rafe
12-11-2006, 22:04
I seem to have raised a few hackles with my views on speed-hiking and other "amazing physical feats" on the trail. By way of explanation for my odd attitude here, I offer the following. This was originally presented as a sermon -- the last before our church closes for summer. I'd asked the minister if I could give a sermon about hiking, and this is exactly as I "preached" it, on June 11, 2006, at First Parish Unitarian Universalist, Bedford MA.
There were two props used during the sermon. One was a small framed poster I swiped off the wall of a hotel lobby. The other was a large map of the A.T., which most of us are familiar with (or have hanging on a wall somewhere.) It took about 15 minutes to "deliver" the sermon, so figure about that long to read it. Here goes.
-----------------------------------
Last night I went to Google maps and plugged in these two endpoints: Millinocket, Maine, and Gainesville, Georgia. Google reported the distance as 1,372 miles and estimated travel time at 1 day 2 hours. Hah. What do they know?
In the spring of 1990, I acquired this bit of propaganda from a certain hotel lobby. It's meant as a warning against using a fake ID to buy alcohol. [Show framed poster]
JPG of poster http://www.terrapinphoto.com/six_months.jpg
It says, "Six Months is a long time to Walk." It shows a man in jeans, with his back to the camera, walking down a lonely road. It's autumn, sunset, and there's a brooding sky in the distance.
In smaller print, it says,
"Do yourself a favor. Don't even try to pass a fake ID. Because the only thing it'll buy you is a long, long, walk.
Hehe. This is punishment?
Now, you need to know what brought me to that hotel lobby. I was there to celebrate my imminent departure on a hike of the Appalachian Trail, which I had figured to take... about six months.
I think of myself as a rational person. So I'm often puzzled by this. My relationship to this trail isn't the least bit rational, and yet... it rules me, and in the summer, its call is irresistible.
On the A.T. I've known roots and rocks as my most constant companions. I've felt them in the soles of my feet, fifteen miles a day for days on end. I've seen trees and hills from here to infinity. I've climbed mountains, balds, and crags, and walked through hollows and gaps where roads run, rivers flow and normal people go about their lives. I've crossed or walked along a thousand streams, rivers, lakes, and ponds. I've seen moose, snakes, grouse, hawks, owl, deer and a wild turkey that scared me half out of my wits. In thirty years time, I've walked about two-thirds the length of the trail.
Now you may ask, is this rational behavior? I mean, I sure do. How did this amazing trail come to be, and why? What is wilderness, and why is it important? Why do the woods, and this trail in particular mean so much to me?
UU principles acknowledge the web of life, the interconnectedness of all existence. There are webs through physical space, through life, and through time. The webs though time... we call history.
The earliest humans found their spirits in nature. Those of us who still do so are connected to them by a web of time.
To see how far we've come from these primitive superstitions, I give you United States Senator James Inhofe of Oklahoma, a born-again Christian and - get this - head of the Senate Committee on the Environment and Public Works. Inhofe chums with Pat Robertson. He earns a perfect score from the Christian Coalition, and a zero score from the League of Conservation Voters.
So where am I going with all this? To commend you to the web. Not the one at the end of your keyboard, but the one you get to by foot, with a pack on your back.
When I get to that place where there's no road or power line or parking lot or flush toilet within five miles - that's when I know my place in the universe and the web of life.
Summer's here. Let's talk recreation. Now, some folks seem to think that recreation must involve the use of an internal combustion engine in some manner. Or maybe theme parks, water slides, or Graceland. And some folks think different.
Which leads me to the protagonist of my talk, a fellow named Benton MacKaye. Some 85 years ago, Benton described, in an obscure professional journal, a particular vision of recreation that endures to this day.
It was Benton MacKaye's vision, energy, organizing and persuasion that gave birth to the Appalachian Trail. Benton MacKaye was the most important American thinker, organizer and social planner you never heard of. He made his home in Shirley, Massachusetts, just a few miles west of here. As a boy, he hiked the hills of New England, drawing maps and thinking big. How big? Glad you asked. [Show map of AT.] Fourteen states. Georgia... to Maine... 2,175 miles long. [Point out Millinocket ME and Gainesville GA.]
I can't give Benton the tribute he deserves in this talk. Maybe some other time. Besides the A.T., he left at least one other legacy.
In 1934, a portion of the freshly-completed Appalachian Trail was rerouted off the mountaintop to make way for the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. Partly in response to this desecration, MacKaye, Aldo Leopold, Bob Marshall and several others founded the Wilderness Society.
As a young man at the turn of the 20th Century, MacKaye witnessed the astonishing growth of cities, roads, and automobiles. His Harvard education and his career were centered on forestry. But Benton had trouble with forests as a cash crop. Over the course of time, he came to feel that cities left people spiritually malnourished and that the dwindling wilderness was the nourishment they craved.
