Hope lies in the wilderness

     Hope lies in the wilderness.  Life comes from nature.  

     The large chunk of limestone, which most likely fell from the escarpment next to me many ages ago, made the perfect resting place.  I sat on the boulder as the brook next to me gurgled over and around the rocky debris of ages past on its way to the Russell Fork River over seven-hundred feet below.  It is rather mind boggling that these gentle flowing waters can carve the magnificent towering escarpments and natural arches that I see around me.  I removed my backpack and took off my lightweight Mexican cowboy hat that I bought for living in the desert, dipped a handkerchief into the cool water and wiped my face and head.  It was in the eighties but worse than the heat of July in eastern Kentucky is the humidity.  While the escarpment and lofty forest canopy afford me some shelter from the summer sun, nothing protected me from the humidity.  As long as I sat still, I was fine.  As soon as I would move I began perspiring profusely, constantly having to wipe the sweat from my eyes.  

     As I sat and admired the scene around me, I couldn't help but think of John Muir's famous trek from Indianapolis, Indiana to Florida in 1867.  His awe of the beauty of Kentucky as he crossed the Ohio River was soon replaced by the desire to be just about anywhere else on earth. The heat and humidity of the south just about finished John Muir before he could become the Father of American Conservation.  

     I grew up in these eastern mountains, although much farther north, where I learned to love the wilderness and nature. I have spent the last several years in the Rocky Mountains and claim Montana as home.  The Appalachian Mountains are not as spectacular and showy as the Rocky Mountains.  The highest point east of the Mississippi is Mount Mitchel at 6,684 feet. Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park, northwestern Montana, is the lowest point in the Rocky Mountains at 3,120 feet. The glacial moraine along the lake' s east side are still, at 6,600 feet, called hills.  Nevertheless, there is the majestic beauty of old age in the eastern mountains.  There are no "tree-lines" unless some nasty coal company has cut the top off a mountain.  Unless there is more uplift, this is what the Rocky Mountains will one day look like.  

     Growing old with grace and dignity, the Appalachian Mountains present as a carpet of green that almost invites one standing on a high overlook to jump into its lush foliage.  The upper story of the canopy is dominated by several varieties of Oaks.  A good ten-percent of the trees in this part of the Appalachians are Oak.  The beautiful Tulip Poplar is the Kentucky state tree.  I am also surrounded by Maples, Hickory, Sycamore and Ash trees.  The under story around me is predominantly Rhododendron and fills the hollows and ravines.  

     We were camped on the edge of one such Rhododendron filled ravine. Studying my topographic map I noticed that the ravine beside us led down to a road that I could follow for a short distance to a trail. I'm very accustomed to going cross country in the wilderness, so this wouldn't be any big deal. As long as I headed downstream there was no hopes of getting lost. As I made my way the few hundred yards from our camp to the road I had a difficult time maneuvering through the dense Rhododendron. In the area of the Allegheny Mountains where I grew up the Rhododendron would bloom in late May but here there were still plenty of flower in early July.  

     One of the trails I followed made its way up to almost 1,800 feet to an overlook that looked out over the gorge, called the Grand Canyon of the East.  It was breathtakingly beautiful but I must admit to having as much reverence and admiration for a place called the Notches.  That's where I stopped to rest. It was more of a ravine than a hollow, with very steep sides and of great outcroppings of limestone like the escarpment next to which I rested. Often there were recesses in these walls with the allure of a cave holding ancient secrets. Of course I had to make my way through the thick Rhododendron to check them out. I could only imagine how often their deep, dark, cool recesses might have been shelter for animals, including the indigenous homo sapiens. There have been reports of Black Bears in the area.  I'll admit to approaching the caves cautiously.  If I were a Black Bear on a day like today, I would be escaping the heat either in such a recess or lying in one of the creeks. 

     I covered a lot of ground in Breaks Interstate Park - a park shared by Kentucky and Virginia.  It was all beautiful but my favorite spot is the Notches.  

     I strongly believe that hope lies in the wilderness.  Peace and renewal is our mantra.  It took me most of a lifetime, but I now know that this is where I belong.  It is where I feel free and experience true inner peace.  I return home; return to the wilderness; to recover from the stress and anguish caused by what we call civilization.  In the wilderness I am safe.  Kiaayo (the bear) will not kill me for fun or attack me because of the color of my skin or what I believe. 

     Most modern people have neither the desire nor the skills to avail themselves of the life-saving gift of nature.  We have been, and continue to be, worse than cruel to nature, yet nature, without revenge or retaliation, continues to provide us with those things essential to life: air, water, food, medicine and shelter.  In fact, nature is the only source for these things.  

     Hope lies in the wilderness.  Life comes from nature.