Today, walking through the misty forest, everything took on an ethereal quality. Sounds were muted by pattering rain drops, and sight was limited to the land immediately beyond my feet. Standing still, I could watch my crew of students emerge from behind a wall of cloud, and then disappear again as they moved on. Such was the case with everything — momentarily coming into soft focus, then fading away into the depths of the forest.

Copyright (C), 1998, by Ashley Guberman

Definite darkness is setting in. I did not get as far up the mountain as I wanted to. Seeing a 200 foot rock climb, I felt an incredible urge to get to the top. The climb started to approach safety limits for a free climb, given that I’d have to descend in the dark. As it is, I am maybe 150 feet into the climb and having difficulty seeing my own writing.

On the East coast, there are mountains with rock out-croppings. Here, there are mountains of rock. All the while, climbing up to where I am now, I felt it was a stupid thing to do, yet my compulsion to move forward was far greater. But at this point, I MUST descend — at the very least, I must get below the technical portion of the climb…

* * *

It is as dark as it’s going to get. Somehow, it is very still and warm up here. On the last part of the descent, I felt fear — fear that I would fall. But I stopped and felt the fear; breathed it and let it pass through me. In that fear, I think I realized why I made this evening’s trek in the first place: Because when I was afraid, I again realized that I am where I am as a direct result of my choices. Were I to fall, stay put, or make it down, it would be solely because I chose to do so and took actions to carry out my choice. This is important — not only for the moments just past on the rock, but to all of my life.

I am where I am because of my choices and actions upon those choices. Never forget the power of ones own will to determine ones reality. I climbed tonight because I needed to be reminded of this fact.

* * *

As I start my journey back home, having returned to the relative safety of snow covered mountain trails, I happen to look up at the sky — stars.

From my present vantage point, I stand at the center of three unique worlds. Behind me is the deep, solid, blackness of rock, trees and ice — almost absorbing all light that falls upon them.

In front of me is the city of Boulder, yet it is far enough away that only the changing pattern of lights makes it this far. Thousands and thousands of brilliant lights in an unending effort to push back the darkness.

And above me is the most spectacular of the three worlds — the endless heavens speckled with pinpoints of light so very distant, yet proclaiming your right to reach for your dreams. And I, a mere mortal, have been given the privilege to walk through this junction and see the splendor of their union.

Copyright (C), 1998, by Ashley Guberman

North Carolina

8/11/90 – 8/13/90

This solo is long overdue. As I pull into the parking lot, the "trailhead" sign takes on a special significance. "This is the beginning," it implies. Just where it comes out, you will have to travel and see for yourself. And the trails continually split, leaving me to choose my direction in an unknown land.

Yet the trails through these woods look much the same as trails in other woods. Though I’ve never been here before, somehow I know I’m on familiar ground. There are trees and streams and sights and sounds all about me, and it doesn’t quite matter which way I go, so long as I know how to get back when I’m ready to leave.

* * *

Deciding where to camp: while walking along a trail that parallels a stream, I found myself looking for a place to camp. Yet with each potential spot, I would say to myself "what if there is something better around the bend?" Although on one level, the question makes perfect sense, I wonder how many really good sites might be passed up due to expectations of what may follow.

* * *

Solos are indeed unique and valuable. There is something special about spending time alone in the woods. I walk through steeply sloping hills and valleys and am made quite aware of the fact that I am a living being and that the earth is my home. A house on a plot of land provides permanent, secure shelter, but houses in towns and cities have become so removed from the natural environment that a tent in the woods is often a far more comfortable and realistic place to live.

* * *

Talking — the ability to speak our thoughts to others is truly phenomenal. Yet on solo, there is really no need to make any noise at all. By themselves, people are basically silent creatures.

* * *

I’m perched beneath a dense grove of rhododendrons, looking out to the creek in front of me. Occasionally, drops of rain fall through the canopy to reach me, but they are nothing compared to the torrent of rain I see just feet in front of my face. I’m sitting here, protected, looking through a natural window to a world of wetness.

* * *

Few things are as much fun as the simplicity of throwing rocks at a pool of water. Big ones, small ones, flat, round, pointed or square ones — throwing rocks is just fun to do. I like to spin them and watch their gyrations as they are following the parabolic arc that starts as they leave my hand and ends with a splash or a thunk when they hit the water.

Aim is not important, but trying to hit some target can easily occupy a young mind for hours on end. And once the rock lands in the water, the surface quickly struggles to regain its composure. Having sunk to the bottom, the stone becomes motionless until stronger currents or another hand sends it soaring again.

* * *

I’ve been sitting here on a cold rock for close to an hour now, yet were it not for the encroachment of night, I imagine I’d stay for several more.

The repeating terraces in the stream in front of me have changed from a reflecting sheet of glass to a taught fabric of darkness. The individual leaves and branches along the shore have merged to become a curtain across the horizon.

The rocks and white ripples are the last of the details to fade into night, but as visual details give way to the darkness, the air becomes filled with the sounds of the emerging world of night. First comes the peeper frogs, then the crickets, followed shortly by the flutter of the bats, the buzz of mosquitoes, and the cries of distant owls hunting afar. Dusk is less the end of day than it is the transitory gateway to life in the dark.

 

Copyright (C), 1998, by Ashley Guberman