Who Am I?

Have you ever wondered why you are the way you are?  Just what is this multilayered thing called, your personality?  One of the best parts of getting long in the tooth is the ability to turn around and gaze at your life’s path.  If yours looks like mine, there will have been many twists and turns, multiple dead ends, and road signs warning of hazards ahead.

I must admit that I am quite satisfied with my life lived thus far but, why did it unravel into its present footprint?  All of us are exposed to many influences during our time on earth.  For some, it will be family, for others friends, and for others still, a cataclysmic moment in time.  I have always followed the path less traveled and eagerly pursued solitude.  Why?  I don’t dislike people however; I don’t really care to spend much time around them.  I hunt, ski, and backpack alone.  I’m not a thrill seeker or trying to prove myself in some way.  I like to read and think and both of these pursuits are best served alone.  After much adiue, I believe my choices in literature and film formed me.

For most of my life, I served our nation as a Special Forces (Green Beret) non commissioned officer.  I believe my passion for adventure led me to this choice of careers and was fueled during my youth by the works of Jack London, James Fenimore Cooper, and Ernest Hemingway. I spent many a night under my blanket with a flashlight reading Hemingway’s “Nick Adams Stories”.  My love of solitude and wild places was most certainly flamed by London’s “White Fang and The Call of the Wild”.  My sense of exploration developed with Cooper’s character Hawkeye in Last of the Mohicans.  Interestingly, I’ve read and reread works from these three authors many times over the ensuing years.

I love cinema but here too, I return again and again to five films.  They are, The Outlaw Josey Wales, The Wild Bunch, The Cross of Iron, The Deer Hunter and, The Green Berets.  While tough, Clint Eastwood’s character, Josey Wales never could assimilate into society.  In The Wild Bunch, Pike (William Holden) and Dutch (Ernest Bourgnine) failed to adapt as time passed them by and paid for it with their lives however; I learned from them, the powerful impact that a single group of men can have at a single point in time.  James Coburn’s character “Steiner” in The Cross of Iron taught me that you can exist alone and yet blossom in a team of like minded individuals.  The roles played by Robert Deniro and John Wayne in The Deer Hunter and The Green Berets respectively, taught me that an individual’s true strength of character lies within.

There you have it, I’m a simple rendition of what I hope to one day become.  I must however, ask myself one question.  This will be hard or impossible to answer but, what if I was already the individual I am and therefore merely drawn to these authors and films because they were relevant for me?  Maybe I’ve merely walked around in a circle only to return to the same interrogative - Who Am I?

Individualism

I’ve often wondered why I prefer to be alone?  Am I selfish?  Am I an introvert?  Am I socially unacceptable?  It is for others to decide if I’m socially unacceptable or not however; I do know that I’m definitely not an introvert and I don’t see myself as selfish.  So, why the never ending search for solitude?  I guess I’m still trying to define who I am.

Yesterday, I decided to take a quick ski tour before dawn.  The night sky had cleared after several days of stormy conditions.  The trees were blanketed with a heavy covering of wet snow and it seemed like the forest was alive as I skinned uphill.  The load of snow was too heavy for the trees and as the temperature rose above freezing, my ears were greeted with the loud thud of snow sliding off tree branches and slamming onto the ground below.  My mind relaxed and I focused on my ski tips, my respiratory rate, and the pleasing warmth in my legs as I climbed ever higher.  After an hour, I reached the apex of my climb and stopped to remove my skins and prep for my downhill run.

As I sat on my pack, my mind wandered to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and the rest of the Transcendentalist Movement from the mid 1800’s.  I’ve long been a fan of this movement’s philosophical ideas.  My life’s endeavors have been centered on my favorite quote from Emerson - “Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist.”  Therein lies my desire to search for my individual self.  One can only truly learn who they are in the quiet calm of solitude.  Unfortunately, in today’s hectic, media packed noisy world, solitude is hard to find.  The best way, to discover new vistas is to leave humanity behind and discover oneself.

After a quick drink and a final equipment check, I swung my pack, tightened my pack straps and listened for the reassuring click of my boots locking into my bindings.  The sun’s rays were now shining through pine tree boughs and their warmth felt fantastic.  I pushed off and it took a mere 4 minutes to reach the point where I’d started my ascent.  Four minutes immersed in the joy of downhill speed and I once again found myself surrounded by the din of car music, people talking, and dogs barking.  Oh well, I’ll just have to spend this next week daydreaming for the moment when I can once again be alone.

Ski Tour Musings

There is nothing quite like the hum of skis moving uphill on a skin track.  The sound is actually hard to describe.  The alternating  click of left and right boot heels on your binding’s heel plate can become very calming.  Maybe it is because Mother Nature’s wintry robe is so quiet on a windless day.  It is always a good idea to take a quick break and take off some layers after 20 minutes of skinning.  There were quite a few skiers out skinning uphill today and many of them seemed to be in a hurry.  As I put my outer jacket into my pack, I asked myself why they seemed to be pushing it uphill?

