The Real Work: Gary Snyder and Inheriting Experience

Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's all-time home run record on my birthday. April 8, 1974. I was two years old, possibly smashing cake all over my face. That is one of those singular moments in sports that will be remembered forever by all who were alive and following baseball, or American sports at all. Culturally memorable.

Go back about 20 years before that, to April 8, 1956. Much less culturally relevant to most, and with no fanfare, Beat Generation pioneer, future Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Gary Snyder began a book that would take him 40 years to finish. The book is only 152 pages long. It's not like he was going "War and Peace" on us. But that's how long it took "Mountains and Rivers Without End," as the back cover describes it, "an epic (poem) of geology, prehistory, and mythology."

Snyder is a big deal to me. So much so that the idea for my next tattoo, a sleeve on my left arm, began with the cover art for his book "Turtle Island." He is a game changer, both as a writer, for what he has written, but also as a human, for how he has lived his life. Let's see if I can explain.

If you live a life interesting enough that Jack Kerouac bases one of the characters in his novel "Dharma Bums" after you, chances are you're living a pretty fu**ing cool life. Snyder is one of those writers that has not lived his life behind a desk dreaming things up. He has experienced life. He has lived it. And that's what he writes from: experience, of the world, of the soul, of the planet, of the cosmos, of the human condition.

You can get at what I mean just by looking at a list of the jobs Snyder has held: logger, fire lookout on Desolation Peak, steam freighter crew, translator, carpenter, poet. He has degrees in literature and anthropology and has studied linguistics and Asian languages. When he wanted to dig into Zen Buddhism, he moved to Japan and spent 12 years in intense study. His experience is not limited to books, nor does it shun them. He wrote the first poems that he would published while working as a trail crew laborer for the U.S. Park Service. He was also studying classical Chinese at the time. Of course he was.

The first time I remember really thinking I would like to write for a living, I was 14. I loved and lived skateboarding, body, mind, and soul. It was something I wanted to always be a part of (14 year old me would like to know that 42 year old me still digs skating, I reckon), but I knew I wasn't good enough to be the next Tony Hawk or even a pro skater. So I thought, I'd like to write for "Thrasher" Magazine. Tell skating stories, dig into the culture and become a voice of skating.

For all the various times I've pictured myself as some sort of writer, and for all the words I've written, I've never wanted to live life at a desk. Writing is the outlet, not life itself. It is how I make sense of my life and the world around me. It is how I try to relate to things. But it is not living. I want to experience, to live an interesting life, to imbibe perspective, and then write. If you read Snyder, he gets that.

I have a friend working on a book right now. She's researching, interviewing, transcribing, compiling, writing. Of all of it, she says the writing is the hardest part. What she looks forward to the least. It is draining. It saps her, and then she needs to go recharge, by doing anything but writing. Running, photography, traveling with her husband, playing with dogs.

I function largely the same way, and I think a lot of writers would say the same. Writing is a release, it is a pouring out. It empties you. And then it is your job to go refill your soul. If you don't, what will you have to write about?

In his book, "The Real Work," Snyder posits that he:

...hold(s) the most archaic values on earth... the fertility of the soil, the magic of animals, the power-vision in solitude, the terrifying initiation and rebirth, the love and ecstasy of the dance, the common work of the tribe.

I need to post that on the refrigerator with artwork and photos of our daughters, so that they can read it every day as well. In Mountains and Rivers, the book started on my birthday 20-ish years before I was born, Snyder scrolls:

'The Fashioner of Things
         has no original intentions
Mountains and rivers
         are spirit, condensed.'

The work Snyder is doing, "the real work," that is the inheritance I want to earn.

A Personal "Epic"

The little-known Mason-Dixon Trail is fertile ground for an epic adventure and an upcoming article...(map from the Mason-Dixon Trail website).

Last fall, the question of the season was whether I/we could run 50 miles. The JFK 50-Miler was on the docket for Mike Keene, Stephen Bardsley, and I--the first 50-mile run for either of us, and we had something to prove, to try, to shoot for.

This year, a scheduling conflict has kept me from having a go at a tougher 50-Miler: The Mountain Masochist 50. In a sadistic way, I was looking forward to that challenge, but honestly, I don't really miss having a daunting race approaching for the fall (by daunting, I mean one that there may be some serious questions as to whether I can even finish under the cut-offs). What I do miss is having an epic adventure to get psyched for and have at.

