Distance mode. Proximity mode. Red-light, night vision mode.
At 90 lumens, my new Black Diamond Spot headlamp is the sexiest addition to my
backpacking kit in ages. For the second or third time on today’s maiden voyage
hike, I unsheathe the Spot from my Gregory Z65’s brain pouch, cradle it in my
fingers, and imagine how its endless wonderful qualities will make every trip better. The sharp, blood-red housing
attaches to a retro, diagonally-shaded head band which gives the thing a provoking,
Cyclops-transformer look. I’ve already perfected the push-button command
rotation to flow seamlessly from one useful mode to the next. Now that I’m two
miles on east county San Diego’s nine-mile Noble Canyon Trail, I’m dying for
nighttime and a chance to test it out.
Noble Canyon is beautiful. Starting from the trailhead’s
Pine Valley parking lot around 2:00PM, the trail weaves around rock-strewn hills
to the left and follows a sloped-valley depression beneath chaparral scrub and
manzanita hillsides. Even in mid-April, the Southern California sun is withering
on the shadeless path. Tangled sage bushes eventually
give way to agaves, Whipple Yucca, and the occasional patch of bright red
Desert Paintbrush. My buddy Chad takes the lead.
Leaving our gear at an ideal campsite glen near Indian Creek's gushing canyon tributry, we continue up the most wooded
sections of the ravine and are soon surrounded by tall Jeffrey Pines spreading from the Laguna Mountains above us. We arrive at a large alpine-like meadow, and
Chad asks what’s further ahead. Having hiked the canyon before (see The Call of the Wild), I offer a brief sketch of the upper
trailhead at Penny Pines and the nearby Pacific Crest Trail ridgeline with incredible views of the Mojave Desert below. Why not make a run for the
PCT before dark? With three or four miles to go, we have no water, no snacks, not much
sunlight, and no Black Diamond headlamp. Not wanting to be outdone in outdoorsy
hardcoreness, I readily agree.
We walk briskly up the trail, and the sun seems to set at an
accelerating pace. I offer to increase my speed, and, taking my words to heart, Chad breaks into a light
jog. I’ve never run on a trail before, especially in ankle-covering
Lowa hiking boots. After a mile or so, I limp to a stop and resume a painfully brisk
trot. The sun has disappeared over the mountainous horizon, and the light in
the sky is dimming rapidly. By the time we make the PCT, complete darkness
limits our view of the desert to the street lights of far-off El Centro.
Christopher McCandless, or Alexander Supertramp for those who
read or watched Into the Wild, was drawn
towards similar long-forgotten attractions to life in the wild. Immediately
after graduating from Emory in 1990, McCandless abandoned his car, burned his
cash, donated his substantial bank account balance to OXFAM, and disappeared
for two years tramping solo around the West. After arriving in Alaska, McCandless wrote “I am reborn.
This is my dawn. Real life has just begun. Deliberate living: Conscious
attention to the basics of life, and a constant attention to your immediate
environment and its concerns, example – A job, a task, a book; anything
requiring efficient concentration.”
Despite the condescending tone people sometimes use when
discussing McCandless’ life, his story reverberates with something in the core
of my soul. It is difficult to read about his adventures without an indelible,
primordial longing to share the dangers which he sought. McCandless wrote in his
journal, “So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not
take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a
life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give
one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous
spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living
spirit is his passion for adventure.”
 |
| Laguna Mountains, California |
McCandless was no just a histrionic kid trying to escape responsibilities.
A broken, disconnected family history of sexual affairs, wealth, and career
success left an emptiness in his heart and a disconnect between his life in modernity and real meaning. McCandless recognized the void and
tried to fill it with a connection to the wild, to something that
communicated directly to his manhood and soul. Searching for truth, he eventually
died of starvation in central Alaska’s wilderness.
McCandless’ story echoes a revolt from the distractions of modern
life which I can appreciate. Perhaps if we were honest with ourselves, many
would recognize their own search for meaning in McCandless’ travels.
Suddenly, I remember my camera’s display screen. Trying to
control my eagerness, I blind myself with the screen’s bright images. Hooray! Pointing the screen at the ground, Chad and I
pick up our pace and reach our campsite in less than hour. Finally enjoying the
aid of my foxy headlamp (well worth the $39 price tag), we gobble freshly
filtered mountain water and twin bowls of exquisite, cheesy-ham Top Ramen. I can grasp
McCandless’ sentiment after he survived for weeks on self-found food sources in
Alaska’s wild: “The Great Holiness of Food,
the Vital Heat.”
By D. Anderson
May 11, 2012
