You really need to write a comment. Say something. Anything. About anything. But probably mostly about backpacking.
I've written four of these blog entries, and I have only one comment. That was from my cohort Diana Marcum, who is blogging away to rave reviews and comments galore.
It's OK. Really, I get it. I'm part of the over-50s generation. Different idioms. Funky bunions on my feet. Little spider varicose veins on my legs. Indeed, you cannot trust me. I'll tell your landlord. Or your mom. Or the cops.
Let me offer a gesture of generational peace -- a quick story that I just told Diana. It's faintly hip, definitely emblematic of the back country and what the heck.
Photographer Mark Crosse and I were backpacking near Thousand Island Lake on the JMT a few years ago, and decided to spend the night looking at the magnificent headwaters to the San Joaquin River.
Said I: We must be a long way from civilization.
Said Mark: (Actually, he said nothing. He just nodded in one direction.)
There were two men on their knees praying at a lovely camp site. They would later tell us that they make the trip each year to have a spiritual retreat. We tiptoed past, so we wouldn't disturb.
Around the next bend ...
Said I: You don't see that every day in downtown Fresno.
Said Mark: (Nothing again. He's not big on conversation. He just nodded toward the lake and a big rock).
There sat a naked man playing a guitar and serenading a naked woman who was swimming. Couldn't hear the song, but I bet it was something from the sixties, Bob Dylan, Buffalo Springfield, the Byrds. Who knows.
You run into all kinds of folks out there. People yearn for this kind freedom, communing with nature and God in ways that they find appealing. It's one of the things I love most about backpacking.
Now, really, I've spilled a rare moment for you. I know you have something at least as good as that to say. Go ahead. Push the comment button. I'll go back and see if I can rig this thing to accept anonymous comments. I know you're out there living in the same biosphere as I am.
5 comments:
Naked ladies and Bob Dylan. I guess backpacking has more sites than mountains and trees to lure the insane to walk 75 miles.
What if we're all like Mark, not big on conversation. I'm here, I'm breathing. And that's all I have to say about that.
Mark, if I ever have a band I'm going to name it "Funky Bunions" in honor of your blog entry.
We may play Dylan, but we'll probably wear clothes.
I read your plea for comments and I'm here to help. Unfortunately, I know nothing about backpacking. BackTRACKing, I could discuss knowledgeably. In fact, I can even remember one time when I backtracked after getting naked, so maybe this comment is relevant after all. Good luck with the blog, the leg, and the upcoming adventure.
Mark,
You have such a way with words. I love the high country but I love sleeping in a bed too. When the trail ends, come for a soak in the hot tub at Huntington.
Frances S
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