Friends, family, boon-time companions...
I write to you in haste from Chestoa Bridge, nestled in Tennessee's own Blue Ridge.
Haste because Charlie Weather predicts rain--rain folks, rain for 10 days, or in my world, 150 miles.
Haste because sickness haunts this place, not sickness of the soul my friends, no, one far less insidious and far more temporary: a plague of the body, resulting in devilish violence within the bowels.
Haste not because I don't love this town, not because five years ago when I breached these sandy shores began a new era of my life, not because my father waits patiently for me to add buttermilk to our oatmeal and put sauerkraut in baggies...
But haste because here marks uncharted territory for yours truly, your humble narrator, and as always, because the mountains call.
Today, in haste, joy abounds, amidst minor tribulations.
You are never alone as long as you still can sing.
In love,
--Bootless
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Transformation is Complete and Unrelenting
I write from beautiful Hot Springs, NC--a stone's throw (or 2-day's walk) from America's most visited national park, a small mountain town nestled in d-natural blues in green, a
land where the sidewalks are paved with white blazes and hiker refuse,
replete with hillbillies, hippies, spas, bikers, and dives--the postcard
of Amerisouthecana.
And let me just say this: a lot has gone down in between.
I would think that a life as simple as this--eating, walking, eating, sleeping, etc.--would not be so filled with landmark events (minor and major, sharp, natural, diminished, augmented...depending on how you choose to see things)--but ah! When beingness is cleared of timecards and car payments, groceries and spouses, regulations and prohibitions, yes, yes, perhaps, room is created for these (internal!) musical happenings to occur.
Leaving the Nantahala Outdoor Center I was accosted by a friendly group of tourists--yes, in places where you pay 12 bucks for a burger, a man with a backpack and a beard attains celebrity status--asking me all sorts of questions completely un-obvious to an unseasoned mind, yet almost laughable to consider (ah yes, the beard, aside from stowing bits of pop-tarts for later also masks my amusement in these situations)...you know, things like "do you hunt for food?" and "where do you go to the bathroom?" and "does your mother know you are out here?" And me, smiling, answering respect(full)ively "no, in a hole, yes" and the fine ladies and gentlemen getting all worked up and gleeful, clapping and hooting, and as I turn my back to depart, the man of the house, old Jeff Davis himself, reaches into his billfold and retrieves a Jackson for me (amidst complaints from his wife regarding her lack of such treatment and protests from yours truly), only to be followed by his lesser, feeling slight, needing also to prove his masculinity through wealth, followed suit...and smiling, this solitary hiker trotted up the trail with 40 dollars in his back pocket.
And yet, money cannot buy you love, this we know thank you boys, not love from a woman to a man, nor from self to self, or even from me to the world. Because that day, climbing in the heat, I cursed the trail, cursed my faltering knees, my tepid water, and feeling lost and forsaken, made plans to hitch out at the next road, fleeing to those who can make me smile with a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, just like drugs, and sundaes....
And yes: I paused. I really did. We did not have to go to the situation room. We did not have to clean up aisle 5. Throughout a painful hour of emotional evaluation, I came to realize one major ability, necessity, facet, whatever you need to call it, of my existence out here in Appalachia: I have everything I need. I am not talking physically. This walk, jaunt, if you will, is 95% mental (the other half is physical), and by that I mean emotio-spirituo--yes! He has it all! I don't need drugs or sundaes or girlfriends to feel at ease! I just need this guy right here. And through pure grace, I was touched, and I grinned uncontrollably, and continued my trek onwards towards this day, where said feeling of not happiness but ease, comfort, serenity, contentment, has followed me. No, guided me.
I could tell you about all the 20-mile days I've done. Or the miraculous views. Or the amazing people. Or the moments of solitary joy. I could even use clever literary devices to tell you these things without having to grant them major significance. So I won't refrain.
