We have finished the first third of our journey: Miles 1-118. After spending the first ten miles backpacking with students from East High in the San Rafael Swell, we began the journey in earnest--100 miles through Desolation and Grays Canyons.
To get to the back country, we enlisted the help of friends--new and old. We drove our car to Green River, Utah and hitchiked back to Price. Our new friend Billy, on his way to a funeral in Washington, gave us a ride to Price. From there, our old friends, Kevin and Claire Uno drove us into the backcountry and walked with us for eight miles. We waved goodbye to them under a gray sky heavy with clouds and began walking down the canyon.
When we began this journey, I planned on covering ten miles a day because it was easier to do the math than any other number of miles. Six miles into our first day, when our last road for the next eighty miles disappeared, I realized my mistake.
We covered only eight miles that day, and for the next several days. The picture that we took at the end of every mile felt like a triumph. We pushed through thick stands of tamarisk, followed game trails through greasewood and sage, balanced on boulders, trusted the strength of sand as we traversed rock slides, and swam around cliffs.
The geography of the canyon demanded perspective. I spent my days repeating, "one step at a time." In her book, Wanderlust: A History of Walking, Rebecca Solnit describes a pilgrimage as a physical manifestation of the soul's desire. "Pilgrimage unites belief with action, thinking with doing . . . . Pilgrimages make it possible to move physically, through the exertions of one's body, step by step, toward those intangible spiritual goals that are otherwise so hard to grasp." She continues that, while we do not always know how to achieve spiritual goals, like forgiveness or redemption, we do know how to put one foot in front of the other "however arduous the task."
Reading these words before we set out on our journey, I began calling our walk a "pilgrimage for hope." In the face of bleak headlines about climate change, I found hope difficult to grasp, and I thought that this journey might lead me to a wellspring of it. A third of the way through the journey, I still do not know if I will find hope. But its absence is less painful. Now, different words in Solnit's description catch my eye. To "unite belief with action, thinking with doing." Perhaps pilgrimages are merely training grounds. The real journey begins when we return home primed to act rather than wring our hands. Too, pilgrimages offer perspective on the meaning of "action." Every step, no matter how small (and I took some very small steps during the past 118 miles) is an action.
Every journey begins with a step. Steps strung together become a walk. Walkers together become a march. Marches can make a difference.
Here is a video with the "postcards" (pictures taken at the end of every mile) of miles 0-118 and the friends that we met along the way.
To get to the back country, we enlisted the help of friends--new and old. We drove our car to Green River, Utah and hitchiked back to Price. Our new friend Billy, on his way to a funeral in Washington, gave us a ride to Price. From there, our old friends, Kevin and Claire Uno drove us into the backcountry and walked with us for eight miles. We waved goodbye to them under a gray sky heavy with clouds and began walking down the canyon.
When we began this journey, I planned on covering ten miles a day because it was easier to do the math than any other number of miles. Six miles into our first day, when our last road for the next eighty miles disappeared, I realized my mistake.
We covered only eight miles that day, and for the next several days. The picture that we took at the end of every mile felt like a triumph. We pushed through thick stands of tamarisk, followed game trails through greasewood and sage, balanced on boulders, trusted the strength of sand as we traversed rock slides, and swam around cliffs.
The geography of the canyon demanded perspective. I spent my days repeating, "one step at a time." In her book, Wanderlust: A History of Walking, Rebecca Solnit describes a pilgrimage as a physical manifestation of the soul's desire. "Pilgrimage unites belief with action, thinking with doing . . . . Pilgrimages make it possible to move physically, through the exertions of one's body, step by step, toward those intangible spiritual goals that are otherwise so hard to grasp." She continues that, while we do not always know how to achieve spiritual goals, like forgiveness or redemption, we do know how to put one foot in front of the other "however arduous the task."
Reading these words before we set out on our journey, I began calling our walk a "pilgrimage for hope." In the face of bleak headlines about climate change, I found hope difficult to grasp, and I thought that this journey might lead me to a wellspring of it. A third of the way through the journey, I still do not know if I will find hope. But its absence is less painful. Now, different words in Solnit's description catch my eye. To "unite belief with action, thinking with doing." Perhaps pilgrimages are merely training grounds. The real journey begins when we return home primed to act rather than wring our hands. Too, pilgrimages offer perspective on the meaning of "action." Every step, no matter how small (and I took some very small steps during the past 118 miles) is an action.
Every journey begins with a step. Steps strung together become a walk. Walkers together become a march. Marches can make a difference.
Here is a video with the "postcards" (pictures taken at the end of every mile) of miles 0-118 and the friends that we met along the way.
RSS Feed