| THE NEW MOTHER NATURE Paul Williams |
The Singing Wilderness by Sigurd F. Olson is a nature lover’s guide to opening ones mind and soul to the true call of nature. The
book is a necessity for all peoples looking to break the rut of today’s modernized world, to escape the self-destructing cage of so called
reality and get back to man’s instinctive connection to the wonders of the wilderness. This oneness with nature, this relationship with
Mother Nature, is best achieved through hearing the loon’s call at dusk, seeing the faultless waters after a back breaking portage, and
hearing the wind rush a whisper through the trees. That is the singing wilderness at its rawest, or at least as I know it after my second trip
to the Boundary Water Canoe Wilderness Area.
book is a necessity for all peoples looking to break the rut of today’s modernized world, to escape the self-destructing cage of so called
reality and get back to man’s instinctive connection to the wonders of the wilderness. This oneness with nature, this relationship with
Mother Nature, is best achieved through hearing the loon’s call at dusk, seeing the faultless waters after a back breaking portage, and
hearing the wind rush a whisper through the trees. That is the singing wilderness at its rawest, or at least as I know it after my second trip
to the Boundary Water Canoe Wilderness Area.
The Necessity of Wilderness
The tree’s whines turn into a rustle as though restless for adventure and eager to follow, and in their own way they do! As you
stroke further and further away they keep up with you, you can feel their breath on your neck and it is good. The wind howls through
the trees and sends shivers down to the very bone. You stroke harder and deeper and the wind blows more furiously, excited in the
chase. Then abruptly it is all still, all is motionless while the sun warms you from the inside, the birds are calm and one northern pike
jumps up out ahead - then nothing. You stop and take note of how very close to Mother Nature you are at this point, how similar you
two are how she talks with you daily and you never listen but now, now you listen. You listen as though it is the first time you have
discovered your ears and she speaks to you in a low mutter from far away. The mutter turns into a sigh and then into a moan as the
melody approaches. Ever more steadily the noise grows till it is right behind you and you realize that it is the familiar wind rushing the
whisper to you through the trees. Your paddle grazes the water as you begin to pull back across it to move out again, satisfied that
you have heard the singing wilderness.
stroke further and further away they keep up with you, you can feel their breath on your neck and it is good. The wind howls through
the trees and sends shivers down to the very bone. You stroke harder and deeper and the wind blows more furiously, excited in the
chase. Then abruptly it is all still, all is motionless while the sun warms you from the inside, the birds are calm and one northern pike
jumps up out ahead - then nothing. You stop and take note of how very close to Mother Nature you are at this point, how similar you
two are how she talks with you daily and you never listen but now, now you listen. You listen as though it is the first time you have
discovered your ears and she speaks to you in a low mutter from far away. The mutter turns into a sigh and then into a moan as the
melody approaches. Ever more steadily the noise grows till it is right behind you and you realize that it is the familiar wind rushing the
whisper to you through the trees. Your paddle grazes the water as you begin to pull back across it to move out again, satisfied that
you have heard the singing wilderness.
The trip may have been very different if I had not read Olson’s book. I would not have
know what to look for, what to listen to. However, because I had a concept and an
expectation I gained more from the call of the unruffled loon. That was indeed the most
audible sound of the singing wilderness; the excited high pitch exhale, or the soft coo
as I and the loon both prepared for a well deserved rest after a long day of work. The
loon makes you sharply more aware that you, the time card puncher, are no longer
working on the human construct of time, but now you are working on Mother Nature’s
clock. This clock is not of ticks and bells but it counts the seconds and hours all the
same. With each stroke of the paddle your time is measured and the alarm for the day
to begin is early in the morning when the loon, not you, decides to wake. Once you are
awakened its time to break out the whip because this day will be hard, this day will be
full of portages.
know what to look for, what to listen to. However, because I had a concept and an
expectation I gained more from the call of the unruffled loon. That was indeed the most
audible sound of the singing wilderness; the excited high pitch exhale, or the soft coo
as I and the loon both prepared for a well deserved rest after a long day of work. The
loon makes you sharply more aware that you, the time card puncher, are no longer
working on the human construct of time, but now you are working on Mother Nature’s
clock. This clock is not of ticks and bells but it counts the seconds and hours all the
same. With each stroke of the paddle your time is measured and the alarm for the day
to begin is early in the morning when the loon, not you, decides to wake. Once you are
awakened its time to break out the whip because this day will be hard, this day will be
full of portages.
