Notes from the Edge

“A man packs his own bag and carries it with him”

My father’s words come back to me in gray tones, a smirking epitaph that hung over my bed. I was startled awake in a cold sweat and had been tossing and turning for weeks.

The dream was always the same. I was running through the forest, twisting around corners, cutting my ankles on the underbrush and my face on stray branches. I never looked back, but could clearly hear...something...pursuing me, the vegetation giving way to it without reproach. It’s labored breathing was always an arm's length behind me. The situation was utterly hopeless, the forest grew denser and the leaves thicker, blotting out the night stars. I was terrified until suddenly, a clearing! I broke the treeline and there it was, every time: El Capitan, its sheer rock face of coarse granite shimmering in the pale moonlight. Yosemite Valley would shudder and its trees swayed as a thick breeze meandered through. Just as I caught my breath, an old and feeble hand grabbed my shoulder and I woke up afraid.  

I walked to the window and stared out at the harbor lights gliding on the surface of the water, bright and intermingled ribbons of red, yellow, and orange. I wondered if anyone was doing the same on the other side of the bay. I wondered if they were scared too. The nightmares were not getting better. I knew it, and now my Dad was whispering to me in my sleep. My course was set, the path undeniable. I must go to Yosemite, it was waiting for me there and so was a promise I had made to my father.

I packed a bag in the morning and loaded up the truck with the essentials of isolation. A simple wool blanket, cotton-feathered pillow, standard-issue hunting knife, a week’s worth of food that I could scrounge from home, a box of matches, and a one-person tent. I elected not to bring any entertainment on this trip for a deliberate purpose. I was to be a man on the margin of society looking in, a beast of nature hunting under a canopy of trees. I wanted the sensation of a native who looked at a mound of dirt and saw Tenochitlan rising above the surface of the ocean. I was going on this trip for enlightenment and in that endeavor, distraction serves no purpose. For the wild to accept me in this manner, I needed to forsake all artifacts from home, painful reminders of myself, and become its disciple.

The truck started rolling on and the house shrunk to the size of a pinprick in the rearview mirror. But, the horizon before me grew larger and deeper, containing all the possibilities of my journey’s end. My old pickup buckled and the bed shook as the open road extended and vanished into the sunset. There was a tingling sensation at the back of my throat and a hollow pit in my stomach that echoed all my fears and trepidations with each new breath. I believe it is the feeling one must have when emerging from the safety of warm bed covers and stepping out the door into an indifferent world. A world that could swallow you whole if you aren’t careful. I was driving headlong into a maelstrom with just a wool blanket and the memory of a promise.

I pitched camp at dusk. The sun over Yellowstone Valley rested low over a pastoral landscape of jagged rocks, auburn lakes that kissed the sky, and an sea of conifers whose roots pulsated under my feet. Nocturnal creatures were just beginning to stir as I made preparations for a fire. The wood started to catch just as the light receded into darkness. A full moon came over the ridge and plunged the world into night. My father used to say that the moon illuminated a beauty the sun couldn’t possibly touch, that twilight was a portal to a different world.

He adored this place and would insist on a trip every spring. On nights like this, as the fire crackled and the cool air whipped and howled, he liked to sit back and reflect. His words echoed through this canyon still, as if they’d never left, a paternal ghost that haunted wayward travelers like me: 

“You know the best part about this place, David? It’s not the silence that stretches for miles, the stars at night, or the warmth in the morning.”

He shook his head solemnly.

“This place… this place has no eyes. Back home, you can feel like you’re choking under the smog, the noise, and the hundreds of eyes peeking out of every alleyway. Those people try to wake up early to get to work on time to do a job to make enough money to finally be happy. They chase after life without realizing it’s slipping through their fingers. But here, you can relax, take a deep breath of the crisp, clean air, and feel completely alone. Alone enough to be free. You are a master of your own destiny here, like you’ve wrangled the winds of change themselves.”

He turned to me, the fire dancing in his brown turtle shell glasses.

“Someday, David, you will come to a point where you realize you’ve given up this freedom, lost it somewhere far back in your memory. Happened to me long ago and that’s when I discovered this place. It became my escape and I haven’t regretted a single day since. Promise me, David, that when the light is fading and the doors are closing, you’ll come back to this place and try to understand what I feel. It may just save your life as it has mine. Promise me, son, you’ll try to understand.”

Back then, I had listened quietly as the fire died away. On that youthful summer night, I didn’t quite understand what my father was saying because I couldn’t. Life was still a vivid and ever-changing kaleidoscope through rose-colored glasses. I had a good deal of things I wanted to ask him then but alas, my words failed me and the moment sailed off into the trees.

When I was younger, people talked about reality in hushed voices and behind closed doors. It was a boogeyman that no one dared say the name of, lest it take them too. To me, a boy with the stars in his eyes, reality was an endless wheat field for one to run and play and never grow tired. Yet here I was again, in the same spot as that fateful night, old and tired, listening quietly for answers in my father's words. 

An owl howled in the distance and a thousand embers leaped off the fire. They drifted off into the wind and caught the north face of El Capitan, black and monolithic over the campsite. The kaleidoscope of my youth had gone, its colors dull and faded, but the questions still remained.

The next morning, I arose as the first rays of light were hitting the hills. Wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I tied on my boots and rested my bag on my shoulders. I was heading for the mountain. My head was still ringing while last night sat in a heap of ashes and cinder. The smell of the campfire dissipated as I entered the forest and I was suddenly enveloped by nature in the most profound sense. As I walked, the foliage crunched under me, the cicadas filled the silence with love songs, and I was assaulted by an aromatic palette of pine, wetland sulfur, and recent spring showers. A golden eagle flew by overhead, its brown feathers glimmering against the blue sky. American Buffalo roamed sprawling green pastures, grazing freely under the morning sun. 