But what I mainly want to say is this: the trail provides. It gives me food, water, shelter. Company and solitude. Laughter, grief, growth. Trial and triumph. And so, I make sure to give back to it. I leave food. I donate socks. I bury my shit at least 6 inches deep. The trail breathes, nourishing itself and invigorating all who tread on its dirty platforms.
Town has reminded me too much of how stressful life can be. And so, with that sentiment released in the Carolina wind, I lace up my boots and re-emerge into the mountains, into the trees, into Spring herself--the place where I feel at home right now. Safe.
All roads lead to Maine. Until next time, friends.
--Bootless
And let me just say this: a lot has gone down in between.
I would think that a life as simple as this--eating, walking, eating, sleeping, etc.--would not be so filled with landmark events (minor and major, sharp, natural, diminished, augmented...depending on how you choose to see things)--but ah! When beingness is cleared of timecards and car payments, groceries and spouses, regulations and prohibitions, yes, yes, perhaps, room is created for these (internal!) musical happenings to occur.
Leaving the Nantahala Outdoor Center I was accosted by a friendly group of tourists--yes, in places where you pay 12 bucks for a burger, a man with a backpack and a beard attains celebrity status--asking me all sorts of questions completely un-obvious to an unseasoned mind, yet almost laughable to consider (ah yes, the beard, aside from stowing bits of pop-tarts for later also masks my amusement in these situations)...you know, things like "do you hunt for food?" and "where do you go to the bathroom?" and "does your mother know you are out here?" And me, smiling, answering respect(full)ively "no, in a hole, yes" and the fine ladies and gentlemen getting all worked up and gleeful, clapping and hooting, and as I turn my back to depart, the man of the house, old Jeff Davis himself, reaches into his billfold and retrieves a Jackson for me (amidst complaints from his wife regarding her lack of such treatment and protests from yours truly), only to be followed by his lesser, feeling slight, needing also to prove his masculinity through wealth, followed suit...and smiling, this solitary hiker trotted up the trail with 40 dollars in his back pocket.
And yet, money cannot buy you love, this we know thank you boys, not love from a woman to a man, nor from self to self, or even from me to the world. Because that day, climbing in the heat, I cursed the trail, cursed my faltering knees, my tepid water, and feeling lost and forsaken, made plans to hitch out at the next road, fleeing to those who can make me smile with a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, just like drugs, and sundaes....
And yes: I paused. I really did. We did not have to go to the situation room. We did not have to clean up aisle 5. Throughout a painful hour of emotional evaluation, I came to realize one major ability, necessity, facet, whatever you need to call it, of my existence out here in Appalachia: I have everything I need. I am not talking physically. This walk, jaunt, if you will, is 95% mental (the other half is physical), and by that I mean emotio-spirituo--yes! He has it all! I don't need drugs or sundaes or girlfriends to feel at ease! I just need this guy right here. And through pure grace, I was touched, and I grinned uncontrollably, and continued my trek onwards towards this day, where said feeling of not happiness but ease, comfort, serenity, contentment, has followed me. No, guided me.
I could tell you about all the 20-mile days I've done. Or the miraculous views. Or the amazing people. Or the moments of solitary joy. I could even use clever literary devices to tell you these things without having to grant them major significance. So I won't refrain.
But what I mainly want to say is this: the trail provides. It gives me food, water, shelter. Company and solitude. Laughter, grief, growth. Trial and triumph. And so, I make sure to give back to it. I leave food. I donate socks. I bury my shit at least 6 inches deep. The trail breathes, nourishing itself and invigorating all who tread on its dirty platforms.
Town has reminded me too much of how stressful life can be. And so, with that sentiment released in the Carolina wind, I lace up my boots and re-emerge into the mountains, into the trees, into Spring herself--the place where I feel at home right now. Safe.
All roads lead to Maine. Until next time, friends.
--Bootless
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
The NOC-a-NOC
Yes friends, your humble narrator and backpacking shenanigan on two left feet has made it to the Nantahala Outdoor Center in Bryson City, NC.
