Ready For The Wild?

An apron of scree lay poised on the basalt face. Three quick steps across its upper neck…. Speed mattered; too much dwell, and that scree would give way. The precipice below would kick me into space.

But my step had slowed. Maybe too, I'd become careful since crossing five years earlier. I felt the apron shift, like a sheet of marbles. Twisting to clutch the mountain, I slammed into it with my chin. The rifle on my shoulder chattered on the rock as I hurtled downslope. The scree raced along underneath me, ball bearings on a playground slide. My canteen tore from my belt, bounced and flew over the precipice, suddenly very close. Just feet from the brink, two bloodied fingers caught a crack in the basalt. I pressed against the mountain, feeling gingerly with my toes for more purchase. They found none.

As most automobile mishaps occur close to home, where you don't expect one, so the hazards of wilderness come mostly as surprises. You're unlikely to be killed by a grizzly in the northern Rockies, or bitten by a mamba in the Congo or buried in an Alaskan blizzard. Falling can ruin your day, depending on how far you fall and what you hit.

Actually, you're unlikely to meet with any misfortune in wilderness. That's because you'll likely think about its hazards before you visit. Mostly, wilderness is a place of inconvenience.

"How can I get this horse to move?"

"We have to walk up that?"

"Any chance you have some real milk?"

Hunters visiting the wild with outfitters are commonly over-prepared for disasters but ill-prepared to endure discomforts. Or, at least, bear them with a smile. Homework for a hunt in wild country includes practice keeping your mouth shut and a twinkle in your eye. "Can I help?" is easy to say and guaranteed to enrich any hunt. Memorize while taking a cold shower under a full pack in shoes a size too small. Attitude is not all that matters, but it trumps everything else.

Preparing your body for wilderness is more useful than amassing gear. Losing weight from your middle makes more sense than skeletonizing your rifle's magazine box or buying a titanium flashlight. To become part of wilderness is to travel through it afoot without unnecessary encumbrance. Stripping down puts you closer to the country. Walking, you see more of it, and more game.

Last fall I walked with a pack-train on a well-traveled trail 22 miles into elk camp. The weather was fine; I carried only a light daypack. My companions on horseback thought me odd. But I enjoyed the exercise. It left me limber for the opening-day hunt. My seasons as a guide and a hunter have convinced me that people who like to walk get more shots. You don't have to run marathons to whip your legs into shape; just walk whenever you can. When I'm home, I walk to the post office and the hardware store, both a mile away. Long ago, when I had money to deposit, I walked to the bank. By the way, "walk" doesn't mean saunter. A four-mile-an-hour pace is baseline. Get your heart pumping. Bicycling works too--and snowshoeing and cross-country skiing. Cross-training keeps boredom at bay.