MacKaye's big plan was first published in 1921. He described a trail and facilities, to be built along the ridgeline of the Appalachian Mountains. His plan was not about long-distance hiking, but about these cooperative, non-commercial camps, linked by a continuous trail. Mountaintop kibbutzim from Georgia to Maine, separated from one another by a day's hike. From the article,
"The camp community is a sanctuary and a refuge from the scramble of every-day worldly commercial life. It is in essence a retreat from profit. Cooperation replaces antagonism, trust replaces suspicion, emulation replaces competition.
MacKaye recognized the need to protect these mountains as a cultural and spiritual resource, for all time. This wasn't a plan for the benefit of the spotted owl or the striped salamander. It was a plan for the spiritual nourishment of working stiffs in Boston, New York, Baltimore, Washington, and Richmond.
So I say to each of you, in all sincerity and meaning only the best: Go take a hike! Immerse yourself in the web. Lose the iPod but keep the DEET close at hand. Know that nature is neither malicious nor benign, it simply is.
I suffer the loss of wilderness nearly as much as I suffer the loss of human life. Strictly speaking, for most of us, wilderness is history. Gone. You can walk the deepest woods from Georgia to Maine without fear of wolves or mountain lions. First-growth forests - gone. You might see a bear if you're lucky.
Often, in the woods, I feel a sense of urgency. In thirty years of hiking, I've witnessed first-hand the decline of wilderness. MacKaye felt that concern, long before the rest of us woke up to it.
In the mountains, I feel both humility and pride. Humility at my own scale and power, compared to nature's, and pride at my ability to survive in it, however briefly. In the mountains, I feel alive.
If church is where one goes to pay respect to the wonders of creation, the woods and mountains are my church. Myron Avery, the man most responsible for building the Appalachian Trail, described it like so:
"Remote for detachment, narrow for chosen company, winding for leisure, lonely for contemplation, it beckons not merely north and south but upward to the body, mind and soul of man."
It's no coincidence that Benton grew up in New England, where recreational walking has been an honored tradition since Thoreau's time, at least. Bedford and its neighboring towns have a marvelous network of trails through woods and wetlands and along rivers and old rail beds.
For those of you - or your children or kin - who might be inclined toward a bit of soulful outdoor adventure, and particularly if you've never done so - I heartily recommend a taste of the Appalachian Trail - Benton's trail. Besides the wilderness, the views, and the fresh air, you'll also experience the results of another vast web, a web of functional government, civics, activism, and volunteerism involving a cast of tens of thousands.
Don't let my through-hiking stories spook you. The trail sees four million visitors a year. A few hundred of these are so-called through hikers. The rest come for an hour, a day, or a weekend. And that is as it should be.
Honestly and without much exaggeration, I regard this trail as one of the most precious, imaginative, and enduring works of American government and civics. It's ours for the walking, due to the efforts of thousands of volunteers and activists, who share the dream that Benton MacKaye first put into words. It's a reminder that not so long ago, wise men and women in government understood that wilderness was essential to the needs of the human spirit.
There were two props used during the sermon. One was a small framed poster I swiped off the wall of a hotel lobby. The other was a large map of the A.T., which most of us are familiar with (or have hanging on a wall somewhere.) It took about 15 minutes to "deliver" the sermon, so figure about that long to read it. Here goes.
-----------------------------------
Last night I went to Google maps and plugged in these two endpoints: Millinocket, Maine, and Gainesville, Georgia. Google reported the distance as 1,372 miles and estimated travel time at 1 day 2 hours. Hah. What do they know?
In the spring of 1990, I acquired this bit of propaganda from a certain hotel lobby. It's meant as a warning against using a fake ID to buy alcohol. [Show framed poster]
JPG of poster http://www.terrapinphoto.com/six_months.jpg
It says, "Six Months is a long time to Walk." It shows a man in jeans, with his back to the camera, walking down a lonely road. It's autumn, sunset, and there's a brooding sky in the distance.
In smaller print, it says,
"Do yourself a favor. Don't even try to pass a fake ID. Because the only thing it'll buy you is a long, long, walk.
Hehe. This is punishment?
Now, you need to know what brought me to that hotel lobby. I was there to celebrate my imminent departure on a hike of the Appalachian Trail, which I had figured to take... about six months.
I think of myself as a rational person. So I'm often puzzled by this. My relationship to this trail isn't the least bit rational, and yet... it rules me, and in the summer, its call is irresistible.
On the A.T. I've known roots and rocks as my most constant companions. I've felt them in the soles of my feet, fifteen miles a day for days on end. I've seen trees and hills from here to infinity. I've climbed mountains, balds, and crags, and walked through hollows and gaps where roads run, rivers flow and normal people go about their lives. I've crossed or walked along a thousand streams, rivers, lakes, and ponds. I've seen moose, snakes, grouse, hawks, owl, deer and a wild turkey that scared me half out of my wits. In thirty years time, I've walked about two-thirds the length of the trail.
Now you may ask, is this rational behavior? I mean, I sure do. How did this amazing trail come to be, and why? What is wilderness, and why is it important? Why do the woods, and this trail in particular mean so much to me?
UU principles acknowledge the web of life, the interconnectedness of all existence. There are webs through physical space, through life, and through time. The webs though time... we call history.
The earliest humans found their spirits in nature. Those of us who still do so are connected to them by a web of time.
