I'm sure this thread has been done here before so delete this or move it if nedded.
Well.. my "name" comes from what is likley the most valuable lesson learned from shorthanded sailing and hiking over long distances. It is all too easy to become wound up in the "what if's" and "just in cases" and lose the reason why you are out there.
I am reminded of a tale in which a snack in a pocket overcame the splendor of the day.
A friend, who I suspect thinks I spend too much time in the bush, loaned me Bill Bryson's, A Walk in the Woods, the author's account of his hike along the length of the Appalachian Trail - some 2200 miles. I'm still in Georgia, he is following spring north, but I get the drift - the bush is a scary place, laden with weirdoes and woollies. He's good humored about it, it's a very funny book, but the message is clear - one enters into natures realm at one's risk. He has a particular fetish about black bears, devoting most of an early chapter to his scrupulous research of bears feasting on unwary wanderers. It seems they are particularly fond of Snicker bar carriers. That got my attention - I almost always tuck an emergency ration Snicker bar in my pocket when I boot up for the bush.
So, yesterday, when I set aside good sense, and yielded to the sirens luring me to snow capped Mt Baldy, I left the Snickers in camp. Of course, the odds of encountering a Keweenaw black bear in February are no better than my fortune in the Packer pools, but with the warmth of this winter, one never knows. Perhaps lured from his or her den by the appearance, or maybe the reality, of winter ending, stomach growling from too much fasting, pa or ma bear might be out looking for someone to eat. The pickings are pretty slim in February - not many tasty bipedals wandering about this time of year. Under these meager circumstances, even an old geezer like me might look pretty tempting.
I think Bryson is a bit paranoid about all this canine chomping, but his research is compelling. I once thought that if accosted by a bear, one could avoid the inevitable by playing dead. Bryson says that only sometimes work with grizzlies (who seemingly are in it for the hunt), never with black bears. Black bears, the kind we have, are harvesters, compulsive nibblers. Of course, no one I know has ever been eaten by a bear, nor is spooky story telling time around late night beach fires laced with bear attack stories, but perhaps the subject is taboo. Would anyone ever confess that a bear had eaten a kin or acquaintance? Such accounts would also surely put a damper on our tourist trade, perhaps resulting in the closing of our beloved Harbor inn. The Gazette is ominously quiet on the subject.
So I properly prepared myself for yesterday's trek. No sweet smelling soap for my morning shower; fresh unscented clothing for warmth; coat pockets and gloves combed for evidence of cookie or old Snicker bar crumbs. I even substituted plain old water for my usual bottle of sugary Coke. I equipped myself with a sturdy and sharp pointed old ski pole, thinking I might, so armed, be a match for an emaciated bear. As a last resort strategy, I tucked a couple of granola bars, laced with my most powerful angina painkillers, into a tightly sealed plastic bag. This might serve as an alternative snack item for the hungry bear, allowing me a few moments of idle chatter with my adversary as the drug took effect - then stealing away as the bear went into the land of Oz.
Well, as is evident by the happy event of my being here to write this account, I managed to spend several hours in the spring-tinged winter bush without becoming an entr�e at a bear feast. Whether the result of my careful preparation, or the absence of fuzzy diners, I know not. I suppose one might question the basic premise, the bear's propensity for people snacks. Bryson is careful to note that the incidence of bears dining on their superior specie is rare, but I suppose if I shared that bit of knowledge with a bear about to chomp on my nicely toned pot belly, the bear would simply say, "So this is my lucky day!"
My trek, while uneventful as a dining experience, was not without some misfortune. As I ambled back to camp, my own hunger pains beginning to mount, I absentmindedly reached into my pocket, pulled out a delicious looking granola bar, and chomped it down. Ten minutes later I was bathing in Cedar Creek, unable to keep my balance as I attempted to cross the creek by walking along a downed tree - a trick of little consequence a few hours earlier. I bet the stalking bears thought it funny. "
So anyhow,
Slow down the mind not the body, When in the bush the moment at hand will ,without exeption,never be re-vistited under any circumstances. Live in the now and contemplate later at another time.
That is what inspired Slow Mind
Trail\User name stories What is yours?
Reply With Quote
................................
Originally Posted by Llama Legs
