Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Where Are the Lessons? Where is the Fun?
09/01/04-1
Each day I remind myself of two questions I want in the front of my consciousness: Where are the lessons? and Where is the fun?
This morning I was walking along in the Divide Basin. Near the trail with a view an outcrop that created a relatively long, but not very high, cliff, I saw what looked like thru-hiker trash: a scraped-out peanut butter jar with a red lid. I wondered who would have left that trash there.
I walked over to it, and with a tap of my toe felt relief. It was a glass jar, and no CDT thru-hiker I know of would carry glass. It was from jeep or horse people, and they can clean up their own trash. Still, the sight of it bothered me.
It looked as if it, along with some other contemporary midden, had been dug up when an animal made a large burrow nearby. Understandably, the animal wanted the view of the cliffs too.
I picked up the jar and dropped it in the hole. I heard the glass sliding against the pebbly soil as it moved into the burrow. I walked on, but each step brought thoughts about what I'd just done. What if it was blocking the hole, and the animal couldn't get out? What if the animal was out and couldn't get back in? What if the animal was out, but had young in there who died because of the jar?
Then I began to question why I did it. It came down to aesthetics. I didn't appreciate having to look at the garbage and wanted to save future hikers from the same experience.
The questions of the consequence on the animal(s) continued to taunt me.
Soon I realized that this simple, unthinking act would haunt me well beyond the end of this hike.
By now I was a 1/4 mile away from the burrow. What could I do? The only acceptable answer was to undo what I'd done; risk a bite for my mental well being. I've done a lot more that walk 1/2 mile round trip in the interest of my serenity.
I dropped pack and walked back.
I stomped as I approached the den, announced, "Don't bite me" twice, then popped my hand in to grab the jar. I didn't get bitten, and, in the interest of aesthetics, tucked the jar into a nearby ankle high sage bush. I don't feel good for having done what I did. I feel relieved that I was able to undo a mistake. So many can not be undone.
