Outside, gray clouds glower and rain spits against the window. It’s still winter, and this year we’ve had late snow. It will be months before high country trails open. Inside, I am daydreaming of warm-weather adventures in the mountains: the crystalline skies of a Pacific Northwest summer, dazzling arrays of alpine wildflowers, daylight that lingers past 9 p.m. I am also reading hiking memoirs, because I am especially drawn to books that explore the dialogue between the on-the-trail and the in-my-head experiences. Here are three I particularly enjoyed.
A Hunger for High Country: One Woman’s Journey to the Wild in Yellowstone Country – Susan Marsh
What it’s about
Marsh was one of a few women hired by the Forest Service in the 1970s. New hiring and equal opportunity laws opened the traditionally male ranks of the agency to women, but the first cohort of women who braved the culture often found themselves resented and lonely. Moreover, the Wilderness Act and other environmental regulations forced the Forest Service to reconsider the way it managed national forests and their resources, an often-painful process that aggrieved many old-timers. For six years, while stationed in Montana’s Gallatin National Forest, Marsh butted heads with old-school foresters who didn’t see the relevance of recreation and wilderness, But when Marsh later moved to the Teton-Bridger National Forest, she found an unexpectedly generous group of colleagues. She ended her career there, proud of her progress and frustrated by her failures.
What I liked
It may seem obvious to some readers, but I like the fact that a woman wrote a book about a career in the Forest Service. Sure, many of us meet female Forest Service employees on the trail or in the district office when we stop to check conditions or get a map, but I think the general image of the agency is still one of hardy men doing hard work outdoors. Or maybe I think that because that’s how it was during the 1950s and 1960s, a period on which my own research and writing has focused. Marsh’s memoir of her 30-year career as a U.S. Forest Service ranger is honest about the downsides of working in a male-dominated agency, hopeful for the future, and passionate about the wild and public lands. The writing is marvelous, spare and expressive.
Quotable
“I could not imagine a better way to spend my working life than as a steward of public land, contributing to the conservation of wild country held in trust for all.”
“Wild country will endure as a treasure we hold in common, conserved and managed for the benefit of all, as long as the American people recognize its value.”
“Many people told me that on their first visit to the Tetons they felt as if they had come home. Even if they never find a way to live here, they inhabited this place, because it lived in their hearts.”
“Look, a small voice urges. The world is filled with beauty.”
Way Out There: Adventures of a Wilderness Trekker – J. Robert Harris
What it’s about
Born in the urban wilderness of New York City, J.R. Harris’s boyhood summers at a Boy Scout camp in upstate New York changed his life. Beyond teaching him outdoor skills and confidence in his ability to take care of himself, those early summers broadened his perspective beyond the wind tunnels formed by skyscrapers and the daily struggle for survival he saw in his neighborhood. He still lives in New York, but since adolescence has spent as much time as he can spare “way out there”, wearing his signature red hat and patch-covered jacket in far-flung wild places around the world. From his first trip to Circle, Alaska, in a deer-dented Volkswagen Bug, and on to Baffin Island, the Australian Outback, a remote mountain in Peru, and beyond, this compendium traces a life of adventure and self-reliance and the lessons they teach.
What I liked
About halfway through the book, I turned to Mr. Adventure and said, “This book makes me want to get in the car, go to the airport, and go way out there somewhere.” Harris does most of his adventuring solo. He prefers it, generally speaking, and the introspection that accompanies solitude makes his stories all the more interesting. He chooses destinations and routes in a way that feels random; he’s not interested in systematically checking off X number of miles or peaks, and that spontaneity is appealing. He’s a great storyteller, so much so that when I finished the book I went to his website and wrote him an email, just to say that I appreciated his book and its sense of fellow-adventurer joy in spending time in the wild. He wrote back promptly, noting that he’d been in Seattle a few months previously for a speaking engagement and was now planning a route through the North Cascades. “Let me know if you have suggestions,” he wrote. “Let’s keep in touch.” The easy friendliness of his email is evident throughout the book.
Quotable
“I like the regimen of backpacking chores, like pitching the tent, getting drinking water from a stream, and firing up the stove to prepare a meal. I am soothed by the steady, consistent thump of my hiking boots on unpaved ground and the barely audible squeaks my pack sometimes makes as it shifts on my back as I walk…What I like best is that I am alone and living an invigorating, drastically simplified existence where all of my earthly possessions are on my back and I have only myself to depend on.”
“What happened out there was a rite of passage. I was a different person when I got home.”
“I have never been lonely when alone in the wild.”
Hiking Naked: A Quaker Woman’s Search for Balance – Iris Graville
What it’s about
Burned out and uncertain about her life’s path as a nurse, Iris Graville and her family move to remote Stehekin, Washington, for two years. Instead of the high-stress world of nursing and public health, she works in a bakery, finding respite in the repetitiveness of preparing batch after batch of cookies and scones. She, her husband, and their two kids figure out how to live in a place where people rely on one other for help and support, regardless of their political or spiritual beliefs. The only access is by boat, airplane, or foot. When snow blocks the roads or rivers flood their banks, everyone pitches in. When holidays need celebrating and the community softball team needs players, everyone pitches in. With barely 80 full-time residents, not being involved is not an option. Nor is spending too much time inside. Graville hikes often, wandering the valley trails in search of fresh air, the satisfaction of physical exertion, and answers. After their self-imposed two-year timeline, she has figured out she no longer wants to work in nursing, but she’s not entirely sure what’s next. Still, Graville’s time in Stehekin, away from the hustle of life on the I-5 corridor, has helped her gain new insight into what really matters, and she takes this newfound insight with her when they leave.
What I liked
This memoir feels like real life: messy, complicated, intrusive. For every insight gained, there are new challenges to wrestle. Things change, and they don’t. Some questions are answered, others are not. But being in that remote place has a lasting impact. This is a memoir of searching for understanding and learning that finding it doesn’t always bring peace. At some level, I think this is the great lesson of adulthood. Nothing is all good or all bad, nothing is uncomplicated. So much of what Iris wrestles with feels familiar: what is my calling? how can I best serve the planet? who am I, and who do I want to be? Having met Graville when she gave a reading in Olympia, I read the book and felt as if I was learning about a new friend, one with whom I have much in common. The more I read, the more I liked her. She’s direct and honest, joyous in nature, not afraid to admit fear.
Quotable
“The power of this force humbled me. How many times had that river flooded, reminding the residents of its valley we had intruded on its home? We might think we know best where roads should go or houses should be built, but the river follows its own wisdom, has its own idea about its course, and thus ours….The flood’s fury reconnected me to the earth.”
“As the days grew shorter, the snow piled deeper, and the air chilled my skin in daily walks. I recognized the intensity of my exhaustion. Finally, I admitted I was tired of taking care of others. Now, “mid-life crisis” and “burnout” seemed to trivialize what was a bigger search for me, and, I discovered, for many people.”
“I grasped that I have my part to play, but it’s not up to me alone. The carving effect of melting snow and ice, the rush of the river, the new growth after the forest fire taught me that the smallest touch, the briefest contact, the quietest diligence, can make a difference — can change the course of a river. There, I embraced my smallness and my greatness. As the sun started its slow descent behind the ridgeline, my mountain-trekking tabby and I headed for home.”
