My Mountain Home

When I detect a beauty in any of the recesses of nature, I am reminded by the serene and retired spirit in which it requires to be contemplated, of the inexpressible privacy of life–how silent and unambitious it is. . .the beauty there is in masses will have to be considered from the holiest, quietest nook.

Henry David Thoreau

Readers of these posts will have figured out by now that I am not a big fan of crowding on our nation’s scenic trails. The title, The Solitude Trail, is a dead giveaway. I was dismayed then to drive across the North Cascades Highway a couple of weeks ago, which I wrote about in last week’s post, and find that the parking lot for the PCT trailhead at Rainy Pass was overflowing. The excess vehicles were lined up on both sides of the highway for a distance stretching well over a mile on both sides. I did not pause to count the cars, but I estimated there were at least two hundred, and I watched as hikers and backpackers made their way along the highway, adding a mile or so to their trek for the day just to get to the trailhead.

I remembered what it is like to share the trail and campsites with such a crowd. I experienced this several years ago when I did a long section hike of this trail. I left it before finishing my planned trek to Canada, reasoning that I would find greater peace and quiet at home. Finding a level spot for a tent is a challenging task when all the other backpackers are seeking out the very same space at the very same campsite. Once in camp any semblance of peace and quiet must be abandoned. For me it was like being in a crowded shopping mall. The noise and banter drowns out the soft murmuring of the nearby stream, the wind in the trees, the chatter of chipmunks, the song of a winter wren.

Outhouses, where they exist, are usually overflowing by the end of the summer, and many hikers prefer not to use them. This means that when hundreds of hikers are burying their waste all summer long, it is almost impossible to find a spot that has not been used. Digging a hole often means digging up someone’s waste, not a pleasant experience, and certainly not the pristine one most hikers seek in the backcountry.

Thru hikers often insist that socializing on the trail is the most important aspect of their hiking experience. The trail community is regularly praised, and the Facebook posts often consist of a group of hikers sharing a pitcher of beer in a popular trail town, not the views of mountain peaks and valleys that used to draw us to these trails.

I chose the quote at the beginning of this post because I wanted to explore how well known nature writers have felt about solitude. Would Walden ever have been written if Thoreau had shared the pond with a shoreline dotted with campers? Would John Muir have celebrated the High Sierras with the same enthusiasm if he had explored those mountains with crowds of other hikers? Would Thomas Moran have captured the light and colors of Yellowstone Falls if dozens of tourists had stood in front of him at Artists’ Point?

As for this nature writer I have chosen to stay away from popular trails and live in an area where I can drive to a trailhead in the summer time and find that no other vehicles are parked there. Still, it is a sacrifice that is not completely comfortable for me. The Pacific Crest Trail is popular precisely because it is spectacular at every bend. That stretch of the trail from the North Cascades Highway, where so many hikers were parked, to the Canadian border, is perhaps the most beautiful section of trail I have ever hiked. From Lakeview Ridge one can look west to the jagged peaks of the North Cascades and the emerald gem of Ross Lake below.

Many years ago I followed a side trail down from this ridge about a half mile to a campsite by a small stream. Above me, nailed to a subalpine fir, was a sign that read, “Mountain Home.” Yes. . . it was. I made my usual pot of tea and sat there in that wild place while I wrote in my journal and read my book, as I have done so many times in so many beautiful places. For one night it was my solitary home in the mountains.

Everyone my age must at times reminisce about “the way things used to be,” the way they are not anymore. And like everyone who has lived a long life, I have some sad memories too. But I have this. I camped alone for a night in my Mountain Home a long time ago.