04.30.08
Walk the Hike
Sondra and Jordan are going to love this….
It turns out I have been having a miscommunication about the word “hike”. It all started Saturday when David asked if I wanted to go on a hike. A simple enough question and one I get quite often from my friends who are “outdoorsy”.
My response was such, “Hiking? I don’t hike. Why would anyone do that? No. I’m not a hiker.”
Everyone stopped and stared at my vehement snobby response. But later as we were standing at Multnomah Falls, David mentioned as was our joke, evidently, hiking up to the first bridge.
“That is not a hike,” I responded, “It’s a walk on a paved path.”
“What?” He asked confused. “That’s a small hike. It’s not a hard one but it’s a hike.”
And then it hit me – all this time I have been thinking backward about people in the lower 48’s version of outdoorsy.
A day hike as I know it involves a machete, a rifle or other form of firearm, bear mace and a 20lb backpack with food and water for two days (just in case). A hike as I know it is on an animal trail (if that) or through completely unmapped undergrowth wherein you encounter mosquitoes by the droves that peck out your eyes, itchy bugs and the accidental burning spray of Devil’s club juice when you inevitably swing your machete through a patch of plants and instantaneously burst into blisters.
Yes, I took mountaineering; rock climbing, repelling, avalanche prediction and sub-zero wilderness survival, white-water rafting and sea kayaking and other outdoor survival courses in Alaska. Hiking is not fun for me. Hiking means bagging or burying your shit, not having bathrooms along the paved trail with flushing toilets. Hiking to me means the very real possibility that you may have to hide from a wild animal or outrun a bear. Hiking to me means pulling your full body weight and then some up a vertical incline by random roots and small jutting stones while fighting back the urge to scratch the dozens of bug bites you have on your ass. Why would people willingly do that? It’s not fun anymore. It was fun when I was 15 and 16 but it’s not fun anymore.
Then I moved to the land of civilized trails and domesticated paths and people would ask me if I wanted to go hiking and I’d think to myself, NO! I want to sit home and watch a movie you freak! Add to that the being out of shape and it’s just not going to happen. At. All.
One day Sondra asked if I wanted to go to the Ape Caves. Sondra is from Alaska and we had many great outdoor adventures so when she said “It’s just like a Sunday afternoon walk.” It should have tipped me off then, but I forget that a Sunday afternoon walk to Sondra is the Alaskan version of Russian Roulette on a cliff face of crumbling shale.
Sure, let’s go I said in my sandals and shorts.
You may want to change your shoes she suggested… oh right, walking without arch supports is a bad idea. So I changed into running shoes and went with her to the Ape Caves, also known as the lava tubes at Mt. St. Helens.
Evidently, Sondra’s version of a Sunday afternoon walk is in actuality spelunking without gear in a location where no one is likely to find our bodies. Six people and two small flashlights. It’s a 3 miles underground coffin of jagged rocks and claustrophobic nightmares that turned me into a raging bitch that nearly chomped her head off. Not that we would have really died, but I really considered killing her. Then I had to remember that Alaskan “walks” are not lower 48 “walks”.
The last “walk” I remember taking in Alaska resulted in a casual stroll to a charming little hill to sit with my notebook and compose poetry. Several hours later after nap on the moss I realized the tide had come in and my hill was actually an island and the weather was turning so I swam back to shore in 38 degree water. Lesson? Check the fucking tide charts, and also - - it’s not a walk if you think your may die of exposure or need search and rescue.
So, jump to Multnomah Falls last Saturday; “It’s not a hike to the bridge,” I told David. “But I’ll walk up there with you.” So I wandered up the trail with my fresh cup of coffee in one hand, and texting on my phone with the other and my 20lb bag hanging low enough to thump the back of my legs as I walked. And I realized….
Oh. God. I’ve turned into one of those people.
I’m in much better shape than I’ve been in the last ten years, not shape like look, but shape like building muscle and endurance. I’ve also been assuming that when my friends ask me to go for a hike that I will need a machete and or a personal avalanche beacon. I’m not fond of breaking a sweat with friends. I prefer still to keep that to myself or at the gym. It’s personal. It’s mine.
But as I talked, walked, sipped my coffee and texted I said to David, “Shit. If this is your idea of hiking I’ll totally go hiking with you sometimes.”
Then suddenly, with that admission, a whole new world of being outdoors in the lower 48 opened up and I’ve suddenly become excited about the summer. I’ll be able to take the kayak out, and go wandering through the woods without a can of bear mace digging into my hip. Suddenly, knowing that my endurance is up and that “hiking” means these little domesticated trails with quaint stopping spots and maps along the way.
I can totally do that. I WANT to do that. I can even take my camera because it wont be added weight that I’ll have to choose between survival gear and a non-necessary camera.
That’s so cool!
I have no idea why I’ve never made this connection before, or why I have always been ass-backward about the concept of outdoors. But this “walking thing”… this I can do.
