As a child, I would walk out the backdoor of the house in Wyoming and head straight up into the mountains. Alone. Bow and arrow, knife on my hip, or sometimes with lever-action .22 Magnum. Scoped and loaded. I would just go. There was plenty to go wrong. Bears, mountain lions, the distant yet drunk neighbors who would sneak on our property once or twice a year to fish our streams and ponds. My quiver held mostly judo points, designed to shoot stumps and small game, but I always had at least one broadhead thinking if things went bad I could at least get one potentially fatal shot off. They would find me chewed to bits, but right next to me would be the dead bear with arrow through the heart. At least that was the idea in my juvenile head.
I always loved being alone.
Wyoming and my parents did that favor for me. Being alone was not only okay it was essential. There were plenty of times I wish someone had been with me, but I’m still here, so no matter how dicey it got, or how many times I had to change my shorts, it never was the end of me. I still love being alone although it’s more difficult now.
I married someone nearly thirty years ago. We are together as much as any couple I know. But I still need my time alone. Typically, this means getting up early because she is not a morning person. I normally get one to two hours alone before the great awakening happens. That’s enough to satisfy the most urgent of needs, but it’s not enough to satisfy the remaining needs. Those needs that date back to childhood.
When I’m in the wild I’m never doing just one thing. I’m doing the thing I’m there to do, but I’m also thinking and writing in my head. I write most of my blog posts when I’m running, fishing, hiking, or birding. It’s like split screen on the iPad. Two apps running side by side. I don’t like to be bothered when I’m out. I’m not high twitch. I’m slow twitch but my transmission does have both high and low gears.
It’s more and more difficult to find those wild places. The remotest spot in America’s lower 48 is in Wyoming’s Yellowstone National Park, 21.5 miles from a road, a half-mile from a privately owned cabin, and a half-mile from a foot trail. The wild of The West is mostly gone. We are a city species now. No longer rural. No longer agrarian. I spoke to a Wyoming friend, someone who spent almost all of his 75 years in the state, who told me “Every remote canyon now has people living there.” There are still places like Wind River Range where pack horses are the most common form of transport, but those days and places are numbered.
The incoming administration is run by city people who look down on anyone who lives rural. In some cases, these people have never been in the wild in their entire life. Ever. They see wilds as revenue streams. We’ve all heard them proudly announcing “Drill baby, drill.” Why not? They haven’t ever been to these place and have no intention of ever going in the future. They live in penthouses and mansions. And they are gaining more and more power. Stupid is as stupid does they say. And for those of you doubting, we have their prior administration as evidence of intention.
What’s left of The West is going away either way. These vultures will only speed up the process. But as I’ve said since 2015, we deserve what’s coming. We do. So, I try to go as often as I can. I try to go “out there.” I try to go to the places that have yet to be overrun. I love these places. The places that city people ask “What are we going to DO out there?” The places with no signal.
But here is what might surprise you. At some point, I’m going to have to turn away from this world and go in the opposite direction. I too will become a city dweller, and most likely, a high-density urban environment. And so will at least 80% of you. I’m not sure how anyone will avoid this. I don’t see this as terrible or sad or anything like that. I see this as a result of the decisions we are making now. The sale of private land to the ultra wealthy. The rolling back of protections. The overcrowded National Parks. (There are still those that don’t get overrun.) The unrestricted development causing massive sprawl across most areas of The West. The lack of water.
But with urban life comes no need for a car. Urban life means folding bike, public transit. Culture and lifestyle. That’s okay. Life is about transitions. Had I stuck to my original plan, I wouldn’t know any of you, wouldn’t have met my wife and would have never picked up a camera. We adapt. We flow like water, or at least like sludge of some sort.
But until then, I’m going to keep going out. I still have a bow and arrow. I still have the rest of my kit. I still have places I can go. And when I’m there I will appreciate what they are and what they represent. I will honor them by leaving no trace. I won’t share my precise location. I will be coy and say “It’s north of here,” or “It’s near that place, you know, that spot where that thing is.” I will be tricky. I will be sly. I will be untraceable.
Comments 18
The fact that you had “Annie Oakley” for a Mom meant that at least one of you would turn out to be “Dan.”
Author
Yes, she was one for three. Not bad!
Man, you are bringing back some lovely memories. I love being out somewhere remote, alone. Hell, I love being alone period. I hate what the money machine is doing to our country and our planet. It’s all so stupid. But those few wild places that are still out there, still accessible… I will always continue to seek them out. I really like the idea of an urban bike/public transit situation but jeez, when I visit the city north of me, I hate being there. Too noisy, too many people. It’s not even that large a city. So, we’ll see, I guess…
Author
I think we will have to adapt at some point. I like both scenarios. But I also feel comfortable in open spaces. Some don’t.