He, I, was culinarily underprepared leaving Jiveawassee in order to save on weight...you know, I had the right materials, even skills, to cook food, but not enough raw material...
And so, last night at 5:30 when I descended the 5,000 feet from the outstanding southern Nantahala Wilderness and was about to pitch camp and I realized the burger I longed for all week was only a mile away, I booked it to the restaurant and got me one with barbecue sauce and onion rings, oh Lord! And don't forget a brownie sundae for desert--YES! to fill my belly before I stumbled upon an open field by the river to cowboy camp at for the night under the stars. Yes, I live the life of a hobo with a credit card who only gets to use it once a week.
The weather has been outstanding, the views super-natural, yas, and the hiking difficult but rewarding. Pulled 4 sixteen-mile days in a row for that burger, and happy to be taking it easy up through the Smokies. I went into the outfitters here to find some knee braces and look! There were 2 for free right in the hiker box people, and yes, the trail provides, and yes my friends, the trail does provide.
Each morning the group I've been hiking with and myself, the self-titled THE FUN PATROL PLUS (replete with bananagrams, harmonicas, and hackysacks), greets the day in a circle via stretching, mindfulness exercises, meditation, prayers and blessings for the day, and self-love. Then the hike begins. Mornings I find myself talking and laughing with the group, playing games and takin it easy. After lunch I get pensive, almost brooding, and choose to hike ahead alone.
I still cannot fully account for this midday shift, but here are some cognitive reflections based off of raw emotion:
All winter, I anxiously awaited my departure. And now, sometimes my body hurts. My heart hurts. Sometimes I miss home desperately. Sometimes I feel God's sunrays and mountains penetrate me so deeply that I cry--for overwhelming gratitude, sheer loneliness, fear of the magnitude of the world without and within, or even just happiness to be alive. I am thinking, learning, growing. And sometimes it hurts, friends. Sometimes I need solitude, and sometimes I can't stand it. I am still getting my bearings out here. Still learning how to be, if you will. If I could figure out how to upload pictures to this thing, I'd first show you the view from Wayah Bald...but second I'd show you the first struggling spring trillium--beautiful, solitary, growing, awaiting, unsure, just learning how to be--cause that is me.
The evenings filled with campfires and musical revelry seem to wash away the day's trials, and even though it's cold at night, I've learned how to keep warm til daybreak.
The trail flows up and down. People come and go. Mountains and storms rise and fall, trees bow in reverence, nourishing streams flow. Today, after I bathe in the river, I think I'm gonna go hiking, and maybe tomorrow, I'll do the same.
Onward to Fontana Dam, with love, wistfulness, and all the imperfections, heartaches, and triumphs in between.
He, I, was culinarily underprepared leaving Jiveawassee in order to save on weight...you know, I had the right materials, even skills, to cook food, but not enough raw material...
And so, last night at 5:30 when I descended the 5,000 feet from the outstanding southern Nantahala Wilderness and was about to pitch camp and I realized the burger I longed for all week was only a mile away, I booked it to the restaurant and got me one with barbecue sauce and onion rings, oh Lord! And don't forget a brownie sundae for desert--YES! to fill my belly before I stumbled upon an open field by the river to cowboy camp at for the night under the stars. Yes, I live the life of a hobo with a credit card who only gets to use it once a week.
The weather has been outstanding, the views super-natural, yas, and the hiking difficult but rewarding. Pulled 4 sixteen-mile days in a row for that burger, and happy to be taking it easy up through the Smokies. I went into the outfitters here to find some knee braces and look! There were 2 for free right in the hiker box people, and yes, the trail provides, and yes my friends, the trail does provide.
Each morning the group I've been hiking with and myself, the self-titled THE FUN PATROL PLUS (replete with bananagrams, harmonicas, and hackysacks), greets the day in a circle via stretching, mindfulness exercises, meditation, prayers and blessings for the day, and self-love. Then the hike begins. Mornings I find myself talking and laughing with the group, playing games and takin it easy. After lunch I get pensive, almost brooding, and choose to hike ahead alone.
