Solo

The simple things are also the most extraordinary things, and only the wise can see them.

~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

I have taken some risks of late, the sort that can have the effect of making one feel more alone, isolated. Ironically I have, as a result of the choices I have made, felt more supported and less alone.  I have paid attention to my own discerning abilities, heard my own heart over the cacophony of social pressures - the desire that I have to make things ok for others, to 'fix' things, to take the path of least resistance and simply do what others need or expect me to do. There is no doubt a time for compromise and sacrifice but this most certainly has not been it. I have also been more than fortunate to be surrounded by people who have listened, heard and reflected valuable perspectives, and helped me to follow my own wisdom.

Not that doing unpopular things is ever simple or clean, and ultimately it is I who must live with my choices. I have had experiences in the past two years that have shaken and changed me, there have been losses and departures, and through my recent actions I have invited more of that. But I have listened to the intuitive and intelligent voice that knows the path with the most integrity; although I now understand that there is not always a 'clean' line...not through some things. There are messes to be made when we make 'right' choices, and I am imperfect at this, but I do the best I can and I think, as my dad might have said, 'that is nothing to be sneezed at'.

This past week, finding myself suddenly at loose ends, I went on a solo trip into the mountains. An amazing thing to be able to do, lucky as I am to be blessed with time, a body that can do the work and a lifetime of accrued skill and backcountry experience. In travelling alone however, I expose myself to the real risks of the environment, terrain and a remote wilderness place. There is an important distinction for me in this version of 'risk', visceral and real rather than perceived, concrete rather than abstract. It is a context where I can see clearly the consequences of my decisions and actions, there is no social grey zone, no he said she said, no one else present to worry about. Just myself, my own fears and the real possibility of harm - much more intimate when unsullied by the distraction of other souls. There are clear consequences to any misstep or lapse in concentration. But my survival mechanism is strong, I want to emerge from this alive and whole for the sake of myself and those who care about me, so I measure my risks as best I can. I watch the thresholds constantly and carefully as new challenges arise.

It's early June and so there was some snow, excessive in some parts of the route, that made travel and navigation tricky, even hazardous in some areas. I avoided over committing to the obvious sketchiness of the high alpine terrain, but still found myself on day 3 half way across a steep scree slope, staring down at a 1000 foot sheer drop into nothing with a large snow field looming in front of me. I should actually amend that...in the end I decided not to stare down, instead willing my wandering mind to 'point positive' and focus on my slow and tenuous progress across the rotting vestiges of the winter season. One foot at a time, digging in my heels with each step, sometimes twice before adding my 130 lbs to the steep unprotected slope. Trying to tame the fear surging up in my gut by focusing on the minutia of each movement. I make it across and experience waves of relief which are tempered by the awareness that tomorrow I need to traverse this again to return to the safety of the valley.

As is often typical, the aesthetic rewards of the high, remote and less travelled route are powerful. Waterfalls careen into the valley below me, and somewhere above and to the right of my current vantage point I sense that there is a pristine and sublimely beautiful place awaiting me, that this route, suggested to me by a friend, is a gift of sorts. It was the answer to a question, a first response, I suspect emerging from some divine intuition. There has never been any doubt in my life that wild places can be the most profound teachers and messengers. It is here that we come home, and find ourselves again.

In the treed rolls below the alpine lake that was to be my final campsite, I lost the trail to snow and wandered for a time seeking the best route upwards. It was late in the day, and while I was far from the edges of my limits, I was feeling impatient with the process, ready to arrive. I noted the terrain carefully, saw the rocky headwall above me that signified the edge of a watery bowl; there was no way to really be lost as hemmed in as I was by clear handrails and backstops. But my boots were damp from an hour of wet snow, and my packstraps were starting to drag on my shoulders. Instead of seeking the 'correct' path I simply went up, scrambling a bit to attain the elevation I had worked all day to arrive at. Within minutes I was standing on the granite edges of a high alpine lake, looking downhill towards the milky cascades of the river beside the campsite. A stunning place by any measure. Unsurprisingly, no one else was  there that night, I had seen no other human footprints.

The following day I was up early, anticipating the return journey across the gnarlier portions of the traverse with no small amount of anxiety. Descending into the trees I lost the trail quickly, finding myself again bumping through thickly vegetated and rolling micro-terrain. I was mildly annoyed at my longer than necessary progress towards the looming crux of my mornings travel, already half an hour in and seemingly no closer to the scree. But as I negotiated another crease in the landscape, through densely packed and stunted evergreens, I paused, looking to my left and right in an attempt to choose the best route. After four days solo I suddenly noted that I had never felt lonely or alone, always accompanied, loved, held. I had sung songs as I meandered through grizzly country, encountered almost no one and worked at my own pace. I had read two books in my tent in the afternoons, both of which had made me cry and think.

I wondered at the feeling of accompaniment and simultaneously made a silent request for guidance, some sort of directional arrow. Before me two gaps in the trees were clear, one to the left and one to the right. In the gap to the right stood a larch, now in full leaf, which seemed significant as I had noted some at the previous campsite whose needles were just starting to emerge. I also have the sense that larches have some meaning to me, and to some of the people who have populated my life of late, although I will let that meaning sit to emerge in it's own time. Or remain a mystery. The bright green needles of the tree met my criteria for an obvious 'sign' so off I went. Within seconds I noticed my own footprints from the day before in the snow a few meters away.

Many beings accompanied and protected me on this journey, and it was my own tracks which led me home. I am grateful for both.