Monday 18 July 2016, week 10: Buldir Island, 21:20
Regarding that last post about personalities in camp… another good line from Kevin:
With all our trail maintenance by garden shears and machete, I finally got a great big blister from the juice of putchki, the primary plant that grows too tall. Its liquid irritates the skin and results in 2nd degree burn conditions for some people. McKenzie mentioned the juice somehow impacts the afflicted’s DNA, so I joked that it would be funny if I mysteriously grew an inch or 2 by the end of summer, to which Kevin added, “and a little more irritating.”
The line “collect experiences, not things” is one that resonates within my lifestyle and – for lack of a better term – career path. As much as one side of my extended family has the hoarding tendency, I’m doing my best to fight it. However, I do recognize the value of remembering certain events and people we come across during our lives, which is why my journal has become a way of capturing my travels.
When I get a ticket with the destination listed or grab a brochure from a museum, I cut out the name and logo to glue inside the cover of my journal, creating a type of minimal scrapbook so that I can see the places I visited while writing in that particular book. Instead of ending up with bags or envelopes of ticket stubs and pamphlets that I’ll never look at again, I have little reminders inside my journal.
My journal is a functional connection to my experiences, a small something that serves a sentimental purpose. Lately I’ve decided that purges are extremely refreshing, but the items that make me instantly laugh and want to call up a friend are worth keeping. Those and useful objects don’t need to leave my life.
For instance, when I was on the trail to Spike Camp the other day, I’d made it the 25 minutes across North Marsh and through the obnoxious section of trail with extremely tall vegetation. About 5 minutes up the gorge I stopped for a water break and to change into short sleeves for the climb to the Pass, but then I noticed a game changer: my Nalgene was no longer in the side pocket, meaning that my decision to not bother strapping it in place had been a dumb move.
Kevin and McKenzie hadn’t left camp yet, so they had a good chance of coming across it on the trail, but that would leave me without water for awhile. Since I’m trying to drink at least a liter a day, continuing on wouldn’t be my best choice. My bottle could have fallen out of my pack anywhere, though, including while crossing the stream. It could be irretrievable! Not that bottle! Why hadn’t I done that precautionary strapping?!
What was I so worked up about? Sure, I was thirsty. My real displeasure, however, came from the possible loss of my favorite water bottle. This Nalgene has gone nearly everywhere with me and even was fortunate enough to escape from a van fire in spring. It sounds trivial, but this is where the functionality of a sentimental item has the trump card that makes the item worth keeping. This particular Nalgene has the vintage (pre-2008) UAF Outdoor Adventures logo; the picture features a tent set up along a creek that flows toward mountains in the background. Not only that, but it has personality and history on display:
· I made most of my close friends through the program and worked for OA during college · sticker for Outdoor Research, my favorite outdoor gear company
· sticker from Wilderness Medical Associates, the group through which I have my WFR cert
· sticker from Ruffwear, the company that makes much of the gear Conservation Canines uses · Alaska-shaped REI sticker
That Nalgene should someday be on display alongside a retired Asolo hiking boot in my house. So, I ditched my pack and began retracing my steps, forfeiting my early start. As I walked back downhill, moving putchki and other vegetation out of my way as I went, I worked on convincing myself it was just a water bottle. After all, I’d lost a Nalgene on the St. James Walkway in NZ, and my life had not lessened as a result.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my unhappy face righted itself when I got 15 minutes down the trail to the cleared end of the “pinball” section that had snagged the bottle from my pack. There’s no exaggeration in this: the vegetation is more than a foot above my head at times, and extremely tall tussocks play me like a pinball as I blindly – for I can’t see my feet or the ground – stumble my way along the trail. Fortunately the bottle had been jostled from my pack at the end of that stretch and was in plain sight for me to retrieve.
All in all my sentimentality cost me 30 minutes while providing some thinking time. No, the purging of all possessions is not the way to go, but saving old magazines and trinkets “just because” is not necessarily healthy either. There’s a happy medium, and mine includes water bottles, boots, and journals that take up just a small space in storage.
rangertrampings 