“It’s a great thing these days to leave civilization for a while and return to nature”

Running Away with Bob Marshall

In junior high I day-dreamed of simply walking off into the woods and disappearing. There was a powerful magnet pulling me out there. It was not to escape problems at home or school. I had friends, was involved in sports and, got along with my parents most of the time. It was the powerful desire to be out there in the wild. To see what was there and test myself. I'd play out various scenarios on how it would work, figuring out where to go, how to find food, water and shelter and what to write on the note so my parents wouldn't worry.

My favorite book in elementary school was Jean Craighead George's My Side of the Mountain. The main character, Sam Gribley ran away to the Catskills to see if he could live there for a year. Sam made running away seem possible.  He did not leave to get away from a terrible home life. He just wanted to try living in the mountains for a year. Like Sam, I figured I could find a big tree for shelter and make fish hooks out of twigs. I practiced in my own backyard even though there were no fish. In junior high another book that caught my imagination was Solo by Robin Lee Graham.  It is the account of his solo sailing trip around the world at the age of 16. If he could do that, I could go into the wild. There was just something about being alone that made these adventures even more of an adventure. In high school it was Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire that inspired more dreams. Even as an adult it is not surprising that Jeremiah Johnson is my favorite movie or that I found Into the Wild so intriguing, though not the dying part. There is just something exciting about leaving and being on a solitary sojourn.

I was never ready to completely break the bonds and remove myself. Instead, backpacking became my way to run away. Not much has changed. The idea of going off into the wilderness for a long long time still has an appeal. It still sets me off to day-dreams. But the freedom that it would require means the loss of so much that I love. A short term disappearance, however, is more realistic because I am not running away, I am running to.

The only thing better than a rainy day backpacking is a sunny day backpacking. This is the necessary attitude since it wouldn't be the Adirondacks if it wasn't raining. The drops began while driving up the Northway and by the Garden Trailhead, the rain greeted me in sheets. With no sign of clearing anytime soon, I started packing my gear in the car and managed to get it together without getting soaked. It did not matter, a half mile in, I was wet past the point of caring. The thought of a dry lean-to kept me moving. Unfortunately, when I got to Ore Bed Lean-to it was not to be, a family was settled inside, which meant a night in the tent for me. I set up as quick as I could and threw the dry clothes inside. There they waited warm and cozy. As wet as I was it made sense to stay out and get everything done including cooking and eating. The soggy turkey dogs tasted great.  Once in the tent, I dried off and lay there listening, just letting my mind wander off to sleep. All was well and I woke to the sun. Two and a half days of running to were ahead of me and my wilderness self would be at home.

The fact that I never did truly run away and instead became a backpacker represents the two selves of Dan Kriesberg:  wilderness self and suburb self. Accepting I can have more than one self makes sense and allows me to better understand who I am and how I live. Wilderness self is the one that wants to be in the back of beyond.  To me, it is a place of the more than human world, where one has a heightened awareness of the mystery and wonder that is there. In the wilderness there is a belonging to place that for me is not true everywhere else. It is a place that connects me to something greater. I am native there. Wilderness is also a frame of mind. It is the actions it inspires. There is a culture in the wilderness: the common ground with the people with whom I share the place, the clothes I get to wear, the food eaten, the stories told. It is a place that requires only the basics. The wilderness is about what I want to learn. I am curious about how it works. A place where the impact of one's conduct is easily apparent. The challenges and risks are welcome. I am not bored.

 If I am being honest, and without being dramatic or cliche, my connection with the wild outdoors is one of love. It is a relationship.  The physical and mental benefits are clear. I would like to think there is a bit of mutualism, not just commensalism, in that I give something to the wilderness. Though, it is my ego thinking that the wilderness has any use for me other than my decaying body, my donations to the Wilderness Society and the occasional letter of protest.

After a brown sugar cinnamon pop tart breakfast, it was time to start heading up the trail. As king of the schedule, it was my pace. It was nice not to consider anyone else's well-being and be a little self-absorbed. About halfway up to Gothics the trail comes out at the bottom of a massive slide. In 2013 Hurricane Irene dumped about 10 inches of rain on the High Peaks, all in about 24 hours. The wet soil lost its grip on the mountain and slid down taking rocks, trees and everything else with it. The mountainside was scraped to bare rock that today shimmered in the evaporating sun. Dead trees were piled up at the bottom like a box of toothpicks thrown by a child. The Adirondack Mountain Club had built an incredible stairway up the bare rock of the slide. It must have been 500 steps which I took slowly. At the col between Gothics and Saddleback I sat on a boulder and had a snack.

