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.