I recently wrote a post about adventure; the notion that the urge for it is a greater motivator than we recognize. I suggested that 49ers came to California as much for the adventure as for the prospect of striking it rich. As evidence, I offered the testimony of many who went to a later gold rush: the Klondike in 1898-9. As with the California Gold Rush, virtually everyone returned empty-handed, but most who were interviewed by author Pierre Berton looked back on that time with fondness and satisfaction.
The idea that adventure is a potent motivator continues to widen and deepen in my mind. I read a lot of history about America’s westward migration from the fur trappers to settlers who loaded their belongings in a Conestoga wagon and lit out for Oregon and California. In the pie chart of their reasons for going, how big a piece was venturing into wild and unknown territory? More than they would acknowledge, I’ll bet. You can’t tell the family you are going west because it would be exciting. You have to be practical: land, climate, a second chance, opportunity. Those things get a chunk of the pie chart, but I suggest the urge to go west came as much from the heart as the head.
Flip through your own mental scrapbook. What memories bring a wistful smile to your face? Backpacking through Europe after college? Three years in the Peace Corps? That cross country road trip in your mid-20’s?
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We often buttress our case to do something new and exciting with “reasons,” but more and more, I think the real reason we want to do it is because it is new and exciting; aka an adventure.
I keep this lovely graphic on a stand by my desk to remind me how important adventure is to a full and happy life. Certainly, the word means something different to everyone. But we don’t need to define it. When you hear a suggestion that at once excites you and scares you…that’s it. That’s an adventure. Go.
Whether we know it or not, each of us is on a spiritual journey. It’s just part of the job that comes with the gift of human life. Many people pursue spiritual growth with conscious gusto, seeking out the gurus and the masters for guidance along the path. While I admire anyone’s pursuit of greater spiritual knowledge, I am a little put off by the fact that it has become a thriving commercial industry.
If you have trouble summoning amazement for everyday things, I recommend lying down beneath the stars on a moonless mountain evening. Consider that all those points of light above you are your nearest neighbors in your home galaxy, one of the billions of galaxies in the universe. We measure the distance those nearest of stars in light years. The universe is unimaginably immense. Isn’t amazing that we are even here?
I am never quite sure what the exact recipe is for a great spring wildflower display. While I enjoy botanizing in California’s Coast Range and in the Sierra, I know just enough to be dangerous. I’m likely to concoct some groundless theory and assert it as fact. But based on the significant rainfall we have had thus far, I wonder if this spring could be a memorable one.
Naturally, rain is a must, but there have been many so-so spring blooms after a wet winter; other factors certainly play a part. It makes sense that during the recent drought years viable wildflower seeds have not received enough water to sprout. Perhaps through the sparse blooms of recent springs that seeds have been accumulating waiting for a winter like we are having now. With an average amount of rainfall during the rest of the California winter, maybe we will see a spring bloom like 1997.
Do you buy it? I may be way off base, but it sounds good.
If you have ever wondered what California looked like before 38 million of us engineered it to meet our needs, allow William Brewer to take you on a guided tour.
To mark the 150th anniversary of the survey, Tom Hilton has created a blog (http://upanddowncalifornia.wordpress.com/) with posts linking dates 150 years apart. He includes maps, photographs, and links to related historical and natural history resources.
At the Sherpa village of Gokyo (15, 580 ft.), we decided to split up. My sister, Scott, and one porter would decend the Dudh Kosi drainage to its junction with the Imja Khola, then ascend that river to the village of Dingboche. Rather than go down and around with them, I would go with our guide and a porter over Cho La, the pass that connects the two drainages, and we would reunite at Dingboche. Our guide had never been over Cho La, but it all looked straightforward.
I envy the sensitive souls that truly feel the energy or “vibe” that pulses through our world. What a gift. Apparently, I am cursed with a thick shell because very few channels come through, and when they do reception is sketchy. But fall is different. Whether I am feeling some distant yearning or it is just my imagination, I have a physical response to fall.
that an instinct from my distant primal past is awakened in my DNA urging me to start digging a den and prepare for a long winter nap. Granted, it could be my imagination or some other sensation. I have ruled out old age or lasting effects from the 1960’s. No, I’m pretty sure it’s my DNA talking.
It wasn’t long ago that outside Yosemite Valley, you could expect to nearly have the park to yourself in October. I remember several fall trips to the top of Cathedral Peak where I was almost alone. Nevertheless, I enjoy the park this time of year. Things are quieter than mid-summer, and there is something special about the lazy feel of autumn days against such a powerful landscape.
Either way, it would be lovely, and indeed it was. Yes, the flowers are gone, but so are the bugs and most of the people. And the golden hue of the willows and the grasses is a magic all its own. There is something I love about sitting in my Thermarest camp chair, wrapped in my down bag, headlamp on, comfortably reading a book while inches away my water bottle is slowly freezing. I feel like I am getting away with something so comfortably ensconsed in such a wild and magnificent setting.