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October 27
Another great day at sea, I rowed for just under fourteen hours. It was
good rowing. I passed part of the day listening to Bill Bryson's "A Walk
in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail." A friend
gave this book on CD to me. I'd seen it in the bookstore and passed it
over as "a novice book." I imagined it to be like the many books written
about Africa by individuals who passed only a short vacation on that
continent. Or, I thought it would be like a tiresome book on
mountaineering written by a one mountain mountaineer. One mountain does not
a mountaineer make in my book. All this notwithstanding, I found Bryson's
book to be perfectly delightful.
It is a novice book, but it is the most wonderful novice book I've ever
come across. It rekindled memories of every camping trip run amuck and
every climbing partner who, well, left something to be desired. Bryson
blends aspects of his walk with the history of the Appalachian Trail and
notes about its ecological decline. Acid rain and global warming are
treated with a gentle, but concerned hand. I found myself laughing almost
to the point of tears at mistakes made by every person new to hiking for
long distances, with his house and all its contents on his back.
Remarkably, I did not even lose respect for the author even when he
abandons the idea of walking the entire trail. I cringed a bit to have him
dabble at it from a car, and winced when he reported going into the
Presidential Range on a day hike wearing blue jeans. He suffered the
hypothermic consequences and I'm sure will not repeat the mistake. He and
his friend, Steven Katz, hike into Maine's 100-mile wilderness for one last
journey on the trail. After suffering a harrowing night, they abandon even
this last hurrah. Perhaps it is because I am in the 1000-mile wilderness
that I do not begrudge the author's abandoning the harshness of the trail.
In the end, he reports victory in the fact he "tried" to walk the trail.
It is a victory. I really enjoyed the book.
The side effect of listening to it was that it made me long for the smell
of green things. I rowed well into the night because I wanted more than
anything to take a walk. I'd be happy with any kind of walk, a hike up an
icy mountainside with sleet coming down and ice clumping up on the bottom
of my snowshoes. I'd walk through a muddy spring torrent with
rhododendron tearing at my pack, anything just to be able to put one foot
in front of the other for ten steps. What a pleasure this would be.
Whenever I return from the wilderness I find my breath taken away by the
simplest joys. Within a few days of skiing to the South Pole, I went back
to school. I stood in a room at the Harvard Divinity School opening and
closing a dresser drawer. I could think of nothing so truly divine as this
box made of wood. You don't think about drawers until you live out of
a backpack for a long time. It was beautifully constructed, made of cherry
with perfect dovetail joints and brass hardware. I opened it and all its
contents were revealed. I closed it and they went away. It was a fine
drawer indeed. Now, imagine my trying to explain my rapt attention to this
drawer to a classmate who came into the room to say "hello."
My nocturnal rowing did not go unrewarded. I saw a rainbow created by the
moon. I'd never seen one before. Over the last several days I've had
regular showers. No thunderstorms, just the passing clouds that bring with
them rain. Rainbows during the daytime have been abundant.
October 28
I babbled on so long about drawers (above) that I do not have much power
left to report the activities of this day. Well, I rowed. The day was
fairly dry. A long line of rain clouds runs parallel to my course but
remains a few miles to the South. I am beginning to see some fish around
the boat for the first time in the trip. I guess the growth on the bottom
of the hull is beginning to attract them.
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