Everything's Gonna Be OK

from hunkered down in your sleeping bag, peering out beneath the mummy opening, hoping no one else is awake and that no one else will be getting up for a few more minutes… the only bit of the world you can see is below your vestibule cover through your bug netting. but before you see the morning, you hear the morning. the first line of ‘livin’ on a prayer’ by bon jovi comes lofting over from the tent next to you. from the first lines at the first minutes of the day, the whole song unfolds verse by chorus by verse throughout the day and week.

what we’ve got is a trip that started years ago. it started with a camera. a camera worth a thousand words. (and camera bag could tell some good stories too.)

carl zeiss lens and tessar 3.5/35 t*. why does your camera have a number four sticker on it? it was 2002 and early on the appalachian trail. the real answer was, “i’ve got no idea. this is my friend adam’s camera. he offered to let me take anything from his backpacking gear collection. stove and clothes i had, but i needed a camera.” (after hundreds of miles of talking to trees, hikers get pretty creative with stories.) the answer that i heard came out like this… “the four stands for the number of thru-hikes this camera is destined to hike. my friend adam hiked with it, i’m hiking with it, and we’ll carry it on the pacific crest trail and the continental divide trail too.”

the trip began in a rush (like trying to type three weeks of walking stories on a 30 minute public library computer pass). i sent out a note about montana and insomnia, but not much about the trail i’d be hiking all summer.

we weren’t comfortable but we took a break anyway. the day was clear and sunny, but the wind was screeching. the kind of wind that makes you worry your socks will blow away, until it blows your shoes away. we were snacking on triple divide pass. it had snow covered peaks in every direction, cliff bands and alpine lakes too. more than the view, the thought of triple divide pass…

-that from this point in montana, water from these slopes would flow to the pacific ocean on one side, to the mississippi delta on one side, and up to the hudson bay on one side.-

people call the continental divide the backbone of the country, but if the mississippi river was the original highway of america, then the continental divide is certainly the median. we’ve scrambled across scree fields on the divide’s side. we’ve forded bridgeless creeks swollen with snow melt. we’ve gazed for miles from passes and been happy for the gulley floor during thunderstorm. we’ve walked from national parks through wilderness areas along forest service roads and on the shoulder of highways. we’re sitting in helena, montana and we’ve only just begun on our walk to mexico.

everyone has a call. it almost seems innate. but maybe its like a devoted sports fan who has watched that favorite team so many years that it seems like you were born with it. i do love the serenity of the backcountry, but i shout from mountain tops. i’m not sure if i do it for the echo that bumps and rebounds off the forested valley floor. or maybe it’s because i imagine that i am standing taller than anything until the western north carolina mountains, and maybe if i holler loud enough they’ll hear me.

so. three guys climbing up to the arm of caribou peak in every layer they’ve got. we’re racing the sun as she sets, trying to stay in her warm. golden. fading graces. we’ve been hiking with a Z (whose trailname is lieutenant flip-flop). his mountain calling card is a strong, simple YIIPPEEE. adam follows with the classic north carolina rebel yell, YAAHHOOOO. and i follow with a hog call, SUUU-EEEE. (the mountain calling card is not to be mistaken with the lake plungin’ shriek. waist deep in the red eagle lake before we all dove into the ice-cube-cold lake water, Lt. flop lets out a high pitched giggle, adam sings a michael jackson UH-HE-HE, and i cackle and guffaw.)

the difference is that our laughs at the lake spawned more laughs and more giggles until the three of us dove in. when we all let out our mountain top calling cards, we congratulated each other on a fine echo. but over time our echoes faded. and it sounded like another group of hikers somewhere was returning our call. some group of college kids camping down at the dearborn riverside. but then our echoes change from another group of hiker hollers to coyote calls. and the three of us realize that as darkness sets in at 8,000 feet without a proper campsite anywhere close. our mountain calls have been calling the wild.

i have this reoccurring daydream. its in black and white. someone is interviewing sir edmund hilary. there is a glacier in the background and he looks more like an aviator than a mountaineer. he’s saying, “you’d better go climb the tallest mountains of the world, because as the glaciers shrink and the ice packs melt, the high points are sinking.” (i’m no expert and it’s only a dream and my subconscious could be dead wrong.) but we hitched a ride with a long time national forest employee. she told us we were lucky to be here to see montana in its green to red to brown splendor. she spoke about forest management and how the spruce bark beetle is set to wreck a good portion of our forests. the forests will grow back, but she said we may never see stands this big in our lifetime. so. with mountain tops and spruce forests, it’s a good summer to be outside. happy getting out there.

it’s july. it’s 2009. adam’s been saying it for awhile, happy making this the best summer ever.

-italicized lyrics from “livin‘ on a prayer” by bon jovi. one of the ridiculous songs that has come to mind over the last three weeks of hiking.-