The Wilderness Wanderer

“He who has not walked alone 
And fished for trout on a wild river, 

Amidst peaks beneath a sky 
Adrift with clouds, 

Has not really had a look at his beginning,

 Or come to fully understand himself.” 

(“Trails of a Wilderness Wanderer”)

One of my Dad's favorite authors was Andy Russell.

Russell's book, "Trails of a Wilderness Wanderer" was a well-worn fixture on Dad's reading table. And he read it often. It's who my Dad was at heart—a wilderness wanderer.

As I write this, it is a cool, blustery day in February. Each year about this time, stagnant with cabin fever after the long, dormant days of winter, I begin to get antsy, eager to get out of town and wander a winding river alone.

And as much as I treasure days spent in fellowship on a river with a good friend, I learned through Dad, and through my own experiences, that a man needs to get outdoors, away from the distractions and crush of life, and empty his mind of clutter...and re-connect with the eternal.

I think that's why I have enjoyed my past outside sales and territory management jobs. I had a lot of windshield time, by myself, with long distances of mountains and highway between one town and the next. My favorite job took me as far as Jackson and Pinedale, Wyoming. Driving up Hoback canyon, en route to Pinedale, was always the highlight of my trip east. There are not many highways in the west where you will see fluorescent orange grizzly bear warning signs posted at regular intervals along the way. This is pretty wild country.

It was to the wild places of the west that my Dad was inextricably drawn. He loved to explore the untouched ranges. We would get up early and get in the old Dodge Power Wagon, and just go explore. Dad would have studied his large pile of various topographic maps throughout the week, and once the weekend hit, he always wanted to go search for new places that we'd never seen before.

Many times, we'd end up on some obscure logging road that dead-ended in the middle of nowhere. And often there were no pretty creeks full of hungry trout to be found. No scenic vistas. No perfect camping spots. But it was the new adventure in just exploring the unknown that inspired us to go further.

Growing up in southern Oregon, on these exploratory outings with Dad, I used to count the deer, antelope, coyotes, eagles, hawks and the occasional sand hill cranes we'd see along the way. Dad always complimented me for having 'eagle eyes' that could spot game when no one else could. I'll never forget his encouraging words as my father.

And it was on these many outings together, that we began to know each other a little bit better as people. The transition of going from boyhood to manhood for me, was excruciating at times. Even though my grades were horrible, and I was basically flunking school most of the time, Dad only grounded me from hunting and fishing as a last resort 'correction' to try and get me to study harder and apply myself in school. But he knew deep down that I had the same wilderness wanderer heart as he did. And he refused to take that away from me.

And it was out in the wildernesses of my youth that I began to appreciate the beauty of solitude and the wild places of America, and at the same time, began, through my Dad leading by example, to develop my own values of loving family, friends, and respecting the wild, beautiful creation, and all those who share it with us. 

And I began to ponder the question; "What is the meaning of life?"

A favorite quote from Russell:

“For it is in such unscarred country beyond the marks of wheels that a man really finds himself – knowing the warm feeling in his soul that only fear is the enemy and that true values are not measured in bank accounts cached away in artificial edifices of stone, but in the depth of serenity and peace where air is clean and water flows cold and pure.”

Some people go out into wilderness to 'find God.'

But in my experience, in this journey we call life, God found me when I was in a place where I was quiet, alone, not seeking Him, and was therefore, able to hear more than just the words of my own soul. It's kind of like when you sit back against a large ponderosa pine tree, on a warm sunny afternoon, and as you close your eyes and just rest, you hear the sound the wind makes whistling through the pine needles. You hear more than just your own thoughts and self talk. You can hear something larger—outside of yourself.

And that is why solitude is such a gift.

Because you are truly not alone out there.

It's getting harder and harder to find any untouched places in the wild. More people are moving here every day. The wilderness we wander is full of other wanderers. Not all have the same respect for that wilderness, or for the rest of us who enjoy it. And so we wander farther, deeper into the wild, beyond the borders of the Shire. Off the road less traveled. Far from the maddening crowd. My own journey seems to be leading me further away from the great fishing spots, and into the wild, unscarred places in my soul, that are still as untouched by this twisted world as can be hoped.

And so we must guard our hearts.

Guard them closely; from the unrealistic expectations of others. From the insane demands of too much multi-tasking. From the pressure of peers. From the expectations of this politically correct world culture. From the failures and disappointments of our childhood and early life. From the trappings of consumerism. From the pitfalls of too much self-reliance. From a prideful attitude. From selfishness.

The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake. ~Psalm 23

The more I wander the few wild places left, I am more aware that I am not aimlessly wandering. But am being led to lie down in greener pastures, beside the still waters. He restores my soul.

Dad at Keepemquiet Creek, 1971.

—At The End of my Line

Where is Your Joy?

Since I was old enough to remember, I've always loved hunting, camping, and especially fly fishing.

Escaping to the outdoors. It was part of our life as a family. It was simply what we did. And it in I always found happiness. Peace. Solace. Joy.

I can't say exactly when that all started to change.

But it did.

After I'd been married for four or five years, when the "honeymoon was over" I began to question, "Is this all there is to life?" I had a beautiful wife, but we fought all the time. I had a good job, with future prospects, but I began to hate, (no, despise) it.

I was a fly fisherman. I lived for it. It was how I perceived myself. It was my main pursuit in life.

But I began to grow frustrated in that pursuit. It was not as enjoyable as it once was. The rivers and places I once loved to go, were becoming more and more overrun with hordes of people, thanks in part to greedy self-promoting fly fishing magazines who felt the "rivers needed more friends."

I had grown more competitive in fly fishing. Always trying to outdo myself. Never satisfied with what I caught. Always bummed out by what I couldn't catch. Obsessed with all the gear, or, more appropriately named; the "Trappings." At one point I had accumulated several thousands of dollars worth of fly fishing and fly tying gear. Not that I paid retail for it. I had friends in the industry that always got me buddy deals. But I was always buying, selling and trading what I had for the "next best thing." But it was never enough.

It became in me, a big, hungry monster that I could never satisfy.

And though I didn't realize it at the time, I had been filling up my life with stuff, to try and fill up the empty and hurting places in my heart.  My mom had told me that back in the seventies she and my dad had done the exact same thing, to try and fill up the empty places in their lives.  But they were never satisfied. And numbing the pain and disappointments of life with alcohol soon became their false substitute for joy.

And I can tell you with sad, deep conviction from our experiences as a family, that this does not work. It only destroys.

Recently in my journal I wrote:

"Your joy can only be stolen if your look for joy in things that can be lost."

 And over the course of my life I have seen that come true more times than I can count.

I used to have a small collection of well guarded "last best places" where I could go to escape, think, meditate on life, etc. But eventually, one after another, all those last best places failed to bring me the solace and peace I so desperately sought. Joy was elusive. Not to be caught.

Where do you look for joy?

For me, what once brought lasting joy, no longer does. Because those things that once brought joy can be, or have been lost. They could never live up to my heavy expectations.

Relationships can die. Spouses move on. Family disowns you. Jobs go away. Money dries up. Favorite rivers or camping spots are now over crowded. Your health can change in a New York minute. Friends move away.

Everything in this life is for a season. Some long, some very short. Our life is literally a vapor. Here today, gone tomorrow.

Today my joy is found in something and someone that can never be lost, never be taken from me. Those of you who know me well, know my secret.

For those of you who don't, I would love to share it with you.

All you need do is ask.


—At The End of My Line.