Suppertime

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non-subject: landscape of life
aww: 7/13/11

Landscape of life.

Portraits. Photographs. Memoir.

Journals. Art. Landscapes.

Replicas.

All these images are simply images. They only scratch the surface. Some carve deeper than others, but I think it is impossible to capture the depth of life in expression. One must dive to experience depth.

I doubt I will ever dive into the oceans' depths. I don't like the thought of being deep under water with an oxygen tank on my back. But I do like swimming under water much more than I like swimming on the surface. I just want gills.

Last year was my first real launch into backpacking. I had backpacked previously in my early 20s while in The Way Corps on the LEAD program, but that was a group requirement experience. Last year was me going solo on a trail, at least solo for 41 miles; the first 30 of the 71-mile trek was with my son as my mentor.

My debut last year was life changing for me. I think of the experience often. Yet, I haven't written much about it. Not only was the solo time alone life changing, but meeting trail people.

If ever I become homeless, I think I'll take to the trail.

There is something satisfying about having all one needs on their back. Knowing that one must make their own two legs trudge the next 6 miles to get to a water source. Once there, patience is required to find the water, judge which part of the water would be the best place to filter from, and them pump. Once the water is pumped into the bottle, then you drink. "Camel up" is what it's called. You drink that fresh-pumped liter and another if you can. Then you fill the bottles again so you have water until the next water source.

And only you can get you there. No one can do it for you.

It was my second night alone on the Appalachian Trail, but my seventh night on the trail. The other nights I'd camp with people I'd never met until we parked our tents next to one another.

I was somewhere in Tennessee. I'd have to check my journal to see where exactly. I had only seen a couple people all day on the trail. I was alone. Me and my thoughts. The green tunnel covering the trail, a green tunnel I wanted to end because I was tired of it. Mile after mile after mile after mile after mile. To have a sunlit break into an open field would be refreshing. But, one has to keep putting one foot in front of the other to get to the sunlight, out of the shadow of the trees.

I was southbound hiking. Most people hike northbound.

I came upon a camp spot on my right. Signs of humans remained in the form of campfire ashes. There was a stump to sit on, a nice luxury accommodation when on the trail. The campfire ring was under a big tree; probably an oak, but I don't recall now.

This looks like a good place to stop and tent.

I look around for a reasonably strong, reachable for my rope-throwing capability, tree branch so I know I have a place to hang my food bag to keep it away from bears and the bears away from me. Hikers I'd passed the previous day said there was quite a bit of bear activity.

I set up my two-man burgundy and beige tent with its two foldable, flexible poles that stretch diagonal across the top of the tent. The ground cloth underneath. The fly over the tent netting to keep out the dew the next morning.

I unroll my pink sleeping pad stretching it onto the tent floor and open the valve to allow it to self-inflate as much as it can. I take off my forest green hiking shoes and socks and put on my almost weightless black crocs.

I pull the blue bag that holds my food out of my green backpack. I undo the clip on the food bag, unroll the top part and peer into the bag. Canned sardines. Crackers. Ramen. Nuts and seeds and dried fruit. Probably one dehydrated meal left. Jerky. All my fresh veggies and fruit and cheese are gone. It gets eaten the first couple days. Too much of it makes the pack heavier. Forty pounds starting out is plenty heavy enough; every ounce counts.

Out of my blue food bag, I pull out the one pot I carry to boil water in. Out of the cooking pot I pull my small Pocket Rocket stove. I dig in my backpack to find one of the small red propane fuel canisters. I screw the Pocket Rocket onto the canister and pull out the three prongs which will hold the pot in which I will boil some water.

I feel the empty pot with enough water for my ramen or dehydrated meal being very careful to do so on a flat surface. Water is precious and I don't want to spill any. I'm a few miles from a water source.

Making sure the canister with stove attached is level, I pull out the stove on/off lever and rotate it clockwise; the hissing noise escapes. I click the ignitor on my lighter, hold the flame to the hiss, and poof...fire.

I place the pot with the water onto the three prongs that emerge from the top of my Pocket Rocket stove.

Cave man never had it so good.

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