I am a dirtbag. When I think about it, I always have been a dirtbag, and always will be a dirtbag. My biggest regrets in life have to do with turning my back on the outdoors, eschewing the wilderness, and settling down into a conventional life. If I have failed in life and not fulfilled my ‘destiny’, that is where I went wrong, when I actually denied my inner dirtbaggedness.
I always felt like I belonged in the wilderness. I’ve never been happier or more exhilarated than when I am in the wilds. One of my plethora of past wives once said, “You really don’t know Michael until you’ve been in the woods camping with him,” a sentiment I heartily endorse.
Now, you may ask yourself what is a ‘dirtbag’? I wouldn’t have known the word either, until I read The Dirtbags Guide to Life: Eternal Truth for Hiker Trash, Ski Bums and Vagabonds. The book is a gem, if you haven’t read it you should, even if you have no intentions of ever being a dirtbag, it may help you understand the dirtbags in your life. At the very least, I understood myself better when I finished the book.
Strangely enough, my first lessons in the art of being a dirtbag came from friends. It’s not a natural role for me, I’m generally risk averse and I enjoy creature comforts when they are available. Who doesn’t? When giving counsel to others I always advise the careful route, I don’t take risks with other people’s lives or money, and I generally don’t take risks with my own. I think one overlooked aspect of being a dirtbag is managing risk.
My own personal standards are a little looser, risks are an unavoidable part of life, and sometimes you have to roll the dice. When I was younger I took risks indiscriminately, occasionally it landed my silly butt in the emergency room. The best example I can think of to illustrate that point was an emergency room visit for wrapping myself around a big Ponderosa Pine tree while sledding in the Kaibab National Forest near the Grand Canyon.
That one was scary, I lost my vision for a moment (as my body was going into shock I’m told) and laid motionless in the snow long enough to concern the co-workers I was sledding with. I’d call them friends instead of co-workers, but friends don’t stop back at your apartment to smoke your pot on the way to the emergency room. They hoped to get me stoned enough to take a pass on the emergency room and save them the bother of the wait. I knew what they were doing, so I told them not to bother waiting around for me, I could walk the 2.5 miles home from the clinic, thank you very much.
Backpacking was a different beast. I never once felt like I was out of control, or in immediate danger, on the trail. It’s just a different animal to me. I will take risks in the backcountry, but they are calculated risks, and the calculations err on the side of caution. Of course things as simple my gear choices, as well as how much water I carry, matter a lot in the backcountry. I like the fact that backpacking brings the little choices in life into razor focus, it honestly makes me feel alive.
A trail partner and I were charged by a moose once, I didn’t see her coming, but I dived off the trail at the last moment, no big whoop, it barely set my heart racing. Upon hearing wolves howl in the night for the first time, I was never afraid, I howled right back at them! As a lifelong backpacker and outdoor enthusiast, I’ve seen more of my share of potential emergencies, but rarely was I scared.
I remember hiking in northeast Colorado with a friend on the high plains when a nasty thunderstorm blew in. Being out on that semi-arid plain without cover none of our choices were great. If we stayed on the plain, we were the tallest objects (besides a couple of buttes a half mile away) on the plain. The exposure alone was enough to make my hair crawl, and just before we scuttled away from the area it had a little help from static electricity. I think that’s an eternal truth in life, if your skin begins to crawl and the the hair on your head starts to stand up – Get down and get the hell out of wherever you are…
It felt like we were sitting ducks there, but descending into steeply walled arroyos felt like a very poor choice too. If the rain’s intensity picked up, scampering around a wash was not a great idea either. I had to make a really quick decision, and getting it right seemed to be pretty important. Trying to thread the needle between the two most likely (but also most extreme) options, I found an area best described as a “blowout”.
There was just enough geographic relief for us to squat on the ground just under the dune’s full height. It felt really good to have dodged a real bullet with the storm. When I looked at Bobbi-Sue (one of the fine women I’ve shared my life with) I said rather sardonically, “At least it’s not hailing…”
My comedic timing couldn’t have been better, within moments, the sky opened up and we were pelted with rock salt sized hail. I don’t know if I just thought it to myself, or if I actually said it aloud, “Fuck!”. If I said it, I quite likely repeated myself five more times, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I exclaimed. I was young and cocky, ignoring the weather after the prior day’s experience, and now we found ourselves in potentially serious weather problems. We hunkered down the best we could to weather the storm and squatted, hoping for a safe conclusion to everything.
The Park Ranger was at fault I thought. Why did I trust some yokel with my plans for a hike?
The day before we had driven out to Pawnee Buttes for that same hike, but things had clouded up pretty heavily. With the appearance of severe weather threatening, we delayed our hike and drove back to our campsite. We met the Park Ranger for the second day in a row on our way into camp, so I enquired about the weather. “It looks kinda threatening,” I said, “Looks like some nasty thunderstorms coming on.”
As long as I shall live, I will never forget his reply: “The clouds are too high, it ain’t going to rain today. Ya know, we could use the rain, but those clouds are too damn high, no rain today.” You know what? He was 100% correct, I think we got one single drop of rain on the hood of my truck as the evidence of what appeared to be an impending thunderstorm. The clouds really were too high, our rain storm evaporated on the way down. Besides a few gusts of wind and a sudden chill to the air, we didn’t get any weather at all.
The next day, I paid for the hubris of mocking the ranger by saying – “Them clouds is too high – ain’t gonna rain.” I found myself squatting on the high plains of Colorado, hoping to God I wasn’t going to be the highest point and serve as a lightning rod.
Eventually, the storm abated, so we didn’t have to wait for too long, perhaps a half hour, or hour at the most. We were soaked and I was getting hungry. I decided to cut straight across the plain back to our vehicle, it cut the mileage in half, but we came across a couple more nasty gullies, and came out on a slope below our vehicle by a couple hundred feet in elevation.
We wandered across the high plains grassland to my truck, on the way we came across a few patches of grass, burnt and smoldering – there was clear evidence of lightning strikes less than a half-mile from where we squatted!
We dodged a heck of a bullet that day, getting our silly butts lit up by lightning could have proven to be a very serious situation, although we weren’t in wilderness, we were a long way from help. Ya, we dodged a bullet that day, for sure.
As we finished the last bit of ground to cover back to our vehicle, we came across a family sitting in their luxury car, decked out in their Sunday best, watching the storm with their windows rolled up, engine and air conditioning humming loudly against the backdrop of nature sounds.
As we walked past the car, a window rolled down, and a matronly woman poked her head out. “Boy was that some storm,” she said, “Did you guys see it all?”
“See it? We were out in it!” I replied. She shuddered at the thought, rolled her window up, and the car drove away, its dark smoke windows obscuring the occupants from any inquiry on our part. Thinking about it, what other response should I expect to give? It was matter of fact, to the point, and blunt – in other words perfectly in style for a young Monster.
When someone walks out of the desert, after weathering a severe storm, looking a bit sunburnt and very much like a drowned rat, he could likely be only a prophet or a madman. Which one he turns out to be, by the way, is likely a matter of perspective anyway.
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