I tried to run away from home once. Actually, that may be a bit of an exaggeration of the circumstances.
I’d befriended a neighbor’s wandering dog, and he and I decided to go hunting. I grabbed my genuine Winchester cowboy lever gun — the plastic variation that used a roll of caps — and headed for the woods behind our house.
I had no idea how excited my mother could be to find a professional hunter returning from safari. Apparently, it was a little unusual for a 4-year-old to go off on such an adventure by himself … even if it was only for a couple of hours.
That warm welcome somehow turned into a less-than-ideal situation for me. While I’m still fairly certain that most of the family was happy when I walked back into the yard, my explorations became closely supervised.
It didn’t matter. The die had been cast and my life was set. That foray, along with the hikes and fishing trips, common while growing up, had born in me a cosmopolitan view of nature in all its forms.
Books about the backwoods, exploring the arctic, fishing for swordfish, searching for quail in the deep south or the adventures of Crockett, Kenton and Boone each encouraged my imagination. If daydreaming were an art, I was quickly becoming Picasso.
Squirrel moment. Familiarity can breed contempt — or carelessness — just ask a carpenter. It’s true of any activity and wandering through nature is no different. I learned that lesson at about 20 while bowhunting deep inside southeastern Ohio’s large forests.
Most of us have seen a dog lose all awareness of the existing world when it spots a squirrel. I literally suffered such a “squirrel moment” when a big gray presented a broadside shot while crawling headfirst down a monstrous white oak. My arrow missed and sailed off into the woods.
A good arrow was expensive, and I wasn’t about to leave it. It was well into dusk when I finally found that feathered shaft and began my walk out. That ended up being a 5-hour trek because I’d gotten myself so turned around and the darkening woodlot had lost all its landmarks.
I ended up hitting a logging trail, followed it to a road and walked the road till I hit an intersection that had an actual road sign. I then turned around and eventually got back to my car. I signed up for a cross-country orienteering class the next day.
Modern aids. In these more “modern” times, we have GPS and cell phones to help keep us out of too much trouble, though trouble is still out there. Fortunately, I was young and healthy when I found myself lost in those big woods.
That could have changed dramatically with just a trip over a log. A broken leg could have ended the story differently or my own story permanently. Of course, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be out there, just to do so with caution. Give people an idea of your plans and your expected return.
With today’s technology, it’s a good idea to have your charged cell handy. Besides making calls, it offers GPS tracking, plenty of apps that can enhance your experience and a camera to capture moments and discoveries.
Write it down. Once you’ve returned from your coddiwomples, I’d like to strongly suggest that you write about it. Not so much about what you saw, caught or killed for the skillet, but more about the experience. Describe what it was like for you, how you felt, what made it memorable for you.
It should be a short story of your adventure, even if it’s just a paragraph. Then, keep it. It can be in a three-ring binder or a journal — that doesn’t matter. This might even be a great start on a New Year’s resolution.
I suggest it be created in actual print, too. Electronic versions often disappear into the ether. Handwriting, even with the scratch-outs and misspellings, is very personal and uniquely yours. Wouldn’t it be grand to sit down and read the thoughts and adventures of your great-grandmother’s first trip to the ocean or your great-grandfather’s pheasant hunting adventures from the 1930s?
Spice it up. So, if you decide to create that sporadic adventure journal, may I give you some pretty cool words that might season your writings?
For instance, I earlier mentioned “coddiwomple,” and I’m sure you were left guessing at a definition. It means, “to travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.” It is possibly a good characterization of my first hunting trip or possibly my entire life.
Here are a few words you might toss into your new journal. As you write your experiences down for re-reading in your later years or as stories for your ancestors yet to come, these may add a bit of panache to your descriptions, and who doesn’t like to sound a bit smarter than they actually are?
• Fernweh (German): A craving for travel. Being homesick for a place you’ve never been.
• Sojourn (Latin): A period of time when you stay in a place as a traveler or guest.
• Cosmopolitan (English): At home all over the world. As a noun, a citizen of the world.
• Wayfarer (English): Someone who travels, especially on foot.
• Dépaysement (French): The disorientation felt in a foreign country or culture. The feeling of being a fish out of water.
• Numinous (English): Describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted.
• Vagary (Latin): An unpredictable instance, a wandering journey; a whimsical, wild or unusual idea, desire or action.
• Wanderlust (German): A strong, innate, impulse or desire to travel the world.
• Dérive (Latin/French): A spontaneous journey where the traveler leaves their life behind for a time to let the spirit of the landscape and architecture attract and move them.
• Nemophilist (Greek): A haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude.
It’s good to remember that your adventures and experiences remain uniquely your own, and yet unknown — until you share them.
“And into the forest, I go to lose my mind and find my soul.”
— John Muir
