My First Time

So as I look over the past month, I realize that there are a lot of things that I have done on this trip that I had never done before. What follows is a list of firsts:

First time to set up a tent on a platform (The picture is Bare Loon Lake in the Yukon Territory)

First time to hitch hike

First time to cross international border on foot

First time to go through customs twice in one day

First time to average fewer than 10 showers a month (and other unmentionable hygiene firsts)

First time to kill a squirrel (I killed two and Holly got one, too. Not something we're proud of)

First time to touch a glacier

First time to poach berries

First time to sleep in a stranger’s house

First time to to sleep more on a camping mat than a bed in a month (six nights in a bed since leaving Seattle July 13)

First time to see a train wreck

First time to drive a car onto a ferry (Did this twice, and Holly got to, too)

First time to shower on a boat

First time to ride the fast ferry

First time to split wood for kindling (this will take many more times to reach proficiency)

Correction

Ok, so when I wrote how much elevation over how much distance on the Chilkoot Trail, I didn't know the numbers, so I just made some up and intended to find out the right numbers and edit the essay before I posted it. I forgot to. Anyway here's the official web site for better data: http://www.nps.gov/archive/klgo/chilkoot.htm At the bottom of the page you can see how the elevation goes.
oops!

Thoughts on the Chilkoot (Warning: a long entry)

“This one goes out to the one I’ve left behind. . .” sings REM in the background. I’m on my second cup of decaf coffee (which I’m drinking from my UAS, Juneau mug). We’ve just come off the Chilkoot Trail and are looking at moving towards Washington State again. The trail was absolutely beautiful—turquoise lakes, emerald rainforests, and an explosion of fall colors in the boreal forest. We had exceptional weather, with just baby drizzling on the long day, which served to keep us cool, but not make us miserable.
The Chilkoot Trail was the only part of the 1,600 mile journey from Seattle to Dawson City (the destination of prospectors during the Klondike Gold Rush) that people did on foot. The crux of the trail, the legendary Golden Staircase, is a 2,700 foot gain in elevation over about half a mile. Individuals were required by the North West Mounted Police to carry about one ton of food and supplies if they wanted to cross the border. We had almost forty pounds apiece, and that was enough to flatten my feet like pancakes.
Living in Alaska years ago, stories of this epic migration of people, their triumphs and tragedies, were interwoven with other myths and fairytales. As we stepped onto the trail, ghosts of the Klondike surged from my memory and wandered among rusted tin cans and abandoned leather boots strewn across the trail. Real people had lived those legends from my childhood. And yet, they really are no more than legends and artifacts now. We tramped past very real evidence of others’ passing and yet had no actual encounter with these others. Likewise no one would encounter us here except in the log book, and the stones we added to an occasional cairn.
I wouldn’t consider myself a superstitious person, but as I considered this wonder of people being, but not being present, changing the world and yet being absent from my world, I felt a mystic awe rising in me. I began to think of the myriad people who have been part of my life, from brief encounters on this trip, to immediate and extended family. Each of these people has shaped me and continues to impact me, even without being next to me. But I am troubled. I have learned that going away means leaving behind. The weight of what I lose when I leave is sinking in and haunts my steps, much like those old Klondikers pursuing unrealized dreams of gold.
As I marvel at the intersection and parallel movement of lives in the grand narrative of history, there is hope. The hope is that there is meaning for each of us in this great networking of humanity across time and space. Nietzsche wrote that a person can “endure any how if [that person] knows the why.” But meaning is not enough for a person to live through loss; we need connections to others as well. As the Klondikers reach out from a bygone century, and I leave my mark for those to come, we demonstrate the impulse to connect to others.
“This one goes out to the ones I love. . .This one goes out to the ones I’ve left behind.” I don’t fully understand the big picture or how my life fits into it, but I’m glad that part of fitting in to the big picture has been being near you, and I hope it happens again. Here’s to trying to live the going and leaving in an improbable interweaving of lives. Thank you. I miss you.

On a Mission

"Road trippin' with my two favorite allies, fully loaded we got snacks and supplies. . ." The Red Hot Chili Peppers have it. When on an adventure, it is important to have travelling companions and food. Glacier glasses and safety goggles can't hurt, though. Here is a story and some thoughts about journeying:

“All my life,” he said, “I have searched for the treasure. I have sought in the high places, and in the narrow. I have sought in deep jungles, and at the ends of rivers, and in dark caverns—and yet have not found it.

