurte and the guy who showed up in Campo wearing jeans two years ago. I remember it was so packed that it turned into a sort of cube and the weigh distribution threatened to pull me off the edge of many a random precipice. When you know, you just know, but I can't say I knew much in the spring of 2018. You get a feeling. Same with the Asics Kahanas. When I finally put them on in Tehachapi I didn't care what they looked like...I just knew they were going to be my shoes for the rest of the trail (and I'm still hoping to find another pair)
So, as with all walks, there are meaningful moments and chance encounters. I've always said: Walk 10 miles in any direction and it'll change your life. Just pack enough water ;)
More soon.
Bye Bye,
-Will
I live at 7,000 feet already. A few clouds. The same striking southwest blue sky that seems to blanket the world. Juniper, pine, chatter from the wildlife, dusty tracks passing the occasional hiker. Walking is still what makes sense a year and a half after the PCT.
I still regard the "Real World Paradigm Flip" to be among the most significant takeaways from the trail and when I'm out here I feel home. When I'm home I feel trapped somehow and my hands are always busy. Lists of projects to augment a new home which is 'back home' in some ways...and other times when I'm editing photos of the Matterhorn or that starry night at Gelmersee my heart starts beating. A rush of endorphins. Whatever you call it. It felt like this for a year after the trail as well. Every picture brought back a memory. "This is where I was watching water thaw at Miller Lake realized there's no accidents in life." "This is where we had our first trail magic". Things like that. Day in. Day out.
I turned 40 last year and also realized I still feel like a feral orphan in some ways. Despite the slowly-accumulated skillsets and books and one-too-many rites-of-passage, most free time is spent ambling through the thickets, crunching and scrambling, staring into the distance, occasionally working something out. Walking has developed into more of a philosophy; an adverb-like other exercises for the spirit. That is, it's often just as much emotion as action but there's no telling which emotion will appear and hang out or for how long. It depends on the terrain and if you go bushwhacking as I do often (with the summit of Elden resting behind a deep walled canyon), you may find all the adventure needed for a whole set of emotions At some point you may have climbed too high and turned around, backtracking to a point you thought you just passed, only to stumble to the edge of a cliff with no immediate means of descending while the sun rests above the horizon and a sudden chill fills the afternoon air.
In this case, I opted to continue up because up seemed like my only option. (If I made it to the radio towers by 5pm, I'd hit the Sunset Loop trail and find a way down) and I did. It was just one of those days.
I set off in street shoes earlier thinking I'd wander south on the AZT which was well-maintained in the area as it mingled with the Flagstaff Urban Trail System but sometimes the sight of a 'thing you can climb' pulls and my feet started following my gaze like a compass adjusting to North.
Each wander took me further and further into Elden and the surrounding areas. Some days were shoe-gaze lost-in-the-head strolls that offered the right amount of respite from 'all that other stuff'. Then a spark would hit and I'd find myself pushing up the most ominous cliffside deer trails with an almost mechanical determination. Whatever the mood called for.
I'd tried and failed to find Blue Dot Trail which was listed on a list of others but never apparated long enough before fading out and leaving me wondering how to get up and get down from some boulder field or canyon wall. Many trails weren't marked at all and it turned into a matter of choosing a direction and placing my bets on the sun and water rations, but I was never disappointed.
Even this morning, which started as a southward coast back on the AZT to see what might transpire...I ran into a woman who was hypnotized by a caterpillar cocoon bobbing in the leaves of a cottonwood tree. Then I approached what claimed to be an official detour and ended up heading the wrong way back into downtown along Route 66. Of course, pavement was the last thing I was interested in and the swarms from Phoenix were already milling about. You wouldn't have known that just weeks ago downtown Flagstaff looked like a ghost-town. I'd walked the streets under a heavy snowfall below the amber street-lights and the eeriness was difficult to describe.
I've got 101 opinions about recent events, but this isn't a recent events blog. It's about real things, like finally swerving off 66 and wandering into an outdoor store and tripping over a Deuter 65L+10. At this point I'd thought of putting off the big purchases until later. The CDT was starting to loom in my mind still a year away. Life happens regardless of that little flame in your chest and I'd been distracted more than once since the PCT, but this green pack kinda looked up at me like a hopeful stray at an animal shelter. I think it had fallen off the rack and it sat there leaning into some other apparel and I just picked it up for the heck of it. "Nice pockets" I mumbled. I turned it over..."Good padding." I took off my day pack and hoisted it over my shoulders and something clicked about the way it felt but I said "Hmmm" instead and walked a little back and forth. "Feels awesome..." "Hmmm". Then I sort of compulsively ran through the straps and buckles and readjusted everything and brought it down to the hips and shoulders..."Wow. I think this is it." I had no desire for anything before walking into Babbit's on San Francisco this morning, but I left with my next trekking pack.
See, the pack is everything. You're going to have an intimate relationship with a few things on the trail. Shoes, food, and your pack (and the things you decide to put in it). I suppose when you know, you just know, so I forked over the money and walked up to Cedar Ave and sat it next to the massive Osprey Escalante 80L + guide's pack I'd lugged for six months and compared the two; also comparing the person with the streamlined feature-filled Deurte and the guy who showed up in Campo wearing jeans two years ago. I remember it was so packed that it turned into a sort of cube and the weigh distribution threatened to pull me off the edge of many a random precipice. When you know, you just know, but I can't say I knew much in the spring of 2018. You get a feeling. Same with the Asics Kahanas. When I finally put them on in Tehachapi I didn't care what they looked like...I just knew they were going to be my shoes for the rest of the trail (and I'm still hoping to find another pair)
So, as with all walks, there are meaningful moments and chance encounters. I've always said: Walk 10 miles in any direction and it'll change your life. Just pack enough water ;)
More soon.
Bye Bye,
-Will
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