Don't get me wrong--Keene, Katherine Binder, and I are training for a 50-mile relay, the Vermont 50, for which I somehow became the recipient of the longest, hilliest leg :)--22 miles of tough Vermont mountain climbs and descents. I don't take that lightly at all, it's pretty well a mountain marathon, in a beautiful state that I've never run in. I am very much looking forward to it. But running a 50-mile relay doesn't seem to have the same inherent questions that a solo 50-miler does.

Yet there are ultra marathons all over the world, attracting thousands of runners. And as cool as it is to see what people are accomplishing in races, I am more intrigued by those folks, and those adventures, that aren't races at all, but "personal epics," like Matt Hart mapping and completing a circumnavigation of the Tetons. Perhaps this fall, it's not a big race, but a self-chartered (charted) adventure where the real prize lies.

I have two young daughters and a wife who works. I don't have sponsors, a lofty budget, or a ton of free time to make a month, or even week long trek. We're talking a couple days, easy driving distance to start, and self-supported. Luckily, there are nearby epic playgrounds all around us. Here are a few that intrigue me for fastpacking/trail running, two days, one-overnight:

The Mason-Dixon Trail - 190-ish miles, of scenic, regional (and national) history. There are ultras held in and around this trail in the spring and summer, the terrain is varied and beautiful, and fall would be the optimal time to enjoy it. Not a lot of folks even know this trail exists (I didn't). I can tell you, whether or not this ends up as a fall trek, getting to know and write about this trail is going to be a project/goal of mine. In this case, I'm thinking just a section, not (yet) a thru-hike.

Assateague Island - 38-miles from tip-to-tip, and already slated as an open Rise Up Runners "challenge." Fall camping on Assateague is phenomenal (and much less buggy than summer!) and it would be great fun to complete another issued challenge :)

Black Forest Trail - a 42-mile loop in Pennsylvania that looks and sounds simply beautiful and challenging. Another trail I know very little about, but am drooling over the thought of two 20+ mile days and an overnight and new and storied terrain.

These are personal challenges, in three epic settings, each of which I hope to enjoy/complete/experience, say in the next year. This fall, it is a matter of time. The weekend of November 14 - 16 has presented itself as available for adventure and a great time of year to step up to one of these treks. Or maybe there is another playground...er...setting that no one has brought up yet?

Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Cooler weather, changing colors, football season, and new challenges. What does this fall hold? What do you think?

Bridge-to-Bridge Extreme Half-Marathon

Lab rat Mike Keene testing the Bridge-to-Bridge route in 30 degree, snowy weather. April 7 marked the B2B "Extreme" run.

Epic is one of my favorite words. I get lost in epic literature--sweeping tales of awesome journeys--and I am easily excited by the prospect of epic adventures (which partially explains my desire to run trail ultra marathons).

When we put a training run of the Bridge-to-Bridge course on our calendars for April 7, it didn't figure to be such an adventure. That's why they play the games.

At 6 a.m. it was about 30 degrees, with driving snow. Leaving Tilghman, Mike Keene and I employed the Jedi (a.k.a close-your-eyes, look down, and only look up to get your bearing when absolutely necessary) method of navigating to avoid severe wind and snow stinging our eyes and leaving us sightless. The terrain for the first 3 miles was snow and slush, and the whole scene was surreal. There is no doubt that cars going by correctly classified us as "idiots."















Gear was the operative word for the first half of the run. Making the right call--rain jacket and pants over base layer, then adjusting on the fly, not to mention toting the camera, keeping it dry, and snapping a few photos. Our pace was slower for those reasons, and we hit the half-way mark--the Wittman sign on Route 33, across from McMartin & Beggins Furniture and Pot Pie Road--in 1:09 on the mark.

St. Michaels Road has its share of twists and turns. Mike pointed out that the wind had hit us from every direction, without having shifted. Yesterday, it was ever present, but never as bad as the stretch from Tilghman Island to Sherwood, where there is nothing between the road and Eastern Bay.

Prior to the half-way point, we had hit a groove, which we kept for the rest of the run. The snow made for a serene backdrop of beautiful fields with snow-covered trees and lanes, and a combination of conversation and awestruck silence created a fitting soundtrack. We ran the second 6.55 miles in 58 minutes, to give us a 2:07 finishing mark for 13.1 miles, without pushing the pace.

Meeting in the dark at 6 a.m. to go run 13 miles, on the road, in the snow on a Saturday morning is one way to kick-start your own mini epic adventure. It was a stellar way to start a day; get to know the B2B course; and to send out my 34th year. Today, I have become an old runner, at 35. ;-P