“Instead, at the end of every trail, I have found you awaiting me. And now you have become familiar to me, though I cannot say I know you well. Who are you?”

And the stranger answered: “Thyself.”

—From an old tale

In these last weeks, a striking feature has been the common theme of quest. All the ancient legends tell of heroes and heroines who set off on a journey to find some treasure or defeat some foe or liberate oppressed. In these myths, archetypes of contrastive pairs dominate: light/dark, good/evil, rich/poor, beauty/horror, joy/sorrow, pleasure/pain, etc. These pairs can be divided into two categories, related to that which the adventurer seek—desirable or not. Sometimes the image assumed to represent one of the pair actually belongs to the opposite category of pairs; think of the ugly hag whose advice leads to wealth and joy or the beautiful woman who causes pain or sorrow. (Is it always the woman with the inverse identity?)

Well, anyway, conversations with friends often turns to the question of how to realize our quest, whether it be happiness, a sense of home, hope and meaning in life, or the myriad other desires. Sometimes the object of our mission is questioned, but in some musing today, I wonder if we question deep enough, reaching to the dichotomy which often proves false in the fairy tales. What are we searching for? Maybe it's like the song says: allies, snacks and supplies. Seriously, relationships and sustenance that give life to body, mind and spirit. And, I would add, the courage to truly live who we were created to be.

Shalom!

How Then Shall We Live?

Last week we went to a concert in downtown Juneau. It was sponsored by "Veterans for Peace." We had no idea what to expect. The artists were all local, mostly folk singers accompanied on some kind of stringed instrument (guitar, mandolin, banjo, fiddle). At first I had to repress my inner groaning as it seemed like it would simply be a litany of angry lyrics blaming our national leadership. The sentiments may be sincere and based in fact, but it is such a disheartening place to stop, and almost seems like an excuse for disengagement in the world. In some ways it does feel like what I think or believe doesn't actually impact on the "big players" in international affairs.
I began musing again over the question of how to live in a way that not only reflects what I believe about responsibilty towards other people and resources, but also might communicate this to the "big players." It seems to me that one of strongest ways to communicate is by using my economic voice. It's kind of sad, and correct me if I'm wrong, but many decisions seem to be motivated by desire for economic gain. Legislation seems to follow money. As I write this, I feel really sad. Can money really be the most influential aspect of people's lives? Everything within me protests. I know in my own life choices, deliberate emphasis has been placed on removing money from my high priority list, and this feels so freeing. . .but is it just youthful idealism?
Friends here have entered dialogue with me in this. An interesting addition to the quandry is that if I accept that financial choices are the best form of communication with "big players," I have to also admit, that I don't have much leverage in such dialogue (having been unemployed for four months now and maintaining a relatively tight budget).
I don't have answers, but I can't be paralyzed. Right now, at the suggestion of a friend, I am trying to buy at least one organic item when I grocery shop. Cost is a little disincentive for buying all organic, but I can afford one item. I am also trying to support local businesses. And maybe it's not about influencing the powers that be, maybe it's about living well myself and sharing and learning from those around me. Here's to hope in the ripple effect.

Welcome to September

For me this is the month of birthdays: Patty, Nathan, Lauren--Yay for another year! I love you guys!



Holly and I have been in Juneau for about two weeks. This is the longest we've been in one place. It's been wonderful to have a roof over our heads. Juneau is a rainforest, and it's one of the rainiest summer/fall seasons the locals can remember. The house we're staying in has a wood stove which we keep going regardless of temperature (although it's usually cool) because in the words of our host: "You breathe, you release moisture, things mold." It's a pretty simple lifestyle. Besides stoking the fire, we feed the dog, cook dinner and take naps.
The Great White Hype who lets us stay at his place has introduced us to the concept of "systems." That is the way we keep ourselves alive and move ourselves through each day. Living in a way that constantly exposes us to the elements of nature has forced us to give more thought to daily decisions. We are not as sheltered and removed from natural forces as when we lived in electrically climate-controlled dwellings. When systems work, they keep people alive and enable them to maintain some level of comfort. Some important aspects of our system right now include staying dry by wearing rain gear all the time, and bringing wet things in from the car to dry in the house. Systems are adapted to their contexts, are flexible and constantly evolving. And this is what I am learning: develop patterns or rythyms for living, but evaluate them often and continuosly seek to improve them.