Photos and article 

by Rob Bettaso

Perhaps you have heard the notion that is somehow better if we can “live in the moment.” It is also sometimes added that by living in the moment, we approach a Zen state of enlightenment. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never studied philosophy; including Zen Buddhism, or any other formal philosophy/theology.

Nonetheless, I can appreciate the assertion that it is unwise to spend too much of one’s time “living in the past.” Similarly, it would be silly to perpetually fixate on “what’s next.” So, basically, I will assume that most sentient creatures try to learn from their past while also doing what they need to do to plan for their future. And in the ever-evolving instant of time that is in between the past and the future, we try to focus on not stumbling into anything….

That said, I do see value in a certain level of spontaneity. There are a fair number of impromptu opportunities to go hiking (or biking, or birding, or whatever) because my friends know that if I have some free time, I’m more than happy to take a quick local jaunt with little (or any) pre-planning. Even an overnight camping trip can sometimes happen on short-notice and, in fact, often winds up turning into a great little excursion.

As an example of my tendency to “go with the flow” (hmmm, how many clichés can I manage to insert into this OSW article?), this month I will write about one recent outing. The occasion came a few weeks back, when my friend Ron (a retired forester) invited me to join him on a one-night camping trip up in the high country, at about 9,200 feet in elevation. Although Ron had mentioned the excursion a few days in advance, we didn’t get to actually discuss it until the evening before our departure when Ron called to ask if I was still interested. It was then that I learned Ron was going to head-out early the next morning to reconnoiter the nature walk that would be a feature of a “TRACKS” outing the following day. For those of you unfamiliar with TRACKS, it is, briefly: a community group of volunteers who work with the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest (A-S) to maintain existing trails; build new trails; hike/bike/ski various A-S dirt roads and trails; and, engage in an assortment of other laudable outdoor activities that benefit the users of the Apache-Sitgreave’s (A-S) lands.

On the morning of the day that I was to meet Ron on the A-S, I had several things to get done prior to driving to our afternoon rendezvous site. While I attended to my tasks and errands, I knew Ron was out there already, somewhere in the evergreens, enjoying a solitary exploration of the spruce-fir forest and finding various items of interest that he would soon reveal to enthusiastic TRACKS hikers. I rushed through my chores and then scarcely took any time to pack as I loaded a few essentials (i.e., my ever-ready “chuck box,” a small cooler, and a day-pack) into my pickup, which also perpetually contains basic camping gear (a tarp, sleeping bag and pad, and a tent). I finally hit the road around noon-ish.

When I arrived at what would be the night’s camp, I found Ron reading in his camper-van, having successfully completed his scouting expedition so that he would be all-set for tomorrow morning’s TRACK’S hike. Even though Ron had spent most of his day thus far on various trails in the forest, he was still happy to join me as I took to the surrounding countryside to look for birds. In fact, knowing that I was a career wildlife biologist, Ron suggested maybe I could handle the bird and wildlife side of tomorrow’s hike while he focused on the trees and other plants.

As we set out on our foray, the first bird we encountered (not counting robins, juncos, and nuthatches; all of which were ubiquitous in camp) we actually only heard: a Hermit Thrush. Many birders consider this species to have the most beautiful song of all the birds in the western U.S. To me, the primary qualities that contribute to this bird’s reputation include pure and haunting low-tones; lilting, ethereal high notes; and, seamless phrasing. I must admit, every time I hear this bird, it sends chills down my spine; chills of joy, if such a thing exists.

After we finished our critter-rich walk, we returned to camp only to find yet another exciting bird species: the Gray Jay (aka the Canada Jay, the “camp-robber,” and the “whiskey-jack”). The latter two nick-names give you some idea of this bird’s rambunctious nature; but, despite its mischievous ways, this lovely species is never less than completely endearing!

While watching the jays, a gentle rain began to fall, so Ron and I donned our rain-jackets and stood beneath the thick canopy of a Douglas-fir and engaged in a free-wheeling conversation — mostly about various facets of the natural world. A little later, when the rains subsided, we strolled out to a big meadow to watch a herd of elk — seemingly all cows and calves, though there may have been some young spikes in the group too. The rain never came down hard, but it didn’t really go away for very long either. As we walked back to camp, Ron looked upward at the cloudy sky and noticed that there was another type of cloud above us: thousands of beetles (perhaps somewhere in size between that of a “lightening bug” and a “June bug,” to pick two types of flying, hard-shelled insects that many people know). The beetles appeared to be flying unidirectionally; from the forest to the meadow. We stood with our necks craned to observe this bizarre mass movement, neither of us being certain what biological phenomenon we were witnessing.

When twilight came, it was still occasionally drizzling, and Ron and I ate some cold chicken that he had bought on his way out of town. By 8:30 p.m., I didn’t particularly want to set up my tent and decided instead that I would just recline my truck’s seat and sleep inside the vehicle in case the clouds really opened up during the long night. I’ve spent a few nights sleeping in my truck since buying it back in 2003; and, while it isn’t super-comfortable, I still snooze enough to allow me to awake adequately rested come the morning. But this night was different, and I just couldn’t get into a position that allowed me to nod off for anything longer than an hour.

I lay awake listening to the rain as it shifted from showers to drizzle and back to showers again, and recalled a quote by Goethe that I have always found relatable: “Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.” When the light rain finally stopped, I took a chance and stepped outside to throw down my tarp, pad, and sleeping bag and brave the still partly cloudy night skies. I only used half of the tarp under my bedroll and kept the second half ready to pull on top of me, should the rain begin again. I quickly fell into a deep sleep and when I awoke, an hour before first light, I felt refreshed enough to fully enjoy watching a waning half-moon (remnants of the “Buck Moon”) as it peaked in and out from behind silver-blue clouds.

When I arose to make coffee, the dawn’s earliest light ushered away the last, lingering clouds, and I knew we were in for a spectacular morning. A solo coyote seemed to feel differently, however, and while I boiled water, his sad, lonely howl unsettled me. Soon, Ron was up and making his breakfast, and we both enjoyed listening to the mewing of elk and the swelling chorus of the avian dawn-song.

We met our group, which included 11 hardy souls, including one of the local hikers/adventurers I very much admire: Kay. Soon, we set off on a wonder-filled ramble through the deep woods that Ron knows so very well. When we reached the hike’s half-way point, we dined on a watermelon that Ron had sequestered near a natural spring. After I had consumed three gut-busting pieces of the melon, I poured a bit of my canteen’s water onto my sticky hands to wash away any potential bear-attracting aromas, since I didn’t want to entice a local bruin into sniffing her way in my direction as we hiked back to where we had all parked.

We made it back to the vehicles in one piece, and I realized many people in the group had not yet received enough of Nature’s tonic; as they lingered, and socialized, and seemed reluctant to head back to town. Eventually though, all the participants drove down the dirt road, and only Ron stayed back to make sure he was the last person in the group to depart the area. I wondered also if perhaps his thoughts weren’t also directed to one of the key players in the TRACKS world: Arlene; who remains down in Phoenix undergoing long-term health therapies for a serious medical situation. Although I do not know Arlene as well as many, I know she is loved and that concern for her condition is a palpable presence on any given TRACKS outing.

The drive home went smoothly and quietly. When I stepped into my house, I noticed that the answering machine’s light was blinking. I clicked the button and listened to a message from a local friend who proposed a hike that we should do tomorrow morning, starting at 0600. Naturally, before I even unloaded my truck, I called my friend and told him I would enjoy a hike and would meet him at the trailhead, rough-and-ready, at the appointed hour….