Friday, June 25, 2004
Walking Through the Eternal Twilight
06/25/04
Finding a cadence with the landscape in the long evening, my motion through the space creates a rhythm like no other.
Nature began the rhythm which defines the beat of my step long before I walked through to play my part and listen, so I'll begin in the with the beat of crossing a stream. The rainy day has made the steep path approaching the loud, insistent water slick and dark. I move down the muddy trail cut, visually plotting the plan for steps through the bank that will give me a dry crossing while still making sure that the mud under my feet holds my motion.
A trekking pole there helps. Making sure my shoe grabs that rock edge provides assurance. There we go.
I cross and move up the bank and against gravity, which gives the saturated mud a better chance to give way. Stepping quickly before I slide keeps me moving forward. The noise of the water fades as I climb higher and away from the constant flow. I am on the level again and moving forward I can feel the darkening created by the trees. Steps take me through the deep stillness created by countless trees layered back into the night.
Steps down my path take me to a place where the forest begins to lighten. Trees fall away and lush plants open outward to smile at the sun. Only the sun has been down for at least an hour now, keeping the memory of its visit by throwing dusk over northern Montana, over this section of trail, over me, allowing me to continue my journey.
The open space of grasses and wildflowers has an eeriness in this light. The edges of the space are not well defined, and the depth between the visual surface and the ground is indeterminate. The trail provides safer passage through these voids. I am passing between the world of day and the world of night as my steps bring me closer to my companions.
The quietness of the void of the open space is eventually filled, usually quickly with a turn, with the return of the sound of active water. I've returned to the chorus of the cycle that has defined my evening of walking the last 8 miles of the southern end of Glacier National Park.
Ahead, I see the wild swinging of headlamps on heads of hikers setting up tents. I find I am home and, like all things eternal, the eternity of the dusk of this long summer transition has ended.
I begin to look for a place on the wet grass for my tent. I wonder how close I should set up to Hiker816, since I don't know if he snores or not. Like all nights, I wish I could sleep out. Like all nights following hiking, I am tired.
