Enviable pain

Almost Somewhere:

Twenty-Eight Days on the John Muir Trail

by Suzanne Roberts

Let me first say that I enjoyed this. I might not place it on my all-time top adventure writing favorites list, but I really enjoyed it. I recommend it, too--it's not always bright and cheery, but it's honest and happy. It's about how three women backpacked the John Muir Trail in 1993, on a 28-day adventure that changed their lives. It may not change yours, but it definitely has points to consider.

So, here are my own particular points. Women traveling alone outdoors are a lot more common than they used to be. We still get stared at, still get unwanted advice, still get creeped out by strangers who stare, or violate boundaries, or simply act weird. Men get bugged by strangers, too, I admit it. But how many men have been whistled at, leered at, or propositioned on the street?  (Outside New Orleans)   These women took it as coolly and competently as they possibly could, and they had a good time despite the occasional weirdnesses.  And they also discovered a foolproof method for getting rid of unwanted campsite squatters--I won't spoil it for you, but if want to know, read pages 231-233.

It reminded me how good meeting a physical challenge can make you feel. After an encounter with a eighty-year-old hiker, Ms. Roberts writes,
A friend's great-grandmother used to say, "If I could do it yesterday, I can do it today. And if I can do it today, I'll be able to do it tomorrow." At eighty-nine she still played golf and practiced yoga.
Yes!  That's an attitude I can live by. Or aspire to, at least--on a sunny day in August when the temperature exceeds 100 degrees (38C), I can definitely NOT run six miles. Even if I did it yesterday. But I might do it next week.

I also noticed and was a little bummed about how desperately these three women wanted to please men. They weren't nutty about it (much), but early on they shared their dwindling food supply with a couple of guys who joined them on the trail, even though the guys had adequate supplies of their own. I don't understand what was going through the heads of the guys, but I know well the conflicting feelings in the heads of the women. " I want to nurture. I want to be generous. I don't want to be a stingy bitch." Possibly even, "If I quit putting out the food, he'll leave."  I know the feeling and sometimes share it, but I don't approve of it. Did they learn their lesson later on, when the guys had left and they were running out of food?  Would I?

The human story, both of the author herself and of the interaction between the three friends, dominated the narrative. That's a good thing--but at times I was sorry not to read much description of the trail. Here's one of the few,

We looped down through a diverse forest of mountain hemlock, silver pine, red fir, Jeffrey pine, aspen, white fir, and cottonwood. A purple carpet of lupine swathed the slope with an occasional clump of yellow black-eyed Susans or red Indian paintbrush. The diversity of the forest reminded me of the mystical Sherwood Forest; I expected Robin Hood and Maid Marian to jump out from behind a tree at every turn. ...Though lovely at that time of day, I wouldn't have wanted to hike through there at night. I imagined the dense forest would be downright spooky. Nightfall would turn Maid Marian's playground into Dracula's wilderness.

In retrospect, that passage isn't all that descriptive. But her pages of day-to-day events are so very detailed, I wonder if she didn't spend a third of every day making notes.  I liked that a lot--it felt like being there.

Wish I were. But now I'm going back to work.