Out-of-doors
A friend of mine went to the city for the weekend. He said someone was murdered five blocks from his hotel.
I went the opposite.
I hiked to an alpine lake. My first cast with my backpacking rod yielded a 10-inch brook trout.
I certainly have nothing against the big city.
The culture, the nightlife - the vibe, that certain pulse - of being where the action is.
But I much prefer being in the opposite.
I love the outdoors.
The trail started at 5,400 feet in elevation; the first of three lakes on this five-mile hike sat at 5,900 feet in elevation.
With just a daypack on, my lungs burned. A decent breath was hard to swallow. Then Twin Lake came into view. Created by a retreating glacier that scared the granite, the lake now is ringed by pine. Brook and rainbow trout glide in its cool waters.
And I am at peace. I am "home."
My lungs find the oxygen in the thinner air. We hike up to the next lake.
We hike up some more to the next, Tamarack Lake, with its rocky shoreline encased in pine and underbrush.
We eat a little lunch - hearty bread, hard cheese and Prosciutto, fat cherries and red wine in a Nalgene bottle - and I'm off to fish. Others decided to hike to the ridgeline, catch the view.
The view, I've seen.
The fish, now there's a pursuit.
The routine is simple: Cast, real, repeat. One cast left, one cast center, one cast right.
There is an absence of sound, except for the wind through the pine, the occasional call of an osprey in the treetops.
And I feel...
Alive.
Simply, unexplainable, I am alive.
It is the place where I belong.
And I plot ways to be out here more.
I am sad that we won't be staying the night. That we won't sleep under stars, cook over small gas flames - but will have a little warming fire anyway where stories will be told. And even though it's early by city standards, you crawl into sleeping bags and sleep, because the night tells you it is time to sack out. To rest the weariness that is your life and just relax for one.
I have lived in cities. I have been part of the traffic, the culture, the nightlife. I have stayed up late to catch a show, then get a bite to eat that could very well be anything from Cuban sammiches to wood-fired pizzas to fresh sushi.
The vibe resonates; it make you vibrate.
And I have walked in the woods. I have lived there for a week at a time. Out of a pack that causes my back to sweat. In a tent of bright fabric, wearing the same clothing the next day (but rinsing out the sweat in a mountain stream).
The vibe here doesn't make you vibrate so much.
The vibe here is more relaxed. Less harried.
Less complicated. Much, much less complicated.
I am a man who finds his soul comforted by woodsmoke and strong breezes; freezing, snow-fed streams; dirt and pine pitch and granite.
I am home in the out-of-doors.
I went the opposite.
I hiked to an alpine lake. My first cast with my backpacking rod yielded a 10-inch brook trout.
I certainly have nothing against the big city.
The culture, the nightlife - the vibe, that certain pulse - of being where the action is.
But I much prefer being in the opposite.
I love the outdoors.
The trail started at 5,400 feet in elevation; the first of three lakes on this five-mile hike sat at 5,900 feet in elevation.
With just a daypack on, my lungs burned. A decent breath was hard to swallow. Then Twin Lake came into view. Created by a retreating glacier that scared the granite, the lake now is ringed by pine. Brook and rainbow trout glide in its cool waters.
And I am at peace. I am "home."
My lungs find the oxygen in the thinner air. We hike up to the next lake.
We hike up some more to the next, Tamarack Lake, with its rocky shoreline encased in pine and underbrush.
We eat a little lunch - hearty bread, hard cheese and Prosciutto, fat cherries and red wine in a Nalgene bottle - and I'm off to fish. Others decided to hike to the ridgeline, catch the view.
The view, I've seen.
The fish, now there's a pursuit.
The routine is simple: Cast, real, repeat. One cast left, one cast center, one cast right.
There is an absence of sound, except for the wind through the pine, the occasional call of an osprey in the treetops.
And I feel...
Alive.
Simply, unexplainable, I am alive.
It is the place where I belong.
And I plot ways to be out here more.
I am sad that we won't be staying the night. That we won't sleep under stars, cook over small gas flames - but will have a little warming fire anyway where stories will be told. And even though it's early by city standards, you crawl into sleeping bags and sleep, because the night tells you it is time to sack out. To rest the weariness that is your life and just relax for one.
I have lived in cities. I have been part of the traffic, the culture, the nightlife. I have stayed up late to catch a show, then get a bite to eat that could very well be anything from Cuban sammiches to wood-fired pizzas to fresh sushi.
The vibe resonates; it make you vibrate.
And I have walked in the woods. I have lived there for a week at a time. Out of a pack that causes my back to sweat. In a tent of bright fabric, wearing the same clothing the next day (but rinsing out the sweat in a mountain stream).
The vibe here doesn't make you vibrate so much.
The vibe here is more relaxed. Less harried.
Less complicated. Much, much less complicated.
I am a man who finds his soul comforted by woodsmoke and strong breezes; freezing, snow-fed streams; dirt and pine pitch and granite.
I am home in the out-of-doors.
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