October 28, 2009
Asphalt Jungle to the Back Country – A Journey
“Whoooooze dat guy?” That’s a question a kid growing up in the city doesn’t really want to hear. If someone is asking, it means you have exceeded your invisible, yet solid, boundary. In other words, you are on someone else’s “turf.” I imagine the person posing the question is asking himself, “So, what’s dat guy doo-in here?” Well, that’s a question I have asked myself many times in the back country. Sounds like an easy question to answer, right? It isn’t.
You see, I’ve always been a wanderer. Now, that’s probably not an issue if you’re growing up in Iowa or Nebraska (perhaps it is, for all I know), but it certainly was a major issue in an Italian neighborhood in the Bronx in the 1950’s and 60’s. In fact, it could, and often did, become the cause of a war between neighborhoods. I was only familiar with the radius of a few blocks up until the age of twelve, so it wasn’t a problem up to that point. After all, there wasn’t a need to travel beyond those streets, as everything you could possibly want was within that small, safe, area.
Up until that time, I was under the protection of my older brother, as well as the neighborhood to some degree. I was also fortunate in that my brother was the toughest kid in the neighborhood. I learned how to take care of myself at an early age, and that’s how I became comfortable enough to satisfy my need to wander. I learned quickly about the two legged animals - the homo-erectus species - surrounding our “turf,” and I felt confident moving out of my safe zone. Is that stupid? Of course it is, but then what does a 12 year old kid know? The answer is, everything, right?
Well, wander I did, and trouble followed me everywhere. My brother, senior by three years, was dealing with neighborhood problems that had a lot to do with the influx of Puerto Ricans flocking to NY at that time. So, I was on my own for the first time. By the time I was fourteen, my brother and I were separated. The State of NY decided that the public school system couldn’t contain me, so I was sent to one of those special schools. My brother, on the other hand, had already had a stint at one of those schools, and now my mother, a single mom, was moving him out of the Bronx, to Long Island, to get him out of the war zone. I couldn’t go; of course…I’d have to wait a year.
Little did she know that the fathers of the guys on the Island were very well “connected?” They were all Italian, but with a major caveat. The stark difference was that the Island guys had money…lots of money, and no street smarts. Their fathers did well in the city, and moved their families out to the country when these guys were babies, but that’s another story.
Well,
many years have passed, and much has changed, while some things – well, not so
much. Fortunately, it’s been a great ride, thus far; which is amazing when you
consider that my wanderlust is just as strong today as it was back then. Yes, I
am still traveling well beyond what most would consider safe boundaries. Only
the animals have changed. Instead of the
two legged homo-erectus type, I’m often faced with animals and critters I know
little about. That hasn’t stopped me
from wandering however, and as a result I‘ve encountered the same kind of danger
that I knew so well back in the city. The big difference, of course, is that I
couldn’t read the new danger as well.
I’m talking about life threatening situations that I have faced in the
back country over twenty years of hiking in remote areas that I knew little to nothing
about. Over the next few months, I’ll submit a few encounters in the back
country that have humbled, scared, and yes, even terrified “dat guy.” And, for the record, my brother and I made it out of the city and into the world. We attribute that to the thousands of Novena’s and rosaries my grandmother prayed to ensure our survival. Thanks, “Grams.” This paragraph is for you and all the beat cops, social justices, judges, and other authorities that have crossed our paths. May you all rest in peace; well, most of you anyway.
Next time, I’ll tell you about a bobcat I met, face to face, early one morning. It was a wondrous experience.
Till next time, best regards from:
“Dat Guy”
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Concrete jungle to the back country – a journey Hello again,
I’d like to add a few comments about the “journey” before I continue down this (pun intended) trail. This blog commentary obviously comes from my own personal experience, and as you undoubtedly know, we are all on a “journey.” Some come from small mid-western towns like Bemidji, Minnesota, or Louisiana’s 9th Ward, and work their way along to the big city, or wherever. Others never leave the neighborhood, town, or the “Ward,” yet travel a great distance within whatever parameters they have available. Some journeys’ are too short, while others are too long and painful. Whichever the case, each is a rich story, in and of itself. One is not easier, nor richer, than another – they are just wonderfully interesting stories; made up of what one does with the time they have in each present moment.
In my case, the early wanderings from a perceived safe inner-city boundary provided me with a new vista - a clean canvas, if you will - which I have cherished from a very young age.
On this blog, over time, I will share with you how I broke free of a cocoon like setting and opened up vistas that I only vaguely knew existed in text books. For now, let me share a beautiful moment in time that I would never have had the opportunity to experience had I not opted for this particular journey.
It’s 6:00 AM on a workday, and I’m hiking back to the trail head of the wilderness park. It’s just another day, like so many other days that have preceded this hike, with one major difference. On this magnificent morning, I was no more than a mile from civilization, a small bedroom community that provides refuge from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, when I was greeted by a bobcat. There it was in all its natural beauty, no more than 20 feet ahead of me on the trail. He, or she, as the case may be, just bounced out of the brush and onto the trail. We apparently surprised each other, but neither of us seemed particularly concerned. In fact, for me, it was one of many wondrous moments that I have had in the solitude of the back country. But there we were, each as curious as the other. Thankfully, time really does seem to stop at times such as this, and I really took it in. The bobcat, all 40 pounds of it, sat down right in the middle of the trail and appeared to be as ecstatic about the moment as I was. I stood motionless, in awe of this incredibly beautiful animal, and we spent a fair amount of time checking each other out. Our eyes never broke contact, and to the best of my knowledge, at no time did either of us feel concerned about our safety.
I did, however, have some concern about getting to work on time, as my wondrous new friend was positioned between me and my car, which was parked at the trail head. There was no one on the trail, nor would there be, because the park did not officially open to the public until 7 A.M.
This was fortunate for a couple of reasons. If the park were open, I probably would not have met my new found friend, and more importantly, with no one around, I could talk to the little critter without the fear of being carried out of the park in a jacket that ties in the rear. Thus, I proceeded to (verbally) thank the little guy, or gal, for this wonderful opportunity, and explained that I had an early morning staff meeting that I really needed to attend. As I talked to my new acquaintance, he began to act like a house cat might act when spoken to by a crazy person; such as I would have appeared had someone else snuck into the park early and stumbled upon this scene. My new found friend began tilting its head, as if it actually understood what I was trying to convey. Well apparently it did, because it leisurely hopped back into the brush, and I continued on my way. When I got to that spot, the spot that my friend had reserved for our visit, I clearly saw a pair of eyes peering at me through the brush. There are times, albeit rare, that words fail me. Such was the case on this beautiful southern California morning in the back country. The word exhilarating comes to mind, but it doesn’t quite do the job.
I did call the sighting in to the ranger station and had a great conversation with the person on the other end of the line. The poor guy had received a similar call the week before and a woman asked him what he was going to do about getting rid of “that creature.” He half jokingly said, “I don’t know lady, what we are going to do with you? You’re in his house.” Apparently, his superiors didn’t find the humor in his response when the lady called back in to complain. I thought it was a great response, but then what do I know.
Until next time, regards from,
Dat Guy
PS. For the record, I love to wander. I always have, but I’m not in a rush to get to the destination.
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