City boy

“I’m just a city boy,” I recall gasping to an experienced hiker when I embarked on a long, back-country journey with a group. It was true. For sixty years, the closest I came to genuine wildness and “real nature” was mowing the lawn (something I now abhor, lawns, that is). Then I spent a decade jutting myself into “wilