Ethical Lessons From the Sierra Nevada

Fresno Bee, August 11, 2016

While this tumultuous summer unfolded, I was high in the Sierra Nevada. Former President Donald Trump survived an assassination attempt. Current President Joe Biden gave way to Vice President Kamala Harris. The stock market tumbled, but in the great mountains of California, the rocks and rivers took no notice.

The majestic indifference of the wild is humbling. In the backcountry, ethical wisdom teaches modesty, moderation, compassion, and courage.

The primary lesson is that nothing human lasts. We are temporary visitors on this planet. The mountains were here before our species evolved. They endured while wars and revolutions passed. They will remain when we are extinct.

Wild nature mocks our hopes and dreams. The ice that carved Yosemite over millions of years was a thousand feet deep. The planets move in a cycle that lasts 26,000 years. But human civilizations only appeared 6,000 years ago. And every human being we know will be dead in 100 years.

The scale of the wild can overwhelm. But in being overwhelmed, we can also find freedom and inspiration. Nature transcends the buzzing clamor of political life. In the human world, each moment appears as a crisis. The news assails us with tales of mayhem and wickedness. Our screens flash and whine. And we find ourselves seized by anxiety and seduced by passion.

But the rhythm of the seasons is steady and true. The melting ice flows down familiar channels every summer. And the snow returns in the fall. Human-generated climate change may impact this relentless cycle. But even if the waters dry up, the granite will endure.

The wild reminds us that everything human is shallow and fleeting. Only when we acknowledge the vast indifference of things can we think clearly about what counts as living well.

Out on the trail, an ethic emerges. Its first commandment is humble self-reliance. Once you leave the trailhead, you must be self-sufficient. Every choice you make is your responsibility. No one will save you if you fall. You must understand your limitations. Be prepared. And keep your wits about you.

You carry your means of life on your back. What you can’t carry, you must leave behind. And so, simplicity emerges as a commandment. Our closets and minds brim with unnecessary stuff. But on the trail, spare socks are a luxury. And cold, clear water is as good as wine. What do you really need?

There is also friendship on the trail. One of the great joys of hiking is the camaraderie of those who walk together. And the strangers you meet in the outback are almost always kind and joyful. Compassion emerges easily in the backcountry.

But this friendly sociality also respects solitude. Be kind. But mind your own business. Keep your voice down and leave others alone. If someone is lost or in trouble, help them. But don’t insist. Everyone hikes at their own pace.

Remarkably, those who are hiking the farthest appear to be the happiest. In my relatively short trips this summer, I met a handful of hardy souls walking the entirety of the Pacific Crest and John Muir Trails. They were almost always smiling. When the rain and lightning come, they laugh. Good humor is as much of a necessity in the mountains as are courage and fortitude. Without a smile and the will to endure, the trail is punishing and a tent becomes a prison cell.

Finally, as every backpacker knows, you should leave no trace. Humans tend to want to leave a mark. Civilization is a kind of graffiti that has slashed and burned across the planet. The wild places are special because they remain unmarked. Don’t cut the switchbacks. And leave the campsite better than you found it. The next group of hikers, and next generation, will appreciate your moderation and self-restraint.

These same lessons apply in the city and everyday life. Seek to understand the bigger picture. Be humble and self-reliant. Simplify your needs. Be friendly and kind. But also mind your own business. Be courageous and quick to laugh. As you wander this planet, try not to leave a mark. And do your best to leave this world better than you found it.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/article290916454.html#storylink=cpy

July 12, 2014August 13, 2014

Bears, Bugs, and Backpacking on the John Muir Trail

Wilderness reminds us we’re not the center of everything

Fresno Bee, July 12, 2014

I am writing this while hiking the John Muir Trail. The Sierra backcountry is beautiful and humbling. The wilderness reminds us that we are not in charge of the world.

When my children were young and we would go camping, I used to joke that after dark, the government turned off the rivers and waterfalls. We are so used to our civilized world, with its regular and predictable system of amenities, that city kids can make believe that rivers have on-off switches.

The wild world is, however, beyond our control. There are no on-off switches in the wilderness. The wind blows, the rain falls and bears come to camp. The marmots and mosquitoes go about their business. We like to think that we are the center of creation. But our narcissism is quickly corrected by a night under the stars. The Milky Way does not glow for us.

There is an old riddle about whether a tree that falls in the woods makes a sound. Of course it does. But usually only the deer and chipmunks hear it. Wild noises resound without any human presence. The birds don’t sing for us. Croaking frogs and chirping crickets don’t croon for our pleasure. And trees fall every day in hidden groves beyond human perception.

The natural world is profoundly indifferent to us. Even in your front yard garden, snails, weeds and worms are busy with their own lives. We work hard to control this wild vitality. But without constant vigilance, wild nature will soon destroy our handiwork.

The business of the birds and the bees proceeds without us. One day we saw two squirrels mating. We stopped to watch. But I felt somehow immodest. The squirrels live, mate and die here. We are just visitors, passing through their homes.

The wildflowers are blooming in the high country. We wandered through meadows rich with color. It is tempting to think that this beauty is on display for us. But flowers don’t bloom for human eyes. Like the squirrels, they are concerned with living and reproducing. Their beauty is not for us.