That knife on your hip back then…was it the 10 inch Rambo one from yesterday’s post?
Author
Full on Rambo. The ad in the back of the magazine was “rambo knife,” but in real life Stallone is a huge knife guy so his was way nicer than mine. Mine was a Beijing special.
I live on Stewart island, we are pretty remote, I love getting out in the hills by myself looking over the land, camera in hand.
I went to the mainland for Christmas to see my mum and sister. After 10 days I was happy to be home and surrounded by bush again.
Author
Oh you said it. Returning home from the city to the country is Sooooooo nice.
I’m happy I’m not alone in loving to be alone.
Author
Never, right there with ya.
The incoming is “drill, baby, drill;” the outgoing was WEF wannabes… two sides of the same soiled diapers… child minds who only know how to do childish things. F them and their respective cults. I live in the high desert mountains of southern NM – an old mining town, current population of six or seven depending upon the season. But the hills are alive with all forms of critters – two and four-legged alike. I live in the densely populated downtown area right across the street from the still-functioning old saloon built in the late 1890’s… fairly modern compared to my humble hewn log home of circa 1886. It’s tough living for sure, at least for me, what with very few of the modern conveniences. But the peace and quiet, views and kangaroo rats suit both me and my many rescues. Yet no matter where ye live, the most important criteria will always be those whom you call “your neighbors.” I’m overly blessed in this regard, and quite frankly don’t know how I could make this lifestyle square otherwise. And going forward, no matter where or by what means, working hand in hand with others, especially those said neighbors, will become a necessity. The days of the Lone Ranger are dead and gone. May all those here find their proper, respective tribes.
Author
Tad, now I want to know the specifics. I was just across from an 1800s saloon. I’m wondering if I was in your town…
Alone is how I managed to survive a dysfunctional, chaotic childhood, and for better and for worse, it’s the place where I feel the least lonely, even now in my sixties. I live in a moderately sized rust belt town strapped to Lake Michigan, and we complain when we are caught in a traffic jam for all of twenty minutes, but I’m a photographer of people and urban environments, so therein lies the rub. As much as I love being way outside of this, somewhere beyond rural, perhaps BLM land in New Mexico, Arizona or Colorado, I find my subjects in the crevices and dilapidated cracks of this urban world. And there can be beautiful things about it, though I can only really clear my head and hear my heart beat when I am far from the maddening crowd.
Author
I think we are the same. Even when I’m photographing people, a part of me is still alone in the middle of nowhere. They give me something and they take something away. But I’m not sure I would want it any other way.
Your first two paragraphs here are solid storyboard material.
You mentioned that you’ll be coy about your locations. I think about this subject from time to time because I have found a few special nooks and crannies in dense areas.
There’s a spot I’ve photographed a few years in a row during a specific time of the year. I’ve never shared the images online because 1) there aren’t any posted yet (and I’ve looked – hard), and 2) it’s *near protected wildlife. I thought about it and decided that whenever I do not feel enthusiastic about sharing an exact location for some reason other than vanity, and no meaningful barriers to accessing it exist (like rough terrain, distance, mosquitos, permits) to limit “abuse” I will avoid posting the image online. I will share it with friends/family.
I have watched locations fall apart in real-time. So, on the rare occasion when someone says, ” Sorry, I’d rather not tell you” (and they have), I do not take it personally. I try to appreciate that photo a little bit more.
Nice post.
P.S. There’s a guy online who’s allegedly a geo-wizard. His clips make it appear that he can figure out the exact location of almost anything from a single image. I’ll avoid linking him here to spare anyone susceptible to doom-scrolling. He’s easy to find.
*It is legal to go there.
Author
There was a massive shift with the arrival of Instagram. Now, for the first time ever, I must be reserved when it comes to sharing details. Those vultures don’t care about anything or anyone other than their likes, and I can’t play along with this. I’ve seen what they did to fall colors in Santa Fe.
I live close to the forest and mountains, missed it terribly when I lived away for a year. I walk on the trails before work every day, which is wonderful, except for an alarming new trend- people that feel the need to “decorate” the trails with Christmas decorations, which are harmful to wildlife, a plastic eyesore, and environmental hazard. This was preceded by the stone-stackers, who would climb down into the creek and disrupt the salmon-spawning habitat by making their little piles. Humans are nuts.
Author
My guess is they are also photographing themselves doing these things, which makes it even worse.