To see how far we've come from these primitive superstitions, I give you United States Senator James Inhofe of Oklahoma, a born-again Christian and - get this - head of the Senate Committee on the Environment and Public Works. Inhofe chums with Pat Robertson. He earns a perfect score from the Christian Coalition, and a zero score from the League of Conservation Voters.
So where am I going with all this? To commend you to the web. Not the one at the end of your keyboard, but the one you get to by foot, with a pack on your back.
When I get to that place where there's no road or power line or parking lot or flush toilet within five miles - that's when I know my place in the universe and the web of life.
Summer's here. Let's talk recreation. Now, some folks seem to think that recreation must involve the use of an internal combustion engine in some manner. Or maybe theme parks, water slides, or Graceland. And some folks think different.
Which leads me to the protagonist of my talk, a fellow named Benton MacKaye. Some 85 years ago, Benton described, in an obscure professional journal, a particular vision of recreation that endures to this day.
It was Benton MacKaye's vision, energy, organizing and persuasion that gave birth to the Appalachian Trail. Benton MacKaye was the most important American thinker, organizer and social planner you never heard of. He made his home in Shirley, Massachusetts, just a few miles west of here. As a boy, he hiked the hills of New England, drawing maps and thinking big. How big? Glad you asked. [Show map of AT.] Fourteen states. Georgia... to Maine... 2,175 miles long. [Point out Millinocket ME and Gainesville GA.]
I can't give Benton the tribute he deserves in this talk. Maybe some other time. Besides the A.T., he left at least one other legacy.
In 1934, a portion of the freshly-completed Appalachian Trail was rerouted off the mountaintop to make way for the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. Partly in response to this desecration, MacKaye, Aldo Leopold, Bob Marshall and several others founded the Wilderness Society.
As a young man at the turn of the 20th Century, MacKaye witnessed the astonishing growth of cities, roads, and automobiles. His Harvard education and his career were centered on forestry. But Benton had trouble with forests as a cash crop. Over the course of time, he came to feel that cities left people spiritually malnourished and that the dwindling wilderness was the nourishment they craved.
MacKaye's big plan was first published in 1921. He described a trail and facilities, to be built along the ridgeline of the Appalachian Mountains. His plan was not about long-distance hiking, but about these cooperative, non-commercial camps, linked by a continuous trail. Mountaintop kibbutzim from Georgia to Maine, separated from one another by a day's hike. From the article,
"The camp community is a sanctuary and a refuge from the scramble of every-day worldly commercial life. It is in essence a retreat from profit. Cooperation replaces antagonism, trust replaces suspicion, emulation replaces competition.
MacKaye recognized the need to protect these mountains as a cultural and spiritual resource, for all time. This wasn't a plan for the benefit of the spotted owl or the striped salamander. It was a plan for the spiritual nourishment of working stiffs in Boston, New York, Baltimore, Washington, and Richmond.
So I say to each of you, in all sincerity and meaning only the best: Go take a hike! Immerse yourself in the web. Lose the iPod but keep the DEET close at hand. Know that nature is neither malicious nor benign, it simply is.
I suffer the loss of wilderness nearly as much as I suffer the loss of human life. Strictly speaking, for most of us, wilderness is history. Gone. You can walk the deepest woods from Georgia to Maine without fear of wolves or mountain lions. First-growth forests - gone. You might see a bear if you're lucky.
Often, in the woods, I feel a sense of urgency. In thirty years of hiking, I've witnessed first-hand the decline of wilderness. MacKaye felt that concern, long before the rest of us woke up to it.
In the mountains, I feel both humility and pride. Humility at my own scale and power, compared to nature's, and pride at my ability to survive in it, however briefly. In the mountains, I feel alive.
If church is where one goes to pay respect to the wonders of creation, the woods and mountains are my church. Myron Avery, the man most responsible for building the Appalachian Trail, described it like so:
"Remote for detachment, narrow for chosen company, winding for leisure, lonely for contemplation, it beckons not merely north and south but upward to the body, mind and soul of man."
It's no coincidence that Benton grew up in New England, where recreational walking has been an honored tradition since Thoreau's time, at least. Bedford and its neighboring towns have a marvelous network of trails through woods and wetlands and along rivers and old rail beds.
For those of you - or your children or kin - who might be inclined toward a bit of soulful outdoor adventure, and particularly if you've never done so - I heartily recommend a taste of the Appalachian Trail - Benton's trail. Besides the wilderness, the views, and the fresh air, you'll also experience the results of another vast web, a web of functional government, civics, activism, and volunteerism involving a cast of tens of thousands.
Don't let my through-hiking stories spook you. The trail sees four million visitors a year. A few hundred of these are so-called through hikers. The rest come for an hour, a day, or a weekend. And that is as it should be.
Honestly and without much exaggeration, I regard this trail as one of the most precious, imaginative, and enduring works of American government and civics. It's ours for the walking, due to the efforts of thousands of volunteers and activists, who share the dream that Benton MacKaye first put into words. It's a reminder that not so long ago, wise men and women in government understood that wilderness was essential to the needs of the human spirit.