Not all wild things are charming or beautiful. The backpacker’s bane is the mosquito. These little vampires can quickly ruin a lovely campsite. But the mosquito’s bloodlust is not directed at us. If we were not passing through their habitat, they would find other prey.

One evening a bear came to camp. He sniffed us and circled our camp as we whistled and yelled, working hard to scare him off. I had the distinct impression that he was curious about us, wondering what these humans were doing in his home.

Some people do not to like wild things and wild places. A cold, windy, rainy night at 10,000 feet is no spring picnic. And sleep doesn’t come easy when you know that the bear knows where you are camped. But it helps to know that these wild things are just going about their own business. They do not intend to harm us. We merely happen to be in the way.

A philosopher and fellow backpacker once told me that he was more afraid of the other people he meets on the trail than he was of the snakes and bears lurking in the bush. Animals are merely wild, he explained. But human beings can be wicked.

Most of our fellow backpackers have been kind, generous and interesting. But humans demand recognition. The intensely human urge to be recognized by other human beings can lead to violence. Wars, rape and mass murder are human creations, malicious manifestations of the narcissistic need for recognition. Mosquitoes and bears only want a bite to eat. They don’t want to enslave, convert or conquer. Our species demands recognition, which leads to domination. That may be why we need governments. It may also be why we are so suspicious of them.

The backcountry buzzes and blooms without concern for human needs and interests. One lesson from this is humility, which deflates our vain desire to dominate and be recognized. The bears and bugs carry on without us. The rivers run without our permission. And the sound of falling trees is not made for human ears.

Read more here: http://www.fresnobee.com/2014/07/11/4020947/ethics-wilderness-reminds-us-were.html#storylink=cpy

June 26, 2014August 15, 2014

Lighten your load

Lighten your load for a happier journey through life

Fresno Bee June 26, 2014

I am hiking the John Muir Trail as you read this. My 17-year-old son and I will walk over 200 miles through the Sierra from Yosemite to Mt. Whitney. By the time we are done we will have gained and lost some 45,000 feet of elevation.

The key to a long hike is a strong companion and a light pack. This is the truth of the trail. It is also a metaphor for life. Life is long, so lighten your load and find good hiking partners.

Whatever you carry will be on your back the entire way. A useful motto is “don’t bring it, if you don’t want to carry it.” That motto also holds for our psychological and spiritual loads. Leave regret, anger and resentment behind. Those negative emotions only weigh you down. It is sometimes difficult to move forward. But time marches on with or without us.

Our ancient ancestors were nomads, who followed the seasons and the herds. Our ancestors migrated to the U.S. and to California. The freedom of the wanderer is in our blood. Our forebears must have travelled light to get here.

But we are burdened by the weight of our habits. The older you get, the bigger your pack becomes, and the more difficult it is to move on. The longer you stay in one place, the deeper your habits become, and the harder it is to leave them behind.

There is a kind of elegance in traveling light. Traveling light means freedom. Without piles of stuff to weigh you down, you are always ready to ramble. But traveling light requires preparation. You have to pack carefully, with an eye to the difference between luxury and necessity.

What do you really need to lug with you? How much are you willing to carry? Most of the stuff that fills our houses is not necessary. Consider how much we eat — and throw away — during the course of a day or a week. A light pack contains few luxuries, maybe some chocolate or coffee.

But our culture encourages full pantries and stomachs. Advertising creates a need for more stuff. But if you had to carry that stuff around all day, you’d laugh at those who encourage you to buy more. Our nomadic ancestors would be amused.

I’ll admit that I like stuff, too. Even backpackers enjoy shopping for gear and groceries. But the process of trimming down your load forces you to evaluate priorities. You don’t need much to be healthy and happy.

Religions have long cultivated this sort of abstemiousness. Prayer and meditation turn the mind away from the loaded larders of our desires. The Sabbath is a weekly break from busy consumption. Some religions take a monthly break: Ramadan or Lent, for example. Take some time off. Give something up. Let something go. That’s good advice.

In our secular culture, the wisdom of the Sabbath is forgotten. Nor do we celebrate abstinence. A day without shopping is not good for business. Even our vacations are filled with frantic consumption. Indeed, we work harder during the week to be able to afford our weekend getaways.

There is wisdom in simplified daily living. Work enough to live decently. And use the rest of your time to explore and cultivate relationships with family, friends and the natural world.

A long hike is a kind of spiritual walkabout. You discover something about yourself and world by leaving home with only what you can carry on your back. When it all goes right — no rain, no blisters, etc. — the simplicity of the trail is a joy. You watch your step and walk until you find a good place to sleep. Other concerns slip away.

Hiking is walking meditation. Each step is simple and focused. Each creek crossing is a pleasure. Each summit is a triumph. Each night under the stars is a miracle. And each morning, we’re thankful for the lightness of our packs as we strap them on for another day.

It is invigorating to be part of that bustling wonder called civilization. We’ll be glad to get back to town. But there is also wisdom in the simplicity of the trail and the freedom and grace of traveling light

Read more here: http://www.fresnobee.com/2014/06/27/4000349/ethics-lighten-your-load-for-a.html#storylink=cpy