Put a pack on your back to appreciate the big world
New to this column, as you may have noticed, is a picture of me, your humble narrator. In selecting this photo for my headshot, my thinking was to put myself in the greenest light possible: Your columnist as a Woman of the Woods. I am a backpacker. Backpacking is when you take food, shelter, and clothing and put it in a backpack, don hiking boots, and carry your supplies several miles into the wilderness. It’s more fun than it sounds, though I’m sure there are many who would not enjoy it, or think they would not.
I used to loathe the idea of backpacking. Not only does it require technical knowledge and a special skill set (how to read a map, make a fire, not get pissed off if it rains) but also equipment, clothing, and, apparently, those extremely annoying bumper stickers declaring your allegiance to sporting goods companies. Whenever I’d see photos of young people, ruddy-cheeked and hale, wearing fancy lightweight windbreakers and dirty bandannas, looking triumphant at the top of some vista, my first thought was usually, “What a bunch of show-offs.” Until I learned two things: One, most do not backpack in order to appear cool to other people, and two, backpacking is more about nature than Nalgene.
My alma mater is known for being “one college, two campuses.” One campus is in Santa Fe and is actually on a mountain; the other is in Annapolis, Maryland and within walking distance of many fine public houses. While we Annapolitans considered a pack of Dunhills and a flask of bourbon imperative accessories for weekend revelry, our counterparts in New Mexico were checking their rappel ropes and oiling their carabineers in preparation for a recon mission with the Search and Rescue squad. I’m sure the disdain is mutual, although I eventually outgrew my posturing.
The change was engendered, as are so many changes, by wanting to look good in the eyes of a member of the opposite sex. I hoped to impress my now-husband by joining him in his backpacking. To this end, I dropped 600 USD on a pack, sleeping bag, hiking boots, clothing, a fancy rain jacket, and miscellaneous supplies.
Skinflint that I am, as I handed over my Visa, I was working out how many times I’d have to go to amortize the cost of it all. But half the struggle is looking the part. In boots and nylon pants, long underwear and fleece, I was just a few steps away from that photo: ruddy-cheeked, self-satisfied, smiling-on-a-mountaintop money shot.
There are now many of these photos on my hard drive, looking out of breath at the top of Massachusetts’ highest peak, leaning on a trailhead post at the end of a long hike in the Smokies. I love to be in the woods. I love to plan the route, pick the campsite, figure out where the water points are likely to be. I love seeing deer, bears, foxes, and finding berries. My husband declares I have the better fire-building skills, that despite my short experience, my instincts in the woods are as sharp as his.
And on the other hand, I can’t count the number of times something hasn’t gone as planned. I’ve gotten lost, been injured, taken too long to reach camp or the car, floundered for a good tent spot while it’s getting dark, been unable to start a fire, gotten soaked to the bone, been eaten alive by black flies (a Northern thing) and chiggers (Southern thing), made camp in the rain, broken camp in the rain. It is the misadventures that have given me something I did not possess to a great degree before I went into the woods: self-reliance and fearlessness.
The wilderness is indifferent to anything that might be happening to me and my human companions. Realizing this was frightening at first, but eventually it came to feel comforting. Most of us understand that the world is a very big place of which we as individuals are a very tiny part. But you don’t know how big and endless the world is until you walk 20 miles in a day with 30 pounds on your back. You don’t get this feeling without actually spending time in nature. Backpacking is one way to experience that feeling.
Spending time outdoors is what puts us in touch with the planet. This sounds obvious, but I ask you: When was the last time you looked at the stars, if you can even see them where you live? I write this column mostly to talk about the concrete ways you can help conserve resources and improve the environment.
The best way to do this is to first care about the wilderness that surrounds you, here in Chattanooga. Whether you’re strolling along the Tennessee River or climbing up Clingman’s Dome, you’re doing a great deal for the planet by exposing yourself to its natural sights.
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