“I think over again

My small adventures

My fears

Those small ones that seemed so big

For all of the vital things

I had to get and to reach

And yet there is only one great thing

To live and see the great day that dawns

And the light that fills the world”

 -- Uvanuk, an Inuit woman shaman recorded in the early 1920s by Knud Rasmussen (quoted in Heron Dance magazine, Issue #27, 2000)
 
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“Sometimes I go about pitying myself,

and all the time

I am being carried on great winds across the sky.”

-- Ojibway song (the Ojibway are Native American peoples of the US and Canada, often called the Chippewa in the US)

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The weather never wears out as a popular topic. While in everyday life it serves as a conversation opener, it’s clearly a relevant subject when we’re heading outdoors.

Hikers frequently comment on the weather at the start of a hike, and I often offer reminders that weather changes and surprises are always possible during the day.

Although many days are uneventful, weather-wise, the likelihood of unexpected weather tends to be greater in the mountain areas where we hike than at home.

It’s not unusual for a sunny, blue-sky morning to be followed by a thunderstorm or showers in the afternoon -- even when there’s supposedly “no chance of rain.”

And at other times, on what seems to be a very rainy day, the clouds lift and we’re suddenly bathed in bright sunshine, contrary to all expectations and forecasts.

Many people are in the habit of treating forecasts more-or-less as fact, and making plans accordingly. We need to remember how fallible and imprecise forecasting is.

Over the years we’ve experienced some startling surprises on hikes. One was the September hailstorm we were caught in a few years ago, during which time the ground started turning white and temperatures temporarily plunged into the 30s-40s.

Another was the July 4th weekend snow that fell on us (for real) in the Adirondacks years ago. A few hours later the frigid air lifted, and soon thereafter we went swimming!

I remember another Adirondack day in September when the temperature in early morning dropped to an unbelievable 17 degrees (F) and later soared into the 70s.

And then there was the early January heat wave a few years back when temps leaped up into the 70s on one of our hikes, briefly transporting us back to summer.

Not to mention our “flood hike” in the Catskills, when we got 4-5 inches of rain in a couple of hours and had to hike out in ankle-to-knee-deep water. That may not sound like fun, but some hikers loved the adventure of it. And rain hadn’t even been in the forecast!

That isn’t to forget that there are many, many other days when the weather could be characterized as “uneventful” and/or corresponds closely to the forecast.

This particular subject came to mind after our recent 11/20 moderate hike, which had been moved to Fahnestock State Park because of high wind warnings in NJ.

To our complete surprise (and not in the forecasts), we found 3-4 fresh inches of gorgeous new snow on the ground and coating the trees and bushes, transforming an autumn outing into a splendidly lovely bright white preview-of-winter hike. Photos taken on that latest weather-surprise hike will be featured in an upcoming weekly slideshow.

-- Charlie Cook

 
“And when later in the evening the owl sounds its soft, tremulous call, and small snaps and rustlings reveal the presence of other lives, the eyes have reached their proper limit. The sense we rely on above all others can never completely know the natural world, for nature’s being is only partly what it shows. Its greater part, and greater beauty, is always past what human eyes can understand. When I started hiking desert canyons a few years ago, I kept hearing the song of a bird I couldn’t see, a long descending series of sharply whistled notes. It was a canyon wren, I learned from the books, but what I learned from the bird was more important. It sang as I woke up, as brilliant sun spread down the great red walls, and it sang as I started farther up the twisting canyon, sloshing through pools and scrambling up dry water chutes, higher and deeper into the carving of time. And what I remember most vividly from those early hikes is no particular thing I saw, no one fern grotto or sandstone spire, no cottonwood or cactus garden. I remember a bird I couldn’t see that called from around the next bend, from over the brink of a waterfall where the upper walls held the blaze of sky, where even as it steadily opened itself to sight, the canyon receded further and further into the depth of mystery.”

-- John Daniel, The Trail Home (Pantheon Books, 1992)

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Thanksgiving is this coming Thursday -- always a good time to pause, at least briefly, to acknowledge some of the things in our lives that we may be grateful for.

Taking things for granted seems to be part of human nature. But life is short, and no matter how many problems or crises we may sometimes have to face -- or how distressing the news, or how alarming the current state of our world and country seems to be -- for most of us there are also gifts. More gifts than we often realize.

Those of us who are into nature and hiking, for example, are extremely fortunate to have access to a great abundance of beautiful wild lands to explore and enjoy.

While the northeastern US isn’t famous for its wilderness (unlike some western states), we have literally hundreds of parks and millions of acres of wild lands.