So often these days, everyone seems to be in a hurry.  Life is already a temporary existence so why scurry through it?  Of course, maybe they were exercising but shouldn’t you exercise your mind?  When I skin, I like to set a pace in which I keep my perspiration to a minimum, my breathing slow and deep, and my senses on alert.  There is so much to partake of in the mountains.  During one of my water stops, I pulled a pine tree branch up to my nostrils and inhaled deeply.  Here it is, three hours later and I can still smell parfum du pine.  Tiny moments like that are why I venture into the Wild.  As always, the wind lived on the summit.  Gazing westward, I marveled at the dark faced front approaching the Oregon Cascades.  Removing my skins, I switched my ski bindings from tour to ski mode and selected my line.  The snow was hard and quite icy in spots however; nothing feels better than carving precise short radius turns with a pack on your back.  Skiing with a pack forces you to either look really good or awfully awkward.

The rejuvenating effects of immersing oneself in the mountains never lose their impact on my life.  Down in town,  I come across as gregarious however, it is my way of insulating myself from people.  I let very few get to know me.  It is safer that way.  Insinuating myself into Mother Nature’s warm embrace makes me feel safe.  When I was younger, I fooled myself into believing that I could dominate the wilderness.  Now that I’m preparing to travel into my 60’s, I know better.  I was merely lucky in my younger days.  So, these days, I stop to smell the roses but, I must ask myself, do I do this for philosophical reasons or is it only because I’m nowhere near as physically fit as I was thirty years ago?  Maybe, these days I’ve only discovered a new way to fool myself.

The Christmas Season

Well, here it is - Christmas Day.  Another year of getting pounded with "come shop with us ads" is finally over.  Of course, we'll only enjoy a 24 hour respite for tomorrow, begins the endless barrage of "After Christmas" sales.  Is this reality what Christmas has become?  I hope not.  Christmas is a time of new hope.  No matter your travails, tomorrow will most assuredly be better.  With this thought in mind, I've decided to dust off my much neglected blog and return to the pen, electronic though it may be.  Not writing has possibly lead to mental lethargy for me.  It is time to revive myself and look at the world anew.  In the upcoming year, I hope to let my mind wander down an unknown trail while carrying you along with me.  Who are we?  Why do we think we're so important?  Where are we headed?  Where do we fit in the great scheme of things?  As always, I'll pursue these questions in Mother Nature's world and will more than likely never find any answers however; the answers lie hidden in the search.  The only way to really feel "small" is to escape our urbanized existence and exist in a world where we've become an outsider.  Whether it be on skis or wearing hiking boots, I promise to stuff you in my backpack and share the wonders of the back-country with you.  Let the wandering begin.

ISIS and War

ISIS represents a unique challenge for us.  Much like our battle with the Taliban and Al Quaida, we find ourselves at war with an idea in lieu of a nation state.  Until now, war between nation states has been the accustomed form of battle for mankind.  So, how will the West adapt?  The human cost of World Wars I and II is deeply ingrained into the culture of Western Europe and the United States.  Technological advancements in weaponry have made warfare an impersonal affair often fought with extreme distances between parties.  Can the West participate in a lengthy and deeply personal type of combat?

There will be no static front lines in our battle with ISIS and we'll need the full support of the established nation states in the Middle East.  Surgical removal of ISIS's leaders must be complemented with the precise planting of divergent philosophical seeds in our enemy's garden.  The battle will be won when the middleman in their backyard recognizes the commonality of our hope.  Make no bones about it, we'll need boots on the ground where they're least expected.  These operators will need to use stealth, surprise, and violence of action to eliminate ISIS power brokers.  Drones, bombs, missiles, and distant aircraft will have their place but at the end of the day, forcing our enemy to face the man who will end his short time on earth will be more powerful than any Tomahawk missile.

De Oppresso Liber

Nature and the Mind

It is really hard to beat the therapeutic value of nature's purified air.  A brisk walk will most assuredly clear your mind.  I just got back from a quick ascent of Bessie Butte.  As usual, Tobey broke trail.  He's a curious little guy who seems to enjoy being 30 to 40 yards ahead of me.  Just for fun, I'll often make him heel during our walks.  He'll obey but, he closely resembles a head strong horse fighting against the reins.  We climbed in mid 30s weather towards the summit with a slight breeze in our face.

As we climbed, I thought about this past year.  These days, my lower right leg reminds me that I've got to think about what lies ahead.  I'm not afraid of getting older but I do worry about losing my "touch".  I've led a very active life and living on the edge has defined me however; at 55 years of age I may need to evaluate what living on the edge now means.  I shattered my lower right leg last April and the healing process has been numbingly slow.  I'm still not sure if it will ever completely recover but, the idiosyncrasies of tormented tendons and ligaments make the day interesting.