After about an hour, I passed a familiar grove of giant sequoia trees. As I laid my hand on its massive trunk, I still marveled at their divine craftsmanship. My fingers ran gently across its wrinkled chestnut bark and my eyes just barely caught the top of it. The very size of it reminded you of the power of the Earth, its mighty hand stretching out into the cosmos. I bet if you tried to climb it you would get a great view of all of creation, maybe even shake hands with God himself. People made small talk in the city while this was standing here!

My father had stopped us here on one of our trips and we had lunch under its shadow. We sipped coffee and stretched our legs on the grass. 

“This tree is interesting.” 

A smile touched his lips. 

“This tree was planted a thousand years before I was born and will still be here for a thousand more after we’ve picked up our picnic and laid down to die. My life has been no more than an infinitesimal speck on this tree’s space in time, a blemish on its gorgeous bark. Some would say that should fill me with regret, a sense of all the days I’ll never see. But it simply doesn't.” 

He sipped his coffee and the sun caught the side of his wrinkled cheek. 

“I look at this magnificent tree and in all its splendor I feel deeply grateful. Out of all the billions of possible people in this world, I was chosen for life and lucky to have my path lead here. In this spot, I see my whole life laid out before me in the light of this tree and that alone is profoundly humbling. That this tree, this moment in time, could find me out of the huddled masses, I should count myself so blessed. It’s taken me all my life to learn it but the facts were simple.”

His smile fell and his face grew serious and he said his next words slowly:

“Always appreciate and remember the sun on your back, the people you meet, what you are given, and what you want. Never wait for life to happen and especially don’t kick the dirt and curse at the wind because it hasn’t arrived yet. Even this tree manages to stand tall while hoping for rain.”

He downed the rest of his coffee and we sat listening to the leaves rustling in the idle breeze.

I smiled and sighed, it was a memory I was particularly fond of. But something was still nagging at the nape of my neck. My father spoke as a changed man and here I stood in his footsteps chasing after his coattails. The picture was incomplete, the window half open. I needed more perspective, to see what my father saw in this place all those years ago. My head started to ring once more with persistent questions. What was I missing? Here was a piece of Yellowstone, a glimpse of its majesty and hospitality, and I still felt ordinary. Did I need to get older before the answer revealed itself? 

It is in moments like this where you yearn for the eyes of another, for you must be able to see the solution that is right under your nose. My continued sanity depended on it. 

I turned my gaze to the looming cliff in the distance. It watched as I struggled. Perhaps the peak would hold the answer, give me a better view of the problem. My feet were already moving.

My legs were determined and my mind was set on reaching that crest. When I think about it, it was almost a way of reviving my father, trying to understand the memories that were all that was left of him. The promise had been reignited and a fire raged behind my eyes. I was a pilgrim again down memory lane as I passed places my father and I had touched in the past. As I trudged along, nature continued to peel itself back for me, layer by layer. Proud bucks with grand antlers stared from across clearings, foxes hunted with the gentle touch of thieves, California poppies all bent towards the sun on the side of hills. Dad had envisioned that I should feel akin to Adam waking up in Eden and I was intent on claiming my birthright. I was tired of wandering through my life and not recognizing the corners of my mind anymore.

More time had passed. A purple and gold twilight was approaching over the clouds as I reached the foot of the mountain. My ankles burned and my heart was beating out of my chest, but these physical limitations are meaningless when the end is in sight. As the incline grew steeper, and my muscles burned with exhaustion, a terrible northern wind began to blow. Torrential rain rolled in from the east. 

As the climb became more difficult, the memories of my father grew louder. His voice was chasing me up this rock and right to the very edge of the cliff. It is at times like this, with the wind running through your hair, the rain beating down on you like a dog, and a thick coating of sweat on your brow, that one realizes the balance of life is in hardships. I had the choice this morning between an empty house and this. But I was willing to sacrifice my comfortable position in pursuit of a spiritual reward. A reward that wasn’t promised to me. Something I was told was out there if I could find it. I could only hope it was ahead of me. 

My father’s vision was starting to take shape as I reached the top, and his voice grew to a deafening roar. It filled the space with his thoughts and laid out his life on the valley floor below. It pierced right through my solitude and then... absolute silence. The granite beneath me had suddenly disappeared and there was the world stretched out in all its glory. I was firmly planted on the peak at last.

The horizon consumed the sun and just for a moment time stood still, basking in its hazel glow. I watched the forest, teeming with life: diverse organisms both beautiful and vile. I imagined all of this wildlife laying down to sleep and wondered what hardships they faced today. What, if anything, they had learned today and what did they hope to face tomorrow? As the night creeped over the day’s terminus, washing clean all of what I had done and seen, I finally understood what my father was trying to convey. The facts of life were simple. It struck me that every living thing is working incredibly hard to find its own place in the sun. It was not a good idea to feel alone in my struggle and that life’s burdens only rested on my shoulders. Life was beautiful and more especially worth living once you appreciated that every other person has had a day filled with trouble, crushing defeat, and soaring triumph. We are all hurtling at indeterminate speed towards the grave, so why not take solace in the fact that our fates are shared?

This place was a reminder of that, that the rewards in life are not given, but earned. You could see the design of life from this vantage point. 

At that moment, the rain began to drizzle, and beams of moonlight poked through the storm. The heavens opened and a new path had been set. I cast my doubts and regrets over the cliff and looked eagerly towards the future which was shrouded in mystery. I smelled the petrichor air and the weight of the past melted away. I smiled and started to make my descent, turning my back on Yellowstone Valley. 

Until next time, old friend, for today my questions are answered, but tomorrow I will have more.

Somewhere far behind me, there was a giant sequoia tree glistening with dew, content under the stars.