By Bruce Becker.
“Anyone can do the things I’ve done if they’re willing to live the life I’ve led.”
~ Fool’s Crow
“The bear went over the mountain to see what he could see.” I think that is the reason most people go into the woods. The anticipation of seeing something they haven’t seen before. I used to go for the challenge, the excitement, the fun. Now I go for the deep peace, the deep meditations, my medicine. I wash my mind of thought and just immerse myself in the woods. I stop myself from thinking about anything except what is happening in the moment. After years of training myself, I’ve come to where I don’t think of people, my home, nothing outside of my immediate awareness.
I had to teach myself not to think. What sublime liberation. When I don’t think, I become aware of my senses. I begin to feel the earth under my feet. The warmth of the sun. The sounds of nature. The birds singing, waterfalls, the scent of wildflowers. Colors become more vivid. I can hear the trees talking now. And I listen. All by just being here now, in this very moment. All it takes is tuning in. Slowly I begin to understand this wonderous web of life. The joy of this understanding feels so natural.
Getting to this point wasn’t easy. It takes discipline not to think. Removing myself from the ego, our only nemesis. Just give it up. Take a deep breath. Move on. William Blake said, “There is pleasure in the pathless woods.” The woods are my womb. Walking off on an unknown adventure in the wilderness is my way of meeting up with an old friend, my true, honest self.
Everything changes when I stop thinking. Meadows come alive — flowers, insects, the call of a flicker. The company of a friendly gray jay. Sometimes when I sit and play my flute, the birds come and light on the branches and sing their own song with me. It’s happened many times. Chickadees, jays, nutcrackers, titmouse, and more, all singing their own song together with me. This is my real world. One of my favorite Bible verses is Isaiah 55:12, “For you shall go out in joy and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” That says it all for me.
The first hour backpacking is always the hardest. My shoulders getting used to the weight of my pack. Mentally reviewing all the stuff I brought. Do I really need this? By this time I’ve gotten it down to just the bare minimum. It comes down to what luxuries you consider necessities. I always have a compass and use it. I carry a topo map, mostly for entertainment — how high is that mountain? I never carry a tent backpacking. A cheap plastic tarp makes a good lean-to with my old army poncho for a ground cloth. With a lightweight sleeping bag and pad, my home is complete.
I carry a couple dozen flies I’ve tied and some monofilament. I just cut a six-foot willow shoot for a fishing pole. I don’t pack a lot of food. I carry snare wire but eat mostly fish and what nature provides. I try lots of different greens, spruce needle tea, fish and berries when I find them: Thimble berries, gooseberries, snowberries, bearberries, rose hips. I’m always on the lookout for certain medicines such as osha and usnea, alpine harebells, raspberry leaves, and cattails.
My cooking gear consists of my old Cub Scout aluminum pot with a bail to lift it from the fire with a stick. And in the pot is a cup, fire starter, tea bags, some rice and oatmeal, a spoon, tinfoil, and bouillon cubes. I make a pot lid with the tinfoil and also use it to broil larger fish. I wear a sheath knife on my belt. A jackknife and fire starter in my pocket. In my pack are a few odds and ends and an essential first aid kit, a snakebite kit in the desert, a CD for a signal mirror, water purifier, paracord, extra socks, gloves, a hat, and a wool shirt.
I’m the definition of a nemophilist, a haunter of the woods, one who loves woods for their beauty and solitude. The old English word for it is werifesteria, which means “to wander lovingly through the forest in search of mystery.” That is me to a tee.
Going alone in the woods gives me indescribable freedom. No one to compromise with. The joy of taking impromptu side trips. Sometimes I’ll follow a tributary stream just to see where it comes from. Or I’ll sit in a grove of old growth trees for hours and wait until they acknowledge my presence and begin opening up to me. Meditating in the deep woods is one of my favorite things to do.
I most enjoy sitting among old growth, the elders. I seek out a grandmother tree to ask if I could sit with her. I listen to the creaking and the wind breathing through her branches. This is my mantra. Feeling her benevolent wisdom, sharing the moment together. I feel the enormous length of time she has lived here in this very spot. Feeling the unity these trees share, I’m honored and grateful to feel included and accepted in their community. Aho.
I’ll move on, that is my nature. And she’ll stay here, rooted to this home of hers. We all have a part to play, a place in the circle of life. The rocks and the trees are the ancient ones. They deserve our respect and acknowledgement. Mitakuye oyasin — We are all related. I walk with a measured step when I’m among them, and we become one. No separation between us. We are together, part of the whole. To blend in with nature, not to impose upon it. I know I’ve succeeded when I see a deer browsing and it looks up at me but doesn’t run away. I surprised a small group of deer one time and they looked at me apprehensively, but when I began playing my flute for them, they relaxed and browsed peacefully.
When I emerge after a long stay in the woods, I am dismayed at the thought of driving away, and I’m already planning another adventure.
Bruce Becker is a flute maker, retired masonry contractor, and horse trainer who has lived in Crestone since 2005.