camping

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camping put another way

01/02/2007

Backpacking

What you are about to discover will benefit you greatly.

I went on my first backpacking trip when I was ten. My dad was always quite an outdoorsman, and I had come along on fishing trips many times already, waking before down to drive out to the lake and catch the fish feeding on morning stillness under a soft blanket of mist, but this was to be something altogether different. You see, on those trips, although the morning lake sometimes provided moments of the illusion of solitude, the noise from the road, shattered it every few minutes. And later in the day, the motor boats destroyed it completely it is true that.

Backpacking was something else completely. We drove all the way from our home in Detroit, up into the woods of Ontario. We stayed overnight in a rustic motel and got an early start. At first, it was just like the lake – even more so, because it was early, and there was already a crowd milling about. This was only because we had chosen a popular spot to begin our journey. Before dusk, we were bathed in a stillness more profound than any I had seen on that lake, a stillness which would last for the rest of our backpacking trip in a little while.

How can I describe that first night, camping on a rise above that giant, mist-covered lake? The loons called and called, lonely and longing, beginning below usand trailing off among the interlocking lakes branching into eternity. Night creatures scurried around about us, going from stillness to frantic motion to stillness again, as all night, the wind fell and rose and fell, and the moon ceaselessly rippled on the water's bright skin. I can remember all of it – every sound, and wished to stay awake for the duration of the night, yet somehow, sleep overtook me quickly in the exhaustion of a full day's hike, and I awoke fully refreshed next we are going to discuss.

And then there was the next morning, awakening to the water lapping softly below us, and the smell of a cooking fire. It's a curious thing about cooking outdoors; the multitude of aromas – the burning wood, the pine trees, the wind from the lake – every thing adds its flavor. I remember being quite sure that the pancakes which my dad cooked that morning were the best thing that I had ever tasted now i'm not advocating that.

Our backpacking trip was over far too quickly. Nine days and it was over – such a paltry duration when confronted with the infinite expanse of nature. I remember on the last day, my dad showed me on a map where we had been – that little speck, the lake we first camped beside, that tiny snake, the ridge that had seemed to mighty as we climbed it, the ridge that skinned my knees twice and left my legs throbbing. It was tiny, a little patch of knowledge drowning in a massive sea of green. I didn't know whether to despair or laugh, seeing how much there was to explore – so much that in a dozen life times, I would never see it all. Finally I chose laughter, and though I still have seen but a speck of the whole spectacular natural world, and will never see it all, I have returned many times to try let's keep the ball rolling.