So, where will my path now lead?  For some reason, the ageless parable of the Tortoise and the Hare resound within my mind.  Maybe it is time to slow the pace, identify upcoming hazards in life, and refuse to quit.  I shall refuse to succumb to the lethargic appeal of my right leg pain and press forward.  I think the real life lesson from last year's injury is to look before I leap.  Of course, I'm jotting down these rambling thoughts while reclined under a blanket with a hot cup of coffee and my little feline Raz curled up on my lap.  Maybe there is something to be said for lethargy.

Boykin Waterfowl Adventures

Sharing hunting adventures with a good bird dog is a special thing and it is even more so if you're lucky enough to share them with a Boykin Spaniel.  Of course, I cannot be objective because I'm lucky enough to share my time with my Boykin, Tobey.  His zest for life is infectious.  Bird hunting is not something he likes to do; it is who he is.  No matter the weather, no matter the terrain, no matter the game, let's hunt is his moniker!

Last weekend we enjoyed an overnight waterfowl hunt at Summer Lake, Oregon.  The wind blew ferociously.  We set up our little camp above the water saturated ground in one of the primitive campgrounds that the Oregon Fish and Game has set up for hunters.  We got there at 11AM and our site selection for our two person backpacking tent would become very important later that evening.  It took us thirty minutes to finish setting up camp.  We shared a quick lunch of salami and provolone cheese on a hard roll, and went out for a jump shoot that served a dual purpose for selecting our spot for an evening shoot over decoys.  The wind was too strong for many birds to fly so we set up early in a tiny area of a small pond that was protected from the wind's fury.

Per usual, Tobey sat at the pond's edge and inquisitively watched me place out a half dozen decoys.  I purposely selected water that he'd not have to swim through to make retrieves.  At 38 pounds, I was concerned about the wind blowing him across the pond.  Believe it or not, this tiny body of water was covered in white caps.  We had just settled in behind a quickly assembled blind behind a large sagebrush plant when a brace of drake mallards appeared overhead and circled back into the wind and struggled to reach our decoys.  Now, it is my policy that no guns are loaded whenever decoys are being set or recovered and I would soon pay for my middle aged forgetfulness.  The brace of drakes edged ever closer and finally they were directly over our decoys.  I rose to my knees, Tobey prepared to launch and "Click", the firing pin on the lower barrel of my Browning Citori Lightning fell on an empty chamber.  At the sound of the metallic click, Tobey redirected his gaze from the mallards back towards me and I swear, he rolled his eyes in displeasure.  Normally, I would've gotten mad at myself but his look made me laugh at the whole event.

We ended up taking a hen ruddy duck and a hen mallard.  The wind was simply too strong for birds to fly. We pulled up stakes and had only made it to within 200 yards of my Jeep before the sky opened up with pounding wind blown rain.  I don't know about the rest of you but, towel drying my Boykin is always a rambunctious affair.  For some reason, he feels that squirming around must be part of every towel drying event.  Let me set the stage for you.  The wind blown rain was bordering on becoming sleet.  The wind's strength blew at a steady 40 MPH.  Our two person tent was getting battered as I opened the fly's zipper and called Tobey inside.  He hardly noticed the wind while he bounced around and enjoyed the "attention" from his favorite towel.  I got him inside the tent, fed and watered him, managed to pull my chest waders off while hunched over in the fly and we both settled down for the night.  Yes, Tobey is spoiled.  I have a matching set of -40 degree synthetic sleeping bags.  One is for him, and one is for me.  They zip together and make for one large sleeping bag.  Around 8PM, the wind died down and both of us slept soundly inside our joint sleeping bag. In fact, he woke me up twice during the night because he was snoring.

Fast forward to yesterday and once again, we made another memory.  Tobey made a difficult 100 yard blind retrieve on a green winged teal.  Would he have scored well on a hunt test?  No.  He's a meat hunter and I don't expect him to obey a perfect line.  Rather, I expect him to solve the problem.  Twice, I had to give him our whistle command for "back".  He has a unique way of treading water that brings his front shoulders above the water so he can see better.  On his second attempt, he spied the teal and swam straight for it. After he'd brought it to hand, he pranced around me kicking the dirt with his hind legs.  It was very obvious that he was extremely pleased with himself.

Regardless of which breed you hunt with, hunting over a well trained bird dog is a Zen like life event. Quickly, the stress and drudgery of the week will dissipate and time will stand still.  Enjoy your time afield with your canine partner.  I guarantee you, the never-ending wag of my Boykin's stub of a tail makes me a better human being.  Hunt 'em up, little buddy!