The climb
Like a bear becoming tuned in
Climbing the steep hill behind the hut, increasingly tuned. A stop on a moss-covered overlook. Phone out. Then a Steller’s jay flew so close its wings were felt on the hoodie sleeve. It landed three feet away and squawked.
The message was recognized from past expeditions: get moving. Keep going. Stop procrastinating. Squawk squawk squawk.
The bird hopped a few feet. Then a few more. Then flew five feet and landed. It was directing the way up the mountain — the same direction Nature had already given. The feet were tender. Spruce deadfall poked through the moss. One slip and the hill would take the body backwards.
Travel is blissful and effortless if done carefully and mindfully.
The ridge
Welcome Home
The place Nature had based the hut was in view of people — a major trail intersection to Mt. Marathon, and the stream waterfall. Constantly on alert, like a bird or a wolf. Head up. Listening. Looking. Necessary for survival. Or, in this case, for something more important than survival: freedom.
The bird was followed a short distance. When it saw there would be no stopping, no getting distracted, it flew away. Moments later: the top of the ridge. Quiet. Enchanted. Wildness where no boots had tread.
The reaction to human civilization dropped away. Pure wildness in its place.
“Welcome Home,” Nature says.
The new ground
This is your new home
A giant boulder that had rolled down the mountain. Beauty, quiet, gentleness — while just behind, still on the same hillside, the chaos of the trail edge. The edge between worlds.
Then a land beyond time and people.
“This is your new home,” she says.
Getting water was the ruse. Water was needed, and close. The more urgent work was to record the discovery while it was still happening.
Feet are the unsung heroes of humanity. The uncelebrated celebrities of travel.
The feet carry the life the mind has not yet imagined.
