Rich Bard is a wildlife biologist who began his career as a zookeeper. Having spent most of his adult life moving around the country working with various wild animals, he settled near the coast of Maine in 2004. Amid the striking beauty of this remote region, he passes the time with his family, hiking, snowshoeing, gardening and watching the tide ebb and flow.
| The Journey Is the Destination |
| Saturday, 01 May 2010 | Rich Bard | Blog Entry |
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My wife teases me because of the heavy daypack that I lug everywhere I go. It's filled with pretty much everything I need for a spontaneous hike at any time. I'm so used to carrying it that I don't even notice the extra 18 pounds. It's just the bare necessities: binoculars, GPS, camera, first-aid kit, water bottle, snacks, compass, spare compass, headlamp, multi-tool, extra batteries, waterproof notebook, pencils, glasses, sunglasses, field guide to birds, field guide to animal tracks, duct tape, lighter, zip-lock bags for anything yucky I might want to take home, tape measure and, in the winter, a scarf, extra sweater and socks. I'm sure I'm forgetting something deep down in the bowels of the pack. Doesn't everyone need that stuff when they leave the house? OK, so as a biologist, these are the tools of my trade, but more than that, I love the feeling of being ready to head into the woods on a moment's notice. I take a few minutes to study the maps and aerial photography of an area, picking out the obvious boundaries of the patch of woods I'm going to explore. Maybe a road on a couple of sides, a stream on another and a field to mark the fourth side. Now I know that within those boundaries, I can wander to my heart's content heedless of exactly where I am. Today, deep in the woods, I was musing about how meditative it is to wander aimlessly – a truly Zen pursuit. A set of animal tracks next to a hole in the ice distracted me. I lost my footing and started to slide down the slope toward the stream below. It took a second to dig in the ice grippers on the bottom of my snowshoes. As they engaged, my feet stopped short, pitching me down the slope head first. As I picked myself up near the bottom, I imagined the Zen master laughing at his student, who was distracted from the present moment by thoughts of how meditative it was to wander the woods. I resumed my trek, humbled and with renewed awareness. I have nothing against hiking trails, and use them often. There are places where it just isn't appropriate, or permitted, to go off-trail. But it's a different mindset, hiking along on a trail free of branches and fallen trees. It's easy to stare at your boots and make good time, something I usually try to avoid. When you are exploring cross-country, the journey truly is the destination. I go from following a set of deer tracks, to a set of coyote tracks, to wandering along the course of a stream or ridge line, skirting around a dense fir thicket—or maybe plunging right through the saplings, so dense that I can't see my feet and my face is lashed by branches. I may never be a painter or musician, but an aimless jaunt through the woods has always connected me with my own creativity. Online resources: Updated 5/1/10; originally posted 3/23/09.
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Hiking off the trail is the physical equivalent of free association. Think jazz with your daypack on. Jackson Pollack in hiking boots. With each step, you have 360 degrees to choose from. You have no agenda, no destination, no appointments to keep. You're out for a hike (or snowshoe in the winter), open to seeing what you see, making it up as you go. Now that's my kind of hiking. In fact, it's such an integral part of my life that I named my blog after it. 
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