Expanding Violets

 

In my happy place last week, using my camera's remote control

 This one has been perking around in my head for a while now, and got catalyzed by a Facebook conversation around an interesting, encouraging article by Cheryl Hamer. I was honored to be used as an example in the discussion of a (ahem) mature woman who has outdoor adventures alone.  We called ourselves “unconventional.” Fair enough.  Judging from the reaction I get from most of my female friends, my idea of a good time is unconventional indeed.

To each her own, of course, but if a certain aversion to solo wilderness travel could justify the label Shrinking Violet, perhaps the rest of us are “Expanding Violets.”

I’ll add the disclaimer, before I go too far, that my comments apply regardless of gender, really.  I’m hesitant to ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­make sweeping, potentially sexist generalizations.  In our culture, though, women are not often encouraged to expand.

I’ve blogged about traveling alone before, especially its creative potential, but I guess I wasn’t done.  

Portrait of Lurch, inverted, in the Kofa Mountains this spring

In my case, solo travel is mostly in my camper, with the occasional backpack.  In pretty much all cases, it’s a means to an end.  I want to get out and photograph these places, so I’m willing to work a bit to get there.  Though I admit to liking my own company, I have to say that the main reason I travel primarily alone is that I have a strong need to get out there, and if I waited until I could coordinate with another person, I’d hardly get out at all.

A number of friends have asked me about safety.  I’ve thought a lot about mitigating risk. I have a satellite communication device in case I’m stranded and always let someone know my plan including where I’m going and when I should be out.  I have several days (in the camper, about a week’s worth) more food and water then I need.  I have lots of recovery gear and tools, as well as medical equipment I hope I never need to use and WFR training.  No, I am not particularly fearful of wild animals.

Other humans do pose a potential risk, though.  I take small precautions to avoid advertising that I’m alone, like putting out two chairs or a pair of very big boots given to me by a former patient. Only once did I have a conversation with a couple of guys in a pickup which perked up my Spidey sense.  I decided to pull up stakes and camp elsewhere that night.

The question of weapons is one for a future post.

Lurch, on the slopes of Death Valley

All that being said, I understand that there are risks involved with what I do.  I’m inherently a cautious person.  I wrote about this in another post, and loved Hamer’s admission that, when nervous, she needs to “give herself a stiff talking to.” I get it.  I often find myself moving more cautiously when I’m alone, perhaps declining to climb something, or turning back earlier on a hike on a very hot day. We all find our own balance, and there are plenty of women willing to take wilder trips than I. However, to shrink away entirely from this thing that I adore because of the small risks involved would be misplaced caution.  It’s a trade-off.

Alone, indeed

I’ve had a few conversations with my friend and mentor Jerry Dodrill around these topics, both because he’s rather bold himself and because of the tragic death of his friend who fell while adventuring solo in the Sierra.  This is a delicate issue of balance, especially when we think of the effect of our decisions on our loved ones.  The knowledge that he died doing what he loved only goes so far.

This sort of travel is not for everyone (hence, unconventional), but metaphorically or literally, we all need to step out of our comfort zone, at least a bit, to grow (expand).  I’ll choose this over karaoke without hesitation.