It has been a long time since I have been able to go hiking with another guy of my generation.
Last time, in fact, was when I was just 20 years old. That three-week excursion was with my best friend, Clark, and we backpacked all over northern Idaho's Kaniksu National Forest, sleeping on the ground next to a campfire with our rifles nearby, in case the occasional bear, coyote or cougar should happen by.
We shot (well, I shot) and skinned, cooked and ate a squirrel, and had quite a collection of marmot skins we hunted in a logging slash high above Priest Lake. (Clark's dog mauled the skins, which had been scraped, salted and stretched to dry . . . but since that springer spaniel also chased off a big brown bear we surprised on the trail, all was forgiven).
We bathed in lakes and icy mountain streams. We slept under the stars, and a couple nights under pup tents as thunderstorms rocked the mountains with sheet lightning and torrents of rain, only to rise at dawn, shoulder our packs and head higher.
Now, I'm 60. Old knees and a repaired aortic heart valve have slowed me down, but that just means it takes longer to get up the scrub oak-dotted slopes of the Wasatch Front to the firs along the ridges. The elevation is higher and the air thinner in Utah's mountains, the rivers, streams and lakes not as numerous as the lush pine mountains of my youth; my boots now crunch on dry undergrowth rather than spring from a moist carpet of moss and evergreen needles of the Pacific Northwest.
What has not changed, though, is the pure, simple joy of a hike with a friend. The smell of fresh air and wild flowers, the thumping of your heart, pulsing of the blood in your legs, the tightening of muscles, even the aching of your feet and rivulets of gritty sweat soaking into your shirt, are serendipitous companions to discovery.
Here, a new view of the Great Salt Lake Valley and Western Desert; there snow-capped peaks above Emigration Canyon and the highlands to the east. Or, following a game trail that leaks into an arbor of trees and a shady alcove, you catch your breath, sip warm water from a canteen and share a few words, a laugh and the moment with a friend.
Tuesday's excursion, a rare day off during the week for me, was with such a friend, Rich. Obstensively, the purpose was to sight in his new pistol, and for me to inaugurate my own compact 9mm "conceal carry" and sight it in as well. We hiked into a likely area, a couple miles away from the road, found a safe place with a good bank of dirt, and did that.
The hike was the thing, though. Blue wildflowers were bursting from the greenery erupting from recent rains, and a stream along the trail was full with spring runoff. Birds flitted through the branches, seemingly frantic in their nesting, food gathering and the exercise of territorial imperative.
After walking back to his truck and safely storing the weaponry, we trekked up the side of another slope, perhaps half an hour or so, to check the condition of Rich's archery tree stand.
It was a good spot. Elk and moose tracks, some less than a couple weeks old judging by the most recent rainfall and the slippage evident from the hoof prints, were everywhere. I listened to Rich's observations, picking up on his knowledge -- and respect for -- wildlife, the terrain, and the unspoken joy of sharing the outdoors.
One more, important thing my friend and I share is an understated, yet resilient faith in God. We talked a bit about that, too. Simple faith, perhaps, but it has grown profound and deep with decades of pain, joy, grief, triumph and most of all, trust in and acceptance of our Creator.
And in those moments we climbed the trails and smiled and drank in the vistas where northern Utah's high deserts blend into forests, I better understood the musings of an ancient king who wrote of things temporal and eternal.
"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever." (Ecclesiastes 1:4 KJV)
A blog about writing, faith, and epiphanies born of the heart, and on the road
Showing posts with label concealed carry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label concealed carry. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Friday, April 5, 2013
Packing heat? Why, O why? Here's why
People who just can't understand why anyone would want a concealed-carry weapon's permit need to ride the 5 a.m. TRAX train to work with me, and get off in the dark one block north of three homeless/drug treatment facilities.
Or, like today, just ride the train.
During their once-a-month, check-your-ticket visits to the early train to downtown, a Utah Transit cop came upon a fellow sitting across from me whose transfer pass was two days out of date. No I.D., but did give his name, and found he has twice before been cited for trespassing on the train . . . and had numerous arrest warrants.
As she was citing him again, another guy -- tats, piercings, angry and obviously cranked up, started bellowing into his cell phone from two seats away:
"I don't wanna go back to Max and end up slitting my wrists, dude! Do something! Y'all ain't got my criminal history, I'll never get out, $#!@!"
The UTA officer quietly called for backup, and when the second, burly transit cop arrived the bad boy was out the door and down the street and into the dark.
So, yeah. THAT's why. Armed cops were there, this time, a once-a-month fluke. One day out of 30.
So, perhaps a .38 Special with five 158-grain, "self defense" rounds in the cylinder, could be something of a comfort.
You know, rhetorically speaking. Sort of.
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