Potato camping

I read that doctors in Scotland are prescribing a walk in nature to people afflicted with mental illness, diabetes, heart disease, and stress, amongst other conditions. Science says that going for a walk in the wilderness is good for us. And there are plenty of stories about people who find, to their surprise, that it’s true – a truth evident to some and foreign to others.

One of my dear friends refers to the kind of field work and field work-like holidays that I have been known to take as ‘potato camping.’ The idea of walking for hours with a heavy pack, eating some rehydrated freeze-dried meal, and crawling into a sleeping bag at the end of day is not her idea of a holiday. It’s not a lot of people’s idea of a holiday. But for others, it’s wonderful. I’m reminded of a colleague who, when asked at a work team-building activity to think of the most calming image he could conjure, responded, “lying in a sleeping bag, listening to rain falling on the tent.” And everyone nodded in agreement. Granted, they were all geologists. For me, that feeling goes way back to family holidays as a kid. Waking to the sound of warbling currawongs, the chill winter air on my cheeks, the crackle of a camp fire and the sound of footsteps in the dry leaves as my parents started preparing breakfast. Sometimes it’s cold. Sometimes it’s hard work. But being out in nature is almost always beautiful. And it’s good for us.

Even the times that seem like they couldn’t possibly be fun, somehow can manage to be moments that stay with us forever. Like this one. One summer in West Greenland we had our share of rain. My colleague and I, sick of waiting it out in our tents, decided to trek through the relentless drizzle, carrying a lightweight camp in our rucksacks, to reach another field team we knew was camped eight kilometres away. Just for a visit. Half way there, over rolling rocky landscape, water dripping from our jackets, from our overpants, from our rucksacks, we stopped for lunch under a rocky overhang, just large enough for us both to crouch under out of the rain that dripped down from the rocks above us and down onto our boots. There we sat, hunched in the dirt, scooping tuna from a tin with our pocket knives, crunching on dry biscuits, watching the rain pour down. There we sat, smiling, even laughing at this strangely wonderful scene, the silent grey mist drifting past, the pattering of cold drops on hard ground, the cramped comfort of our tiny dry lunch spot in the wet wilderness.