02.17.21

    After awhile on the long trails I become distinctly aware of another element. It's not as if it ever left. It's matter of returning one's resonation. To me it feels like a sort of primal intuition about the broader act of nature in all its comings and goings. It has a language all its own that works in symbols and small waves within larger waves and cycles and we pass through it our entire lives but we find it difficult to see past the artifice, especially when artifice has been the set and setting of our primary reference points. We want something from nature when we venture out, but invariably it us we who give up something and return to center without so much inner noise. We feel moved and humbled by realizing that this force is already in us, that we've only disconnected as far as we thought we knew better, with only as much mistrust as we allowed to accumulate. Then we go deep into nature and reconnect. We are stunned that it didn't cost anything and no lauded thinkers of the modern era were cited. No pills were taken and no medals were awarded. We sometimes return to our cars with bowed heads wondering 'how can I impart any of this to the world?' The truth might be that we can't. 

    I've noted that a picture of a thing is not that thing. It is in fact, nothing of the sort and it rests more appropriately in the field of aberrations that dot our mental scapes like so many landmines waiting to be misused by the eyes and body. That thing is a simulated reconfiguration of light. It is a false light and I wonder what the mind does with so much false light to re-interpret. That is, I wonder how many people look at a screen and realize that not a single quanta of that data reflects the character of the thing itself. We may interpret symbols, but I doubt we are designed to interpret them in such perpetual inundation. It numbs the spirit and I know people who live so much in media that their entire psychological mindset has shifted toward this artificial proxy to describe and interpret their own realities. Perspective is an interesting thing; especially these days.

    A couple nights ago we watched a documentary called "Mountain" narrated by Willem Defoe (who is fine narrator) and saw a sort of dramatized recent history of man's relationship with mountains. There were several good points that many in this community are all-too aware of. Who deserves these heights? Everyone? Why are people doing it? What is this entire sub-culture of Go-pro helmets and bigger, better, harder, faster, more all about? Careers for climbing? Gear endorsements? The slopes are terra-formed. The snow is made of reclaimed sewage and spat out all over the place. The industries behind it that often claim so much authority and bandwidth in terms of public opinion around ecology and the environment seem to be the ones most casually exploiting it for their benefit. There's something paradoxical about human behavior and I don't know if it will ever be fully apprehended. I climb mountains to climb mountains. It's an instinctual thing. I take pictures when I see something that stirs me. Maybe it's an epic sunset at Muir Pass. Maybe it's just a bug draped on the side of a petal. How can we explain what drives us? There's no way I can explain anything in words and pictures, nor would I want to.

     We're one week from beginning the AZT after accumulating and testing and donating a few loads of old gear and cutting and singeing and gluing and stuffing and strategizing. I read the stories coming in from people already on the trail passing through Patagonia. We watch the weather. We update apps and maps and talk resupply and water sources. One more week fixing endless Things at work. It's been a fun learning experience. I've been allowed to stay in my own world for the most part. Most of this stuff is just muscle-memory anyway. It feels like I'm really just arranging matter in different configurations. All machines, all projects, all 'issues' are just a question of re-configuring parts back into their proper place. I put on podcasts or German lessons and keep moving. 

   I really don't know what it's going to be like all this time. Sometimes you don't know that until a year after it's done. I know that walking is its own thing. It doesn't fit in a box and I do it for the act itself. It sums everything in a very subtle way. People often say "Yeah, it just made sense." There's a path and you walk it. My heart still skips when I look at all the pictures from the past two years. Alpine lakes deep in the Cascades to Matterhorn base camps, creeping through avalanche fields to sandstone spires and cliffs. Walking, driving, climbing, flying, hanging on, letting go. Whenever another adventure approaches, I go into a kind of theta-dreamy romanticism and just see where it leads.