We are suffering from high density population overload. My husband, my son and myself are wending our way by car south from our home in Montana. Our final destination will be my mother-in-law's house in El Paso. Our first exposure to high density traffic on this trip was Boulder. Boulder is lucky in that it is completely surrounded by a protected greenbelt. It is teeming with bike and hiking paths. Unfortunately, all of these 'escapes to nature' are as thickly populated by people as Boulder's streets are by cars. We are not used to our nature being peppered with people.
If you are not from an area with a relatively low population, I'm not sure you can properly appreciate what this means. To put it in perspective, Montana's population density is a little less than one person per square mile. Like any other state, our population is centered around a few densely populated cities. This means, that when you are out in the country, or in the mountains, the odds that you will run into more than a handful of people are very low. When I come back from a trip out-of-state, my brain and my soul perceive a measurable change in density as soon as we hit the state line. My soul, which becomes irritable and bitchy when rubbing virtual elbows with too many other people, unfurls its wings and breathes deeply.
About five years ago, we had a family reunion in Estes Park, Colorado. We drove into Rocky Mountain National Park on a weekday in August. We arrived in a line of cars. Where we ended up hiking was dictated by where we were able to find parking. We hiked up the mountain to a beautiful waterfall which hugged the rocks and boulders. It was magnificent. It was awful. The trail was as packed as the parking lot. Our pace was dictated by the clumps of people in front of and behind us. To get to the waterfall we had to hike to the steeper more difficult to access part of the waterfall. Finding space to back up and take pictures without including strangers was almost impossible. Our breathing was affected not only by the steep climb. I found myself struggling with people claustrophobia. I guess the only advantage to crowd hiking is at least you don't have to worry about bears. In Montana, I sing, talk loudly (especially around water) or click rocks together to warn bears that we are coming and to eliminate the element of surprise. In my time in Montana, we have come upon Black Bears on 3 different occasions. On every encounter, the bears spooked and either climbed a tree or ran off the trail. Fortunately, we have never encountered a Grizzly on the trail. Our closest sighting of a grizzly was from the safety of a car and several hundred feet away. I think I would rather have the risk of grizzlies than the smoking, chatting, trail hogging of masses of people enjoying the 'serenity' of nature.
How does one survive such people density? Where do you go to breathe, to reboot your soul? How does one expand one's consciousness when it is bumping constantly into other people? I think I can understand how people, trapped in cities, suddenly snap and start taking out their neighbors. I don't think we were made to breathe down each other's necks and share the same air day after day, year in, year out.
I know people who hate to hike and get 'back to nature'. I don't understand them. They much prefer the excitement and choices of the city. They live for the vital currents that are the hallmark of cities. They love the shopping, the restaurants, the night life. I enjoy all that. But I know that in order to survive and be the best me, I need space to breathe. I crave blue skies, majestic peaks, sparkling water and clean air. It is a necessity that my solitude must be solitary. I heard someone once say that if you do not know how to be alone you will always be lonely. I think we have lost touch with both nature and ourselves. If we cannot be content with our inner selves, we will never be able to competently navigate our outer worlds regardless of its garments, whether they be concrete, or trees and lichen-covered stone.
In Peace,
Kismet
June 2013
If you are not from an area with a relatively low population, I'm not sure you can properly appreciate what this means. To put it in perspective, Montana's population density is a little less than one person per square mile. Like any other state, our population is centered around a few densely populated cities. This means, that when you are out in the country, or in the mountains, the odds that you will run into more than a handful of people are very low. When I come back from a trip out-of-state, my brain and my soul perceive a measurable change in density as soon as we hit the state line. My soul, which becomes irritable and bitchy when rubbing virtual elbows with too many other people, unfurls its wings and breathes deeply.
About five years ago, we had a family reunion in Estes Park, Colorado. We drove into Rocky Mountain National Park on a weekday in August. We arrived in a line of cars. Where we ended up hiking was dictated by where we were able to find parking. We hiked up the mountain to a beautiful waterfall which hugged the rocks and boulders. It was magnificent. It was awful. The trail was as packed as the parking lot. Our pace was dictated by the clumps of people in front of and behind us. To get to the waterfall we had to hike to the steeper more difficult to access part of the waterfall. Finding space to back up and take pictures without including strangers was almost impossible. Our breathing was affected not only by the steep climb. I found myself struggling with people claustrophobia. I guess the only advantage to crowd hiking is at least you don't have to worry about bears. In Montana, I sing, talk loudly (especially around water) or click rocks together to warn bears that we are coming and to eliminate the element of surprise. In my time in Montana, we have come upon Black Bears on 3 different occasions. On every encounter, the bears spooked and either climbed a tree or ran off the trail. Fortunately, we have never encountered a Grizzly on the trail. Our closest sighting of a grizzly was from the safety of a car and several hundred feet away. I think I would rather have the risk of grizzlies than the smoking, chatting, trail hogging of masses of people enjoying the 'serenity' of nature.
How does one survive such people density? Where do you go to breathe, to reboot your soul? How does one expand one's consciousness when it is bumping constantly into other people? I think I can understand how people, trapped in cities, suddenly snap and start taking out their neighbors. I don't think we were made to breathe down each other's necks and share the same air day after day, year in, year out.
I know people who hate to hike and get 'back to nature'. I don't understand them. They much prefer the excitement and choices of the city. They live for the vital currents that are the hallmark of cities. They love the shopping, the restaurants, the night life. I enjoy all that. But I know that in order to survive and be the best me, I need space to breathe. I crave blue skies, majestic peaks, sparkling water and clean air. It is a necessity that my solitude must be solitary. I heard someone once say that if you do not know how to be alone you will always be lonely. I think we have lost touch with both nature and ourselves. If we cannot be content with our inner selves, we will never be able to competently navigate our outer worlds regardless of its garments, whether they be concrete, or trees and lichen-covered stone.
In Peace,
Kismet
June 2013
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