I still cannot fully account for this midday shift, but here are some cognitive reflections based off of raw emotion:
All winter, I anxiously awaited my departure. And now, sometimes my body hurts. My heart hurts. Sometimes I miss home desperately. Sometimes I feel God's sunrays and mountains penetrate me so deeply that I cry--for overwhelming gratitude, sheer loneliness, fear of the magnitude of the world without and within, or even just happiness to be alive. I am thinking, learning, growing. And sometimes it hurts, friends. Sometimes I need solitude, and sometimes I can't stand it. I am still getting my bearings out here. Still learning how to be, if you will. If I could figure out how to upload pictures to this thing, I'd first show you the view from Wayah Bald...but second I'd show you the first struggling spring trillium--beautiful, solitary, growing, awaiting, unsure, just learning how to be--cause that is me.
The evenings filled with campfires and musical revelry seem to wash away the day's trials, and even though it's cold at night, I've learned how to keep warm til daybreak.
The trail flows up and down. People come and go. Mountains and storms rise and fall, trees bow in reverence, nourishing streams flow. Today, after I bathe in the river, I think I'm gonna go hiking, and maybe tomorrow, I'll do the same.
Onward to Fontana Dam, with love, wistfulness, and all the imperfections, heartaches, and triumphs in between.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Hiawassee, GA
Greetings friends! I write you from hopefully-getting-sunnier Hiawassee, GA.
The last 5 days and 70 miles have already brought, big surprise here, life lessons and emotional transformation!
Physically I'm feeling tip top--bustin ass up and down mountains and skipping along ridges...well yeah, there's a lot of heavy breathing and sore muscles involved, but it ain't usually my body that is forced to grow.
It's my mind and spirit! Ah yes, spiritual growth...insidious and desirable.
Moments of fear--I mean real fear people, the kind you get alone in the woods in a rainstorm--oh, and the doubt, the loneliness, the sadness, the homesickness....
And I am relieved to say that those moments are but pepper on my potatoes, well more like hollandaise on my eggs but you understand--
It is the moments of gratitude, serenity, awe, and wild mountain bliss than generally fill my belly and my soul.
So how would you characterize this freshly rejuvenated hiker sitting in a hotel room in a small lovely town in North Georgia typing on his iPhone after coming through high wind, ice, and mud?
You could say that his skies look sunny and clear, because in this moment, he feels it all, and even the bad feels good, because it's the holes that make us whole.
I actually do love life.
Onward to Fontana Dam, NC and the foot of the Smoky Mountains. Stay tuned.
-Bootless
The last 5 days and 70 miles have already brought, big surprise here, life lessons and emotional transformation!
Physically I'm feeling tip top--bustin ass up and down mountains and skipping along ridges...well yeah, there's a lot of heavy breathing and sore muscles involved, but it ain't usually my body that is forced to grow.
It's my mind and spirit! Ah yes, spiritual growth...insidious and desirable.
Moments of fear--I mean real fear people, the kind you get alone in the woods in a rainstorm--oh, and the doubt, the loneliness, the sadness, the homesickness....
And I am relieved to say that those moments are but pepper on my potatoes, well more like hollandaise on my eggs but you understand--
It is the moments of gratitude, serenity, awe, and wild mountain bliss than generally fill my belly and my soul.
So how would you characterize this freshly rejuvenated hiker sitting in a hotel room in a small lovely town in North Georgia typing on his iPhone after coming through high wind, ice, and mud?
You could say that his skies look sunny and clear, because in this moment, he feels it all, and even the bad feels good, because it's the holes that make us whole.
I actually do love life.
Onward to Fontana Dam, NC and the foot of the Smoky Mountains. Stay tuned.
-Bootless
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