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