My guess is that Bob Marshall took a 10 second break right there on his climb up Gothics while he hiked the 46ers with his brother and their guide, Herb Clark. Before Bob Marshall was the leader of the Wilderness Society and a passionate advocate for wilderness preservation he was also running to the mountains. At about the same age I was reading My Side of the Mountain, Bob Marshall read a book titled, Pioneer Boys of the Northwest. It is the story of two young men who joined their fathers on the Lewis and Clark expedition. Reading and rereading the book gave birth to a desire to explore. In his biography of Bob Marshall, James M. Glover noted that Bob wished he had been born earlier in history when there was so much more to explore. I hear you Bob. He did have the Adirondacks. The Marshall family had a summer home on Lower Saranac Lake which they called Knollwood. For the first 25 summers of his life, Bob spent all or part of his summers there. It is safe to say he loved it.

His desire to explore began with his own 3/4th of a mile by 3/8th piece of wilderness area "This almost treeless area was a real wilderness to me, as exciting in a different way as the unexplored continent which I had missed by my tardy birth." In his explorations, he gave names to the geographic features just like an explorer. Part of his self-training was to go out at night to learn how to be alone in the woods. He did not limit himself to this small wilderness. At 15, along with Herb Clark as their guide, Bob and his brother climbed Mount Ampersand and a passion was born.

"On the walks, the talkers admired the obvious things, but we admired the real beauty, not just the steep precipice, a big rock or a glimpse of a lake. We admired the fine trees, beautiful flowers, lights and shades among trees, and the 100's other things which make the woods so superior to the city."

Three summers later in 1918 they climbed their first 4,000 foot peak, Whiteface Mountain. Later that summer they climbed Marcy, Algonquin, and Iroquois. This was just the beginning "Herb, George and I found Adirondack mountain climbing our greatest joy in life" and that joy led them to become the first people to climb all 46 High Peaks. He wrote of these experiences in his book, The High Peaks of the Adirondacks. "A brief account of the climbing of the forty-two Adirondack Mountains over 4,000 feet in height by an amateur mountain climber for fellow amateurs."  Along the way, Bob always the list-maker ranked the mountains by their views.

My two days on the Great Range followed some of the "Gothics Trip" that Bob took in August of 1920. After snack time was over it was time to push on for the last half mile to the summit of Gothics, like Bob just at a slower pace. There are cables bolted into the exposed rock making the climb relatively easy and very fun. The trail flattened and the trees fell away leading me to the summit. My thoughts wandered off again so it was good to reach the summit. The first mountain view of any trip begins to set the mind in place. It usually takes about time to clear the mind of the day to day. Being on a mountain speeds the process with experiences that shake the mind free.

Bob ranked Gothics 15th on the list and wrote: "Looking back toward Marcy is one of the finest views imaginable of deep gorges, rocky precipices, and virgin forests, mixed together and displayed on a great scale."

Next was Armstrong Mountain. The ridge of Gothics provided great views until the back side of the mountain dropped me into the forest. Walking through a corridor of trees I soon started climbing up again and back out onto a bare rock view that was ranked 18th by my friend, Bob "But it is that one great view toward Marcy and Macintyre which makes Armstrong rank high among the sightly mountains of the State."

Working down the ridge I made it as far as Upper Wolfjaw which Bob ranked 33rd and I could see why. The summit is surrounded by trees and view requires standing on the boulder. I shared the rock with a group of teenagers and a father plus a view that as Bob wrote was "not so fine." Maybe so compared to the others but even a partial mountain view is a view, especially when one lives at only 11 feet above sea level.

As king of the hike, I decided to skip Lower Wolf Jaw and trade it for more time sitting on a mountaintop with a view so I headed back to Armstrong.  On the summit, there was time to enjoy silence until a group of hikers came by. Bob had the mountain tops to himself. But these days the High Peaks have plenty of visitors. They get swallowed up by the woods and re-emerge on mountain tops. But sometimes the timing works and one can have alone time on a mountaintop for reading, eating, napping and staring.

Back at the campsite, I enjoyed a relaxing dinner along the stream. Water slid over rock, pooling in holes and spilling out carving a pathway between beds of soaking wet moss. At this spot, the water was quietly heading to Ore Bed Brook where it would crash into boulders and logs. Plenty of time to just sit there since cleaning the dinner dish didn't take long.

