“Tristan, Arty is sick, would you like to come wilderness caneoing/camping with us this weekend?”
“umm, uh, ib… of course”
And what adventures followed. To stick to chronologistics – we rented a car, drove to the outfitters, rented canoes, piled our gear in the canoes, canoed to various camping spots, got lost in the woods, canoed to other camping spots, canoed home, drove home. And they wonder why Heidegger was so unsatisfied with time as chronology.
However, I have readings to do for classes tommorow, so most content will have to wait. Hopefully to come in forms of stories, or character analysis (my four comrades on this trip proved to be excellent trip-companions, and I hope will continue to become excellent friends). Quick descriptions of each would violate them in their complexity. What I will include is a blog entry I made on paper Saturday evening at camp 2. The entry smacks of the handwritten and the unedited, even though at some points I did change phrasing simply because I can’t stand to copy down very poor sentences. It is also overly long, and could be summerized as “I got lost in the woods and saw a bear and a moose by found my way back to camp safely and realized that being lost is a very anxious state which relates to being without the help of others”, but what would be the fun in that.
Live Journal Entry, Saturday October 1st
This is my first livejournal entry written by hand. There is a lot of I could write about writing by hand (as in, how impossible it seems when one is writing in a word-processor, when one can so easily re-write), but this is not my task here. Rather I write by hand because I am sitting at our camp in the north arm of Openongo lake, Algonquin Park, Ontario. It’s quarter to seven, and the sun (which is through dense forest to my back) is obviously getting low in the sky. It’s casting the most serene late evening rose on the opposite shore. (Picture to follow).
I’m writing bceause I just got back from one of my stupider adventures. Off to find a trail to a lake, no trail found I continued on an intuitive bearing towards where I thought the lake might be. As the sun got low in the sky I decided to take one last bearing and head north-est, backtowards the main lake. Now this is where things really got scary – travelling along a logging cut (they seem not to grow back, despite the only logging having been done some 130 years ago), I saw a Moose and a black bear (a large one at that). It was the second time I’ve seen a black bear in the wild, and the first time when I was nowhere neara marked trail [read – totally lost]. Also, the first time ever I saw a moose and I have heard that they will charge from time to time. At the time of this encounter I was singing Stan Rodgers “Northwest Passage” for the precise reason not to come across large game unannounced. To startled to even take a photograph (I even had my camera out at the time), I changed my course to due east, and scampered down through dense brush to a piece of the main lake. Based on some recollected knowledge from spending time staring at the map (I didn’t have the map at this point because one of my comrades – Tina, had wanted to hike on her own and I insisted she take the map), and some memory of the relative location of islands and our camp I determined that camp was to the west along the shore. A mere 45 minutes of fighting an entirely non-trail, I found myself back at camp. “Bushwacking” hardly begins to describe it.
Up to the point when I realized I had actually found the camp, I kept thinking that viewed with any amount of objectivity, my choices had been incredibly poor. To set out, without a map or proper compass (just figuring with my watch and the location of the sun), into an area devoid of trails and accessible only by canoe, at a time when bears are foredging for winter food, is simply not something anyone should do. That acknoledged, it has been too long since I was totally cut off from other human beings. It made it apparent that being-in witohut being-with is not only an unnatural state, but also a deeply anxious one. However, you may point out that the way I have defined “being-alone” as without any useful help of others, whether in the form of maps or GPS or cell phone, or technically even the knowledge aquired by oneself at an earlier point in time, is logically (and thus tautologically) the definition of being lost.
It is getting quite dark, so I’ll end this entry. There will be photos eventually on my photo.net page, and at that point I will post the link again here.