So, there I was… (that’s how all good stories start out, right?) In a remote region of Ireland, hiking up a mountain with a massive rucksack weighing me down and a camera bag strapped over my shoulder. The wind was whipping at me in bursts of seventy and eighty miles per hour, nearly bowling me over. As I staggered with each step up the crooked, narrow steps, my mind went numb with the task at hand and for awhile I lost track of progress and simply inched forward. The day was cloudy and warm, and the fresh sea air from the Atlantic blew in a subtle chill that kept me cool enough to go on.
When I must travel for strictly business, my heart saddens and my mood sours a bit, but when I can incorporate a side trip or two, or five, then I suddenly go from sourpuss to a little kid on christmas. I want to do anything and everything, yet there’s always a restriction on time, so I must identify what it is I want to do and experience. On most of my trips, I am traveling for me, and for you, dear reader, but when I’m tied to a business obligation, I’m unable to wander and discover those wonderful, yet lesser known gems of the world that I love to find. I must keep it short and sweet. So when I’m planning a side trip, I figure out what it is what I want to do, or an experience I’ve yet to have in my lifetime. Those are the two options that I weight, almost every time. And this is, of course, dependent on where in the world I am traveling to.
Up until recently, I often backpacked into the wilderness to escape the world of man, and to become lost in the wonders of the natural world. I had always refused to be that guy who used power tools while camping, because it affects the wildlife you see and hurts the environment. I have always feared poisoning one of the last remaining natural areas. But what that entailed meant that I traveled rougher, with less gear, and less comforts. I used to build a fire strictly off the land, and lighting it with a flint and steel kit, but on my last trip, I decided to try something different and it worked out extremely well. While that practice is invaluable, especially for wilderness survival mastery, I know that I may rarely go that route in today’s day and age, because of new technology. I will always carry a flint and steel kit with me, because you never know when you might need it. But I may never travel the same again.
Forests of green and brown pine streamed by as the search continued. And as gravel and dust billowed behind the cars, we ascended the mountain for a few miles until we found what we were looking for. A large dispersed campsite with a fire ring of rocks manifest itself just over a hilly pass. My family and I parked our cars and began exploring the area. The largest of campsites sat nearer the road, but hidden along a game trail, through a thicket of pine, sat a beautiful private site hidden from view of the other tents. It had its own fire pit and a space just large enough for my tent.
We arrived during the wee hours while the sunlight was still peaking just above the horizon. My significant other and myself picked our campsite and sat down our gear, then readied for our first morning safari. A chill stung in the air, so I riffled through my rucksack and pulled my Avedon & Colby field shirt and vest out and dressed quickly. The moleskin field shirt took away the bite in the air immediately. I packed my daypack and filled my vest with survival items like a compass, a folding blade and some other oddities. Mere minutes had passed but the sun had already began to rise and fill the forest with warm, golden light. We started off with our daypacks slung around our shoulders, binoculars and a bottle of water in either hand.
A few days ago, the early spring rain had finally slowed and the sky turned a vibrant blue, and I thought I ought to go exploring while the sun was still shining. In rural Ohio, rivers pulsed with streaming rainwater, so I gathered my Pangean Glider chair, a six pack of beer, and my binoculars, and I set off in my car. I made my way along backcountry roads, following the meandering river, over bridges and passed the endless farms. And just beyond the local damn, I found a rocky dirt road that took me up to a peaceful place at the edge of the Killbuck Creek. The location seemed perfect for bird watching and for some much needed time alone, with Nature, as there are no people or houses, only the fresh-tilled earth of corn fields, which ran up to the edge of trees which gathered thick along the water’s edge.
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