Below are pictures I took of my TV while warching the movie "Wild"
I just watched a movie called WILD with Reese Witherspoon, a 2014 adventure biography. It's about woman who undertakes a solo hike of more than 1000 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail.
This is the kind of hiking I longed to do back in my youth. In 1986 I did do some hiking along the Pacific coastline, but not the same trail that she trekked.
I only hiked a few miles through Point Reyes National Seashore Park, from the headquarters to the shore and back. I camped one or two nights. My memory gets fogged; its been 30 years. Some things are perfectly clear; other things bleed into each other.
This movie brought the memories poring in. These few images were so like me struggling with my backpack at the beginning. I left little gifts, from my oversized pack, along the way in nicely laid out piles for other hikers to find.
I could hardly walk up the steep trails. I would take a few steps and then sit, look for the next rock the right height for sitting, and then pull myself up with my walking stick and head for that next resting spot. I had a lot to learn about backcountry packing.
I greatly admire the author of the book which this movie was made from-- Cheryl Strayed.
I'm sure I looked almost identical to these images when I started out, maybe not so thin, but still overpowered by what I thought I had to have.
I won't say much about this little adventure amid a larger one (Sitting on Top of the World) except the first night I camped I heard he screeching cry of a wildcat during the night, quite near. If I camped another night it was uneventful. And the highlight was once I reached the beach-- there was a waterfall that fell to the sand and joined the ocean. It was a rare beauty. I was in awe.
I took lots of photos which was my habit, but none of my photos of that whole summer turned out. The film got over heated in the sun-scalded bag over the two months of my 'Top of the World' trip.
If I don't get all this typed out soon I will forget. Many of the details are already gone, but things like this movie jog these misty memory banks. Even so, now, I have to look up the name of the falls-- Alamere. Maybe just some skeleton sketches like this one will help me when I finally get started putting it to print again.
I want to leave memoirs for my grandchildren. My son, Steven, is probably tired of the stories or might still be pissed off that he was never included. In truth many of the adventures I had were too dangerous for a child-- hitch-hiking and other risky behavior. I was unwilling to separate from him permanently, as some people felt I should for the good of the child, but I was also unwilling, or unable, to give up my adventurous spirit. It does seem that many times, it was me and him against the world.
Although Steven spent many summers with grandparents, he did hitch with me once from Austin to Houston. I was in my early 20's he was 3 or 4. I caught hell from grandparents on both sides for that, and rightly so. I missed my sisters wedding anyway (or was it her graduation). Schedules are hard to keep when your riding on your thumb.
Alamere Tidefall
Trail in Point Reyes National Park
(The above images were borrowed from a website about this national seashore. As I said none of my pictures turned out.)