To me that is the singing wilderness that Olson addresses and it has
changed me forever, it has changed me for the better. Each loon call, each
portage, and each time I felt the wind on my back I grew stronger and closer
to Mother Nature. I can now say confidently that I know of natures call and I
have answered back! Hopefully all people get the chance to experience this
at least some time in their lives I am just grateful that I was able to do it with
such a great group of friends.
changed me forever, it has changed me for the better. Each loon call, each
portage, and each time I felt the wind on my back I grew stronger and closer
to Mother Nature. I can now say confidently that I know of natures call and I
have answered back! Hopefully all people get the chance to experience this
at least some time in their lives I am just grateful that I was able to do it with
such a great group of friends.
A portage by definition is the act of carrying, seems simple enough! Just get from one navigable
set of waters to another. However to the inexperienced I suggest you prepare, seriously. It is not as
simple as walking across a bridge over troubled waters, no, a portage consists of you carrying your
own 60lb pack full of your cloths, tent, sleeping arrangement, white gas stove equipment, food for the
entire week and the rest of your lively hood on your back. That is just the first trip across. Then you trek
back over the rather untouched landscape through jagged rocks, tall brush, and sink holes that will
take you up to your thighs in muck. Not to mention the obstacles that you must literally hurtle over like
downed trees just waiting to shank you. When you finally make it back to the start of the portage take
one last look at the clear blue sky because you are about to hoist a 40lb Kevlar canoe over your own
head and balance it while trying to walk yet again back over the same portage. You see nothing:
nothing but the inside of a dank, damp canoe and your feet as they dodge obstacles that have just
been made nine and a half times more difficult. You solider on taking short breaks on lumpy trees or
sloped rocks along the way, and finally your feet reach water, a rush of adrenaline and you heave the
massive means of transport up and over your head and throw it down in to the water. Breathe. You’ve
made it and the sun is warm caressing your swollen shoulders and the water is a soothing medicine
for you’re soon to be blistering feet. Sit. You’ve made it, relief spreads over you like a blow to the chest
and knocks you back onto your pack and you begin to notice the beauty of the area you are in. The
trees are no longer out to get you but they are now your best friends here to shade you. You look out
past them into the most breath taking pool of blue-green water that you have ever seen. It is flawless
waiting to embrace you and your canoe after the long and irksome path you have just taken. At this
point just before you set out again you hear it, the distance singing, an inner peace that calms as a
smile spreads across your face. All your aches and groans from the pain of the portage melt away
into the water you are rejuvenated; you push off with new vigor out into the lake you navigate so well
through. As you pull away from the portage the tress stay behind but long to go with you, you can hear
their low sobs.
set of waters to another. However to the inexperienced I suggest you prepare, seriously. It is not as
simple as walking across a bridge over troubled waters, no, a portage consists of you carrying your
own 60lb pack full of your cloths, tent, sleeping arrangement, white gas stove equipment, food for the
entire week and the rest of your lively hood on your back. That is just the first trip across. Then you trek
back over the rather untouched landscape through jagged rocks, tall brush, and sink holes that will
take you up to your thighs in muck. Not to mention the obstacles that you must literally hurtle over like
downed trees just waiting to shank you. When you finally make it back to the start of the portage take
one last look at the clear blue sky because you are about to hoist a 40lb Kevlar canoe over your own
head and balance it while trying to walk yet again back over the same portage. You see nothing:
nothing but the inside of a dank, damp canoe and your feet as they dodge obstacles that have just
been made nine and a half times more difficult. You solider on taking short breaks on lumpy trees or
sloped rocks along the way, and finally your feet reach water, a rush of adrenaline and you heave the
massive means of transport up and over your head and throw it down in to the water. Breathe. You’ve
made it and the sun is warm caressing your swollen shoulders and the water is a soothing medicine
for you’re soon to be blistering feet. Sit. You’ve made it, relief spreads over you like a blow to the chest
and knocks you back onto your pack and you begin to notice the beauty of the area you are in. The
trees are no longer out to get you but they are now your best friends here to shade you. You look out
past them into the most breath taking pool of blue-green water that you have ever seen. It is flawless
waiting to embrace you and your canoe after the long and irksome path you have just taken. At this
point just before you set out again you hear it, the distance singing, an inner peace that calms as a
smile spreads across your face. All your aches and groans from the pain of the portage melt away
into the water you are rejuvenated; you push off with new vigor out into the lake you navigate so well
through. As you pull away from the portage the tress stay behind but long to go with you, you can hear
their low sobs.
