I stood in the shower, washing away three days' worth of dirt and sweat. Three days' of sunscreen and insect repellent. I wished I could just as easily wash away the fatigue and the bruises from an overloaded pack. As I did so, I contemplated why I would treat my body thusly.
Perhaps it was to experience the world as it was before electricity and the automobiles. To experience the quiet that only happens deep in the wilderness, farther away than the day hikers can go. To hear a rushing waterfall as the loudest sound.
It was to enjoy the smell of trees rather than the smells of industry. To watch the weather unfold, first warming, then cooling. To awake to the sounds of light rain striking the tent, and to rise to see the sun reflected on thousands of water droplets clinging to the grasses and trees of the forest.
It was to go on an early morning hike, and be surprised by, and perhaps surprise, a moose going about her business of eating breakfast. To be still, and watch as she decides we're no threat and lies down. To marvel that so large an animal can become virtually invisible lying just beyond that tree, and wonder at how many others we've missed.
Maybe to hike above timberline, and wonder at the stunted plants that grow in the alpine tundra. To see the jagged peaks surrounding the pass, with their patches of sheltered snow and flowers. To go on a hunt for ptarmigan, camouflaged and hard to spot.
Perhaps it was to observe the tenacity of a young fisherman, as he moved back and forth along the banks of the mountain lake, certain that if only he cast from there, he might get more than the nibble he just had.
It was to lie in our sleeping bags on the ground as darkness descended on a clear night, and watch as the stars appeared, the Milky Way unobstructed by pollution, brightly visible here, a surprising band of light crossing the sky. To watch as the first streaks of the Perseid meteors lit up the sky, amazing in their brightness.
It was to spend three days relaxing, and experiencing the world again through the eyes of a 9-year-old. I've become jaded, and unobservant of various things, but every animal, every plant, flower, mold, every jagged rock and every stream crossing are amazing things. Every bird must be identified, or at least guessed at: “Dad, quick! Give me the bird book again! That was a brown bird with a white tail, it will be in the brown section...” To positively identify some “That was a Hairy Woodpecker”, to leave others for another trip.
To hear the songs of birds unfamiliar, and strain to catch a sight of them in the trees. Then, to hear the sounds known, “There's a robin!” To marvel out how a squirrel runs, or a marmot ambles. To glimpse another moose as she angles up a slope.
A chance to spread the imagination about how each fallen tree got that way. To listen as my son wondered that if only that tree, now caught on another two, had instead fallen with more force might it have caused the next to fall, and the next, spreading in a fan to encompass all the forest like dominoes. To talk with him, no distractions, and strengthen the bonds we have.
A tent that needs cleaning and drying, sleeping bags that need to be hung and aired out.
Clothes that need to be washed.
Fatigue and bruises, dirt and sweat, sunscreen and Deet.
They seem like a small price to pay.
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