October 9, 2008
Coming and Going
On my way to the North Pole in 2006, one of my favorite day dreams was to think about a summer canoe trip. Sounds weird, no? Wasn't I already on a camping trip?
Here's the deal: on an arctic expedition, you're either moving or you're in the tent. That's it. There is no hanging out, no watching the sun set, no sitting around the campfire, no fishing - just traveling, sleeping and eating. Every day. For months.
I guess maybe expeditions are a different kind of 'fun' now that I think about it some more. But that's off topic.
Fast forward to this fall and four or five months of pleading emails to some high school friends. After juggling work schedules, family responsibilities (we're all old now) and who knows what else, we finally decided to meet for a short weekend canoe trip in the Sylvania Wilderness Area in northern Michigan (my feet during the aforementioned canoe trip pictured above).
How do you describe a moment that you have been waiting so long for? The simplicity of wilderness travel; the crispness of a clear fall night. Sharing time with friends who you've known for almost 25 years (or in some cases more). Staring into the fading coals of a late campfire our last night, I wrapped the experience around me like a blanket hoping to hold in every last bit. Too soon, I always feel in moments like this, it will all be over.
In a about a month, I will be heading to Punta, Arenas Chile then Antarctica and 50 days later the South Pole. Next week, Colorado. Two days ago, it was New York City. I've been traveling so much lately that my apartment is more storage facility than home.
Today, a friend asked me if I think about the past or the future more. Last weekend's canoe trip is now a memory and will only ever exist as such. Yet, 20 years ago, I was doing the same thing with the same people. Next year we all vowed, we would gather again for another outing. When does the past end and the future begin? What is the difference between a memory and a daydream? Maybe we all have secret powers - time traveling between past and future. Always the same. Always changing.
One of Grand Marais' best and a friend to all just died recently. Norm. Everyone in town loved him. He was a great old guy who loved to hang out at the coffee shop and visit. While working at the local bike shop this summer, I helped him adjust his new electric assist tricycle. He wanted to do his part.
Don't be sad. Norm wasn't. He had a couple weeks to say good bye to friends and family. He said it was his time. He was ready. Still, it is hard not to morn any loss. Another friend stopped by the hospital one afternoon to check up on him and couldn't help but cry.
"Don't be scared," Norm quietly counseled. "You weren't afraid of being born, were you?"
Here's the deal: on an arctic expedition, you're either moving or you're in the tent. That's it. There is no hanging out, no watching the sun set, no sitting around the campfire, no fishing - just traveling, sleeping and eating. Every day. For months.
I guess maybe expeditions are a different kind of 'fun' now that I think about it some more. But that's off topic.
Fast forward to this fall and four or five months of pleading emails to some high school friends. After juggling work schedules, family responsibilities (we're all old now) and who knows what else, we finally decided to meet for a short weekend canoe trip in the Sylvania Wilderness Area in northern Michigan (my feet during the aforementioned canoe trip pictured above).
How do you describe a moment that you have been waiting so long for? The simplicity of wilderness travel; the crispness of a clear fall night. Sharing time with friends who you've known for almost 25 years (or in some cases more). Staring into the fading coals of a late campfire our last night, I wrapped the experience around me like a blanket hoping to hold in every last bit. Too soon, I always feel in moments like this, it will all be over.
In a about a month, I will be heading to Punta, Arenas Chile then Antarctica and 50 days later the South Pole. Next week, Colorado. Two days ago, it was New York City. I've been traveling so much lately that my apartment is more storage facility than home.
Today, a friend asked me if I think about the past or the future more. Last weekend's canoe trip is now a memory and will only ever exist as such. Yet, 20 years ago, I was doing the same thing with the same people. Next year we all vowed, we would gather again for another outing. When does the past end and the future begin? What is the difference between a memory and a daydream? Maybe we all have secret powers - time traveling between past and future. Always the same. Always changing.
One of Grand Marais' best and a friend to all just died recently. Norm. Everyone in town loved him. He was a great old guy who loved to hang out at the coffee shop and visit. While working at the local bike shop this summer, I helped him adjust his new electric assist tricycle. He wanted to do his part.
Don't be sad. Norm wasn't. He had a couple weeks to say good bye to friends and family. He said it was his time. He was ready. Still, it is hard not to morn any loss. Another friend stopped by the hospital one afternoon to check up on him and couldn't help but cry.
"Don't be scared," Norm quietly counseled. "You weren't afraid of being born, were you?"