I am also suburb self, the self that lives and loves in Bayville. This self is the one that is a husband, father, brother, son, teacher, homeowner. It is not going anywhere, nor do I want it to. Suburb self has given me love, security, happiness and a chance to do some good. It makes a difference in the lives of others. My actions have a positive impact as a husband, father, brother, son, teacher. There are friendships and relationships that can only happen there. Most my time is as suburb self.  I am proud of what suburb self has given my family. Recently, Karen noticed that unconsciously she had decorated our house from the walls to the pillows in various shades of blue and beige. The colors of her place, the beach. Karen understands the meaning of place and I am happy we live in Karen's home place. I am glad the boys are so connected and that this is their home place. It has become my home place. As suburb self I have the closeness of relationships that balances time as wilderness self.

That night the magnetic pull of timberline got into my head and climbing Mt Marcy made all the sense in the world. In the morning, still drawn by that desire to be above trees in the land of lichen and tiny flowers I got going early. My legs felt good and my body strong. Over the past few years, I have become less and less interested in climbing all 46ers and more interested in views. There was the day I skipped Ccouchsachraga  to take more time on Panther. Last March I chose to skip the slog through wet snow to the top of Redfield which does not have a view and instead choose the slog up Mt Colden for the fourth time where I could share a view with Bob.

I reached the summit of Mt Marcy by mid-morning, not at Bob Marshall pace but great for me.  The Native American name for Mt. Marcy is Tahawus which means Cloud Splitter.  If I were to name a mountain range I would steal that and call them Cloud Splitter Mountains.  Mt Marcy has a Bob Marshall rating of 9. My lunch was at Bob's favorite view looking down on Lake Tear of the Clouds where it lay surrounded by Allen, Skylight, and Redfield. Thinking back to the day the boys and I climbed Mt Marcy made me wonder where time goes and a little sad.

From Marcy, I wanted to catch Haystack on the way back but decided to stop at Little Haystack a half mile short of Mt. Haystack. Not being the actual summit but I had the place to myself and extra time looking at Colden, Algonquin, and the Macintyre range. Little Haystack, would be high on my ratings Bob of course went to the actual summit. "From Haystack, you can look over thousands and thousands of acres unblemished by the works of man, perfect as made by nature." This is the view Bob ranked number 1.

Over the years it has become easier to be alone. Going alone brings comfort and a thrill that came from being more attentive to the place, to decisions, to challenges, to responsibilities. It is confidence building to be alone. There is a reason so many truth seekers from Moses on down have gotten lost in the wilderness to find themselves. My younger self was sometimes scared of the freedom. I did not know who I was. By learning what it meant to be me I could be alone. Now I am at peace in these kinds of places and like being alone because I am happy with the self I am there. This is me and I accept that I am good with that, great with that.

In places where the human domination is not so dominate it is much easier for me to understand what is going on. The skills needed to be successful on the trail are skills I have. Compared to suburban life there is so much less to get wrong. It is easier to keep the should where the should be. When there are questions it is okay, it adds to the wonder and does not make things more confusing and uneasy. My senses are turned on because of the variations of being outdoors compared to the sameness of indoors. There is magic in the unexpected. It is good to be living on the fringe.

If Bob and I left Haystack at the same time headed to Basin Mountain I would not have been able to keep up. In exacting detail, Bob noted the time it took, one hour and three minutes.  It took me about 2 hours. Basin is ranked 6th on Bob's list and his advice was good "the trail is very steep and difficult, and one must proceed with great care." I did. View vary. It is hard to account for time of day and weather which can turn a spectacular view to a fog covered soup. I wonder if there was much debate between the three of them, what if they reached the summit on a cloudy day and could not judge the view? A view is not just what you see. It is how you got there, who you are with and how all your senses take it in. The criteria Bob used to make his rankings, I do not know.

Saddleback was next. The trail just below the summit is like nothing else in the Adirondacks. It disappeared into the cliff.  I thought I missed something and that there must be another way around, but there was not. That meant it was up or it was backtrack. Wilderness is not risk-free. My doubts were on but I tried to push out any negative thoughts and just focus on one step at a time. From where I stood going forward meant three miles of hiking and home with plenty of daylight. Turning around meant backtracking ten miles and getting into camp well after dark. Focus on one step at a time, but keep moving. I gave a silent thanks to the hiker at the start of the trip that suggested walking up Saddleback, not down Saddleback. There was accomplishment on top.

Bob ranked the view 24th on his list. I agree with his assessment "What I like best about the view is the Great Basin and the massive sides of Gothics." This day on Saddleback watching rain clouds playing tag with the sun is what captured my attention. It had to be a quick stop to beat the setting sun to my campsite. 

There have been times when both selves worked together more closely connected and on the same page. Family camping trips and backpacking with the boys was the perfect synchronicity.  There were also times of seeing and being in a special moment of the more than human world right on Long Island. Those times brought wilderness self to the suburbs. But it is harder now, it has been two summers since the last time the boys and I have gone camping together. This is a new phase. Zack has gone to Michigan, having the time of the life. Scott is on the brink, itching to get going and see the world.