It’s easy and appropriate to feel thankful for such local treasures, which aren’t on the radar screen of many people who could benefit a great deal from visiting them.

The natural world offers almost unlimited opportunities to shed stress, reconnect with simple pleasures, and even contemplate our place in the scheme of things.

And through hiking we can get in better shape, give our over-worked brains a much-needed rest, and taste some peace of mind. Isn’t that a lot to appreciate?

-- Charlie Cook

 
“The earth changes in spite of us, the way the watery atmosphere is changing even as I write, felt in the trees, understood in the waters, followed by birds. It is our medium. There is no substitute for the eternal weather.

A magnificent autumn wind, expressing a major exchange between warm fronts and cold, stirs the tall white pines into powerful expression. Timber-loaded, sinewy trunks wave in the wind, the upward curving, sweeping branches giving and dancing, nobly bending and bowing down, springing gracefully back again. Thus majesty leads to majesty. Some image also sleeps in trees. Do they not have a secret receptiveness, even if they cannot be said to see in an outright sense? Are they not a “seeing” response to the wind, this growing darkness and this waning light, as they are reflected in the motion and fiber of their being? While the wind roars, I put my ear to the trunk of a pine and hear the air hissing up and down, fairly crawling over that great column with its skin of rough bark, and it sounds like rushing water…”

-- John Hay, The Immortal Wilderness (W.W. Norton & Company, 1989)

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We all know what stress feels like, and most of us have been through tough times at certain points in our lives when it may have felt like we were being tested.

Those of you who hike regularly are sure to be aware of the positive effects that spending time in nature can have on your stress levels and sense of well-being.

Periodically in my weekly entries I’ve included excerpts from articles that report on research demonstrating how therapeutic contact with nature can be.

For obvious reasons I don’t usually comment here on political or national events, but during rare times of "high national stress” I like to offer reminders that the natural world can be a wonderful refuge if or when we feel overwhelmed.

One example I remember vividly was the weekend after 9/11/2001, when some of our hikers showed up in a state of shock or numbness. Some were virtually silent.

Before the end of one of those hikes, several people announced to the group, almost joyfully, that they felt peaceful and hopeful for the first time in days.

In the weeks and months that followed, I spoke often of that experience, and even did some newspaper interviews on the subject of the remarkable shift in mood over a few hours that could be seen in some people who hiked with us that day.

As everybody knows, we recently had an important election, one that was extremely stressful for some of you. On many hikes I took it upon myself to interrupt the conversation whenever someone brought up the election, because there are usually people in the group who want a “news-and-politics-free day.”

Many of us react differently to events, of course, but I know (because you shared it with me) that a number of you had unusually strong feelings about the election and found the results devastating -- and are still having a tough time processing it.

Regarding that election and the political situation, or anything that’s worrisome in our world, let me offer another reminder: that one of the best therapies to avail ourselves of when we’re feeling overwhelmed is Nature Therapy. Immersing ourselves in "Mother Nature's Abode," the natural world, can help greatly in coping and healing.

-- Charlie Cook

The beauty of the trees,

the softness of the air,

the fragrance of the grass,

        speaks to me.
 

The summit of the mountain,

the thunder of the sky,

the rhythm of the sea,

        speaks to me.

 
The faintness of the stars,

the freshness of the morning,

the dewdrop on the flower,

        speaks to me.

 
The strength of fire,

the taste of salmon,

the trail of the sun,

and the life that never goes away,

        they speak to me

 
And my heart soars.

 
-- Chief Dan George, from Earth Prayers (HarperSanFrancisco, 1991)

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Fall foliage time is mostly over now, with many trees now barren in the mountain areas (some trees in “the lowlands”, including NYC, have yet to lose their leaves).

There’s no doubt that the annual color show can be an amazing, awesome sight. And there’s a lot more in the natural world that can inspire awe in any season.

The word “awesome” has been overused and misused for a number of years now. It’s now often popularly applied to almost anything that’s the least bit appealing.

But how about “authentic awe?” How about when a sight or experience stops us in our tracks? When we feel like we’re in the presence of something truly wonderful?

Has that happened to you lately? For some of us it’s quite a rarity. It’s all too easy to become jaded or oblivious to life’s wonders, including those found in nature.

One way we can potentially begin to re-awaken awe and experience it more often is to spend time regularly in the natural world. Hiking, anyone?

Then once-special words that express amazement -- like breathtaking, stunning, or awesome -- could start to mean something to us again. Cynics probably won’t understand, or may suggest that we’re naïve. But if you’ve ever experienced awe or wonder, you know better.

-- Charlie Cook