A taste of the living wild

It was four womens’ first time backpacking EVER.

What I wrote in my journal, Wolfie, on the night of Taste of the Living Wild…

Wolfie! We are on the Taste of the Living Wild!

Oh, this is all so sweet and wonderful. I am so happy to be here.

My moment right now…there are colorful mushrooms of tents mounding up out of the forest floor: Lynda in red, Kellie in white, Jennifer in orange, and Sierra, slung between two trees.

This site is expansive! Much larger than I remember.

Ugh, I’m so proud to be the singing key that these women found while living.

Yes, this is maybe the perfect beginners backpacking trip. Long enough to give you an indication if you want more backpacking in your life, but not too long if you’re suffering and hate it.

None of the Women had backpacked before, though all had hiking experience, and most had camping experience. But backpacking is the unique confluence of the two, and it is indeed rare to find another backpacker. But once you are one, you are one forever.

the Women, having all reached the backcountry site, choose where to pitch their tents

My backpacking ethic is simple: Go at your own speed. And hike Alone.

When I see lines of hikers, I vomit in my mouth. The soul is not meant to be in a line (except for at an amusement park), AND, when backpacking, it is unwise to follow someone else’s pace and not your own. A body is a wild animal, and to ignore her needs in favor of the needs of a group is to invite calamity. NO ONE will feel the need to keep up on a Flock of Beasts adventure. I will tell you how to navigate the trail, and you can do it on your own. The pride of backpacking is learning by doing , and a Beast does not need her hand held. So, go at your own speed. Take your time. Enjoy the trail your way.

And, hike alone. Solitude is sacred to me, and sometimes I believe that people are so afraid of Themselves that they use other people as a shield. Not so on a Flock of Beasts adventure. Not only is the conversation of another (while hiking) a distraction from the birds, the sound of the wind, the voices of the trees, but it is also a distraction from your own inner voices that so long to be heard.

“…Ugh, I’m so proud to be the singing key that these women found while living.

I am nothing but chilly metal, maybe rusted, or gone teal in the copper etchings, but in the right hand, the hand curious enough to listen to a heart that says, “Pick up the singing copper key!”

Keys aren’t much without a lock, and a door, and a hand to push open the door.

But oh! The many doors! I’m convinced that most of them exist in the shadows of the mind alone. These doors, though, are made of bubble soap…in the right light, a quick eye can see that they’re quivering, jellylike, maybe just a flash of iridescence betrays what they really ar. But what eyes can notice a flash of iridescence in a dark room? The doors loom high, even though they would pop with one bold touch.

…I have shown the Women how easy it is to pop the door that says, “Backpacking is for the hardcore. Backpacking is intimidating. Backpacking is for apex athletes.”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Watch the bubble shatter in a flash of blue.

Watch the door drip off your finger.

Step over the threshold.

Step into a new world, onto a new trail, that will lead into the Wilderness of the Planet and the Wilderness of your own soul.

Doesn’t the air smell so good in the light?

The night was chilly, but the Women fared well. We awoke bathed in birdsong. The land was waking up around us. It was early spring.

When I checked in on Kellie, with a bright and beaming face, said, “Yes, I was cold, but I was too proud of myself to care.”

This is another value of a small beginners pack trip: NOW YOU KNOW what to change for the future. Experience is a wonderful teacher.

The trek back was through the beautiful, wholesome forests and oak savannahs and sprawling prairies. As the Women broke camp and prepared to trek the final four miles to the car, I went on ahead to prepare the celebration breakfast, to welcome the women into being BEASTS.

A Beast is a woman who is bold enough to try what her spirit calls for.

…This is what I told the Women.

When you say YES to Life, there will always be Fear, and there will always be Discomfort. Always.

But, if you go to sleep piqued with Fear YET ALSO shimmering with Exhilaration (so bright it could light up the moon!), and, miracle of miracles, you awaken in the morning, beautifully alive, likely only the Exhilaration was strong enough to remain. It is the more powerful force. The great coziness of camp coffee drives the Fear out like a broom running after a mouse. The thrill of arising, bathed in birdsong, flies higher than the Fear. The hilarity of being so exposed behind your little cloth tent door laughs louder than the fear, which can only whisper, and occasionally moan. The Exhilaration has stronger guts. The fear is even afraid of the day, and runs away long before the trek is over.

And, there will always be Discomfort. But, if Pride in the Self stays around longer than the Discomfort, you have WON.

Backpacking is an action of unavoidable Discomforts. It’s immediately not fun at all. But the Goodness of it, the sheer, honest GOODNESS is so much quieter than the Discomforts. The Discomforts bicker and clamor like house sparrows - “It’s cold! My feet hurt! There’s a tree root in my back! Where can I PEE? My rainfly didn’t work! No pillow!?!?!? Ramen again for dinner!?!?!? There’s a mouse in my tent! A raccoon stole my snack! A pack of coyotes kept me up! I thought I heard a man but it was a deer! My air mattress sprung a leak! My socks are wet! I have a blister! HOW many miles to the car? It’s raining!!!!!- yes, discomforts are many.

But, oh, the GOODNESS. Like a silent swan, waiting to be seen in the reeds. So proud. So powerful.

But how wonderful is constant Comfort, really?

It’s so present that our spirits have grown immune to its warmth. We can’t feel its softness as closely. We see our lives through a milky film.

But, even only a few hours of Discomfort melt the milky film with Its delicious intensity. A bed feels wonderful again knowing that it will never deflate. You want to SING when you peel off soggy socks. And your head feels cradled in its pillow after nights when all you had was a rolled up jacket.

And you LAUGH at the memory of the discomforts. They are such good memories.

When they feel the film congeal over their eyes again, The Beasts might remember the discomforts and long for it.

Comfort does not have to last.

Nature is waiting to take them in hand again.

And you, too.

Seek Beauty.

Live Fiercely.

Hannah

The next Taste of the Living Wild Pack Trip is May 23. Join the Flock of Beasts!