That leaves Karen and I behind to figure out what is next and be open to all the possibilities. We need to trust each other. Sometimes it is the limits, not the support we see and feel. To truly understand other's point of view, even after 25 years. It would be an interesting thought experiment to switch places, but it is scary to be in to be in someone else's shoes. It would mean letting go of hard held beliefs. I need to trust Karen, to understand even though that may be hard for someone whose selves mesh so together so much better than mine. I admit being a little jealous of that and happy for Karen that our lives have allowed this to happen. In this new phase, I can see how living with someone that has two selves can be confusing and challenging. Hopefully, she and I can be more graceful in working things out. She can trust me. In this new era, it is time to find the balance of both selves. It is not so easy. My hands rest here on the keyboard trying to think of something I would miss while backpacking besides my family. I can't. As long as my body held out I could be out there a long time. There would be a bit of guilt for not doing more to help the world. 

I want people to look at me and see the wilderness self. It is the self that makes me unique and I am scared to lose it. Sometimes it is hard for me to admit I am okay being suburb self. That somehow by being suburb self I am disrespecting wilderness self, losing a key part of who I am. Part of that is to show I am not really of this place. It is not the right attitude but admittedly true. Someday I want wilderness self to be at home for longer periods of time. In the meantime this is it and this is great. I am happy, but there is something more out there. 

It would better if I let suburb self-have its own time and not compare a suburban experience to wilderness experience. They are different, there can be two experiences. Two selves is an opportunity to take advantage of the advantages in both places. One can have more than one home place.

This new phase means working hard again at bringing wilderness self to Long Island. It would be fun to take some walks at odd times of the day, make adventures here. One way I keep my wilderness self-alive is little things wearing hiking boots to school, eat a simple meal as I would on the trail, skipping a shave, peeing in the woods. Just sitting in a forest. Waste less time on BS, be more pure, as I am while being out there. Hike more with Karen and other people. When it was clear that we were staying in Bayville I worked harder at bringing wilderness self into the suburbs. The shelves of my office are filled with books that taught me to see wild in more places I read a lot, wrote a lot, went out with the boys a lot, and gotta get back to that. It is okay to have to work hard.

There was time Thursday morning for one last mountain on the way out. It took careful calculations to determine how long it would take to get to the top of Big Slide and hike out. I wanted to know just how much time for staring out into the heart of the High Peaks there was. Big Slide is ranked 27 on the list. I got up there early enough to have the summit to myself. Rain was coming but tucked in between rocks I could still gather in a view that would have to last me quite a while. A reminder from Bob that it is not just about mountaintops, "Even if there had been no view, the woods alone were worth the climb."  The truth!

All the major decisions in my adult life have had two things in common. The choices have not come from weighing the pros and cons in careful deliberation. The choice was made by my gut making the decision without realizing I was making the decision. It was decided without thought. Also every time it was outdoors. I can remember the moment when I decided to change majors to become a teacher, leave the classroom and go back to outdoor education, to propose to Karen, to have a child, to start my own business, to go back to teaching. For all of these moments, I remember the place: The Maine coast, Highland Forest, Superstition Mountains, Escalante Canyon, Shore Road in Bayville and okay, this one was inside, standing in line at T.J. Maxx.

The same gut reaction tells me of my desire to run to wilderness is deep seeded in who I am. A friend recently suggested going to the Memphis music festival to see Neil Young. Before he was even done telling me about it, I was thinking to myself, I'd rather backpack. So many times when events, activities, plans are being discussed, the thought, "how will this affect the chance of backpacking" crosses my mind. There is a gut reaction calling me to go.  It is not that I don't love doing other things, I just want time running to wilderness as well. To sum it all up in one sentence. I want to take long hikes, it is, as simple as that, just take long walks, hours, days, someday weeks, maybe a month. Or as Benton MacKaye, a friend of Bob Marshall and inspiration for the Appalachian Trail described the goal of backpacking as, "To walk, To see, To see what you see."

There are songs, books, posters, movies, graduation speeches, sermons, all voices telling us we must live a life without regrets, follow your dreams, do what you love. Will life without regrets in one place lead to regrets in another? It is important to trust that living life here doesn't take away from my relationship with wilderness. For Bob and I the desire is deep in our souls. Bob balanced his time with wilderness and activism. There were adventures in the West and Alaska and work in wilderness preservation that took him to Washington, D. C. and New York City. He never married, never had a family. While there are many paths of Bob's I would follow that is not one of them.