Date: 2010-01-03
To: Tie me to the Mast!
Miles today: 0.0

How can it be that the trail has such a powerful attraction for us, such an irresistible pull? We spend most of a year in anxious contemplation of its dangers and allures, not knowing for certain whether we will survive even that first week of the journey. Despite those anxieties, we press on, gathering provisions, collecting weapons against the elements, and making all manner of proclamations to our brethren so as not to lose faith. We lay waste to our responsibilities, forsaking family and friends, hearth and home, bench and plow, seeking a newer salvation in the wilderness of our souls. We hear it only faintly, in the stillness of our imaginations, but ¢ like the west wind ¢ we know it is approaching: the siren song of the trail. But how many know the full measure of the risk that lies in wait? I speak not of creatures of the wild, of snakes or bears or wonton sloths. No, I speak of a far greater danger. It is a danger that requires careful forbearance and no little cunning to defeat. It lies not in the challenges of the trail, but rather in its most sacred joys.   We¢ve been warned, of course ¢ centuries ago. By Homer, in Book 12 of the Odyssey. Circe¢s instruction to Odysseus was quite explicit: Plug the ears of your sailors with beeswax, so they may not hear the enticing appeal of the siren¢s song, and thus throw themselves overboard or run aground on the rocks. Have them tie you to the mast, that you may hear, but be protected from self-destruction, and instruct them, under no circumstances, to untie you until all are safely beyond the call of the sirens. It¢s right there in Webster's (and, yes, in Wikipedia as well, Break!): ¢Siren Song ¢ the enticing appeal of something alluring but potentially dangerous.¢ [Wouldn¢t you know that anything that is enticing or alluring just HAS to have a ¢BUT¢ to it. Life is so unfair!]What is the nature of this siren song, this threat to our sanity, to our very existence? It¢s simple, really. It¢s called freedom. And it is the essence of the trail experience. For most of us, it takes some getting used to ¢ this freedom of the trail. For many, if not most, it represents the first significant period of our lives that has not been crammed full of obligations and commitments and expectations and demands from others. And then suddenly, after months ¢ or even years ¢ of contemplation, it¢s here. Suddenly it¢s March, and there is absolutely nothing more that we HAVE to do ¢ except walk. So we walk¢¦through quiet woods to the top of majestic mountains, past dancing steams and flower-filled meadows. We walk with our new-found friends and companions, and we are at one with nature, just one more creature in the wild. For days on end, we walk; then weeks, and then months, if we¢re lucky. No responsibilities, no obligations, no one¢s expectations but our own. What an unbelievable luxury. What unmitigated JOY! And then suddenly, one day as you approach the end of your journey, you'll hear it. It calls softly at first, but soon you begin to listen for it in the rustle of the winds. It¢s coming closer, that siren song ¢ bringing with it the danger that accompanies the enticing appeal, the special allure, of spending six whole months with nothing better to do with your time than to play in the woods. What are the rocks that threaten the safety of the ship and its crew? It¢s the question you may not have wanted to face, and had no particular need to address, until now ¢ as you approach the end of your epic adventure. The question is simple ¢ but the answer may not be: What will you do next? What will you do, at the end of the journey, to rejoin the human race? What will you do with your time? Who will you have to answer to ¢ and who will you now have to please? And, more importantly, to what will you now devote your immortal soul -- reclaimed over these past many months from care and worry and the fray of battles won and lost? Recall, in the lessons of the Odyssey, that the appeal of the sirens¢ song was NOT to the flesh, which might have been resisted more easily. The call was to the spirit, and therein lays the greatest danger. Those of us still together in Maine will begin to joke about the call of the sirens¢ song. We¢ll speak of ¢doing a yoyo¢ ¢ getting to Katahdin, and then simply heading south again in the general direction of Georgia. Some, but very, very few, actually do just that. For most it¢s not practical. Practicality: there¢s the rub! For most of us, it¢s back to the basics of life again ¢ back to earning a living, paying the bills, becoming a ¢responsible person¢ again. Ugh!I¢ve been there before. But I have no advice. There¢s no beeswax that can plug up the ears of your companions, and no mast for them to tie you to ¢ saving one and all from the perils of the sirens¢ call. The best one might hope for is to begin a bit of quiet contemplation of the end of the journey, here in the midst of our current preparations. For some, the answer will be easier ¢ it¢s on to grad school, or back to the old job ¢ hopefully not one that already sucks. It will be worse after the trail. You¢ll have less tolerance for bureaucratic nonsense. I can attest to that. And your B.S. detector will probably have to be recalibrated, as someone will seem to have messed with the tolerance levels you used to have. Others succumb to the sirens¢ call. They find some way of staying in contact with the trail. Usually it¢s a job with some direct connection ¢ working at a hostel, or an outfitter's. It doesn¢t usually pay that much, but separation can be really hard sometimes. Most people, however reluctantly, move on with their lives. The very traits that helped them to survive six months on the trail are worth something, after all: perseverance, commitment, a sense of humor, resilience, and maybe even a bit of humility. Oh, and a fair amount of personal self-confidence. If you can make it to Maine, you pretty much know that there isn¢t much you CAN¢T do, if you set your mind to it.In some ways, it¢s the problem that Sir Thomas Moore wrote of: ¢The difficulty in life¢, he said, ¢is the choice.¢ It can be a positive thing, you see. You¢ll have all those opportunities and possibilities ahead of you. All you have to do is choose. The one choice that most of us won¢t have is that ¢yoyo¢ thing. Or, the next best alternative: heading to Springer again early the next year! Which is kind of a bummer. If you think you have "Springer Fever" NOW, wait until March of the year after...But then again, and frankly speaking, you¢ll probably be pretty glad by the time you reach Katahdin to give up hiking all day every day for awhile. So that¢s a good thing. It may also be good to get home and see your family and friends, your dogs or cats or whatever. And it won¢t be hard to get sucked back into the technology and conveniences of modern-day life, not to mention easily-accessible pizza, beer, and ice cream. (I¢ll save my words of caution on the calories for another day¢¦)You will, however, miss your friends desperately, and the good times you¢ve had together on the trail. So plan to attend the ALDHA Gathering in October, and Trail Days the following May. Stay in touch with your trail friends ¢ for mutual support and commiseration. And find a way to keep one boot in the woods. You can always do day hikes, and weekend hikes, and summer hikes. One of my friends from ¢09 (Wags) just wrote to tell me she was planning to begin a section hike of the entire trail over the coming years. She¢s going to do it slowly, and savor each of the sections ¢ reliving, no doubt, the glorious (and not-so-glorious, but still good) memories of her through-hiking adventure on each of those more limited excursions. Those of us ¢of a certain age¢, of course, may have the luxury of going again in the not-too-distant future. Assuming the stock market and home values continue to recover. Who knows. Maybe I¢ll get lucky. Maybe, when I get to Katahdin next fall, I'll think about doing a ¢yoyo¢. It could happen... unless I can find someone to tie me to the mast.