Author: chris (Page 13 of 17)

Walking Project 036_purified air – Mt Baldy from chris worland on Vimeo.

When I return home from day-long walks I often get asked seen any wildlife? The short and most common answer is nah. But that’s not really true. In fact, it’s a gross understatement, a little white lie that means I wasn’t mauled by a bear, eaten by a puma, bitten by a rattler, chased by a pack of coyotes, rammed by a deer or hissed at by a bobcat. On any given day, there is an abundance of life out there and it’s wild. Even on neighborhood walks, I will come across an assortment of birds, none of which I can name, except for the ominous raven, the occasional coyote licking his chops after feasting on someone’s beloved kitty, and squirrels of course–those guys are everywhere. In the San Gabriel Mountains, where I do a lot of walking, the squirrels are grey, and as you gain altitude, they are replaced, in the nut-collecting family, by skittish chipmunks that chirp as you walk by but never let you film them in close up, smart I guess. There also there is a variety of birds I cannot name, whose calls often sound familiar and friendly, and ominous ravens that appear larger than their urban cousins, although I could just be making that up. If you’re lucky you’ll get a rare Nelson bighorn sheep sighting, but don’t count on it; I’ve only seen two in fifteen years. There are deer, naturally, otherwise what would the pumas eat? This list is obviously not exhaustive; I am not a biologist, merely a distant observer, but it is missing one particular quadruped. Often seen doing push-ups on a sun-drenched rock, scurrying up the trail or simply surveying the landscape with nervous head jerks. I am talking about the gazillion lizards that you will not be able to avoid, especially if you, like them, don’t like cold temperatures.

We’ve recently had one of the scaly beasts take up residence in our backyard. I often notice it scaling a magnolia tree, our principal source of shade, twisting its diamond-shaped head this and that way, looking for bugs, dinner, but I can’t help seeing a domesticated dragon, from an ancient line of dragons, far more ancient than humans, watching over us, protecting us. Evidently, as I walk past our friend’s relatives on the trail, I am not to be trusted, and why should I be trusted, as a representative of the first species capable of self-exterminating? But I am allowed to pass, and therefore given a chance to breathe the purified air at the summit of Mt Baldy. For that I am grateful.

Or you could say it’s a walk in two chapters, or two parts, or a main narrative and a subplot, an aside, a divergence, a footnote.

The first inspired by the last lines of John Keats’ very famous poem

In “The Records of a Travel-worn Satchel” (also known as “The Knapsack Notebook”) Matsuo Bashō admits,

“that my records are little more than the babble of the intoxicated and the rambling talk of the dreaming, and therefore my readers are kindly requested to take them as such.”

Makes me think of Oscar Wilde, “Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.” Or Boris Vian, “Cette histoire est vraie puisque je l’ai inventée.” (This story is true, because I made it up).

At Mount Kazuraki:

            God of this mountain,

            May you be kind enough

           To show your face

           Among the dawning blossoms?

After visits to Mount Miwa and Mount Tafu, I climbed the steep pass of Hoso.

          Higher than the lark,

          I climbed into the air,

         Taking a breath

         At the summit of a pass.

…

Every turn of the road brought me new thoughts and every sunrise gave me fresh emotions.

 

Matsuo Bashō, “The Records of a Travel-worn Satchel”

 

WP034_chronicle of a well-traveled backpack – Mt Baden Powell from chris worland on Vimeo.