Nature Boy
I’ve stacked up a lot of articles, podcasts, etc. I’ve read or wanted to read over the past five years. I’m going back through and revisiting most of ‘em. What I’m consuming right now:
Listen: A bunch of The Moth episodes. Below is one of my favorites:
The Short: DoorDash and Pizza Arbitage by Ranjan Roy
The Long: A Window Onto An American Nightmare by Nathan Heller
Going to a National Park has a very first-day-of-school vibe for me. For the first five to ten minutes after arrival I gawk at everyone else, all nervous energy, wondering if I should follow the crowd to whatever attraction has drawn their interest, unsure if my clothes make me stick out like a typical city kid that doesn’t know a pine tree from a fir tree (I don’t), before I inevitably settle down and realize they’re all tourists, too, and set out on my planned hike.
The outdoors — and I know there are some who consider National Parks too touristy and not exactly “roughing it” — only became a thing for me in the past few years. Prior to that, my experience with nature was reading Into the Wild and a few other novels that spent most of their time outdoors. Even typing “outdoors” and “nature” so frequently now has me screaming PHONY at myself.
A few years ago, I’d never been camping. Never been to a National Park. The only wildlife I’d ever seen were the deer that insisted on putting their lives on the line to cross roads in Marin. I couldn’t tell you the difference between Yellowstone and Yosemite, even though I lived my entire life three hours away from the latter.
But there was always a mystique, an intrigue in those novels and movies where someone finds themselves in the Great Unknown. They inspired and enthralled me as a teenager, and I never really outgrew that lure, the idealistic dream that spending months disconnected from the real world could help, even spearhead, an existential transformation.
So one March morning four years ago I sacked up, loaded up my Prius with snacks and coffee, and drove to Yosemite for a solo day trip. I didn’t realize there’d be snow on the trails, didn’t realize shorts and running shoes weren’t the best hiking attire for that time of year... nor did I realize Yosemite’s beauty would render everything I’d ever read and thought I knew about the outdoors inadequate. Books and movies about nature were akin to describing a Picasso in Morse code.
Looking up at the massive rock faces of Yosemite Valley at dusk, when the setting sun paints the sky a deep, crystalline violet, I finally understood why that lady wrote the lyrics “Purple Mountain Majesty.” The waterfalls were massive, the hiking views steep and vertigo-inducing, and the wildlife — even bears — came close enough to touch.
The pictures I’d seen couldn’t come close.
But that didn’t stop me from becoming one of those annoying people that insists on showing you pictures from their trip that you couldn’t care less about.
Last week, I went to Glacier National Park, in Montana, and it induced a lot of the same awe as that first trip to Yosemite. I went on a 15-mile hike that was at times ill-advised but also allowed me to see more beauty in five hours than I had in the 29 years leading up to that point. And you know what that means? I get to annoyingly show you pictures and describe everything as earnestly as possible!
Driving through the famed Going-to-the-Sun road was spectacular and dangerous because every turn forced you to look up at the mountains, down into rivers…seemingly everywhere but at the road and cars ahead of you.
Yosemite and Yellowstone were the two National Parks I’d heard the most about, but having been to each of them now, Glacier is the one that stands out. Especially in the fall. I did the Highline Trail which, as its name suggests, is at 7,000 feet of elevation, tucked beside the Continental Divide, where each bend makes you feel as though you’re walking in the mountains of Middle Earth. Especially when I went, in early October, you could practically see all four seasons in one photo.
Wish I could spend a month there.
Side Notes:
Went to Yellowstone. Old Faithful is whack as hell, but the rest is awesome and I didn’t get nearly enough time there.
Driving in a Prius is tight. Driving in a Prius during a snowstorm…not so much. Winter came early to Montana.
the beard is gone but the memories will last forever.
Onto the Midwest…