Reading Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods was a great pleasure.  Perhaps no more entertaining book has been written on the pleasure—and mostly pain—of hiking the Appalachian Trail.  One thing it did do for me for sure was to dash my dream of actually doing it.  That and the fact that I have to sleep plugged in (my sleep apnea machine).

[I made it to the trail marker!]

I’ve done a few backpacking trips in my life, though—one of them to a remote beach on the Pt. Reyes Peninsula in Northern California that rewarded me with an amazing show of whale surf-rolling and sky-hopping.  It also rewarded me with a dew-fall  that soaked my sleeping bag and me just about as thoroughly as sleeping tentless in the rain.

On another hike, in the fuzziness of early awakening in a dim tent, I accidentally grabbed my container with sleeping pills and pain killers instead of my morning vitamin container, and ended up having the most euphoric and painless hike of my life.  There’s not a whole lot I remember about it.  My hiking companions told me I was a real trooper.

Then there’s that wonderful sport called orienteering—a real hike producer.  I tried that a couple times too.  But being with a bunch of two-man teams trampling the wildflowers, cussing at brambles (in a Christian manner, of course!) and in general terrorizing everything in the woods to get from one flag to the next also did not do it for me.  When you don’t take time to identify poison ivy, for instance, you don’t just scratch your head trying to read your compass, you end up a couple days later scratching every part of your body.

Yes, I do like hiking, but to be honest I don’t hike to actually go from trailhead A to trailtail B.  I go for the journey, not the destination.  Actually I sort of amble through the wild.  Nibble a sassafras leaf or two.  Breathe in the fragrance of sun warmed pine needles. Listen for the haunting song of the wood thrush.  Tip over a downed log to search for spotted salamanders.  Try to get a rise out of a barred owl by hooting “who cooks for you; who cooks for you-hoo.”  Stop to identify the wildflowers (and the poison ivy).  Photograph unfamiliar tree leaves and plants to “key out” when I get home.  (Keying out is especially helpful when you want to collect mushrooms to eat: one euphoric hike is probably enough!)

That’s my speed.  So that’s why I mostly hike alone.  Maybe one day, though, I might meet you on the trail, meandering as I do, or truckin’ on through to point B.  I’ll be the codger on my knees off the trail trying to get a good picture of ground pine, fern fiddleheads, hepatica, or jack in his pulpit.

See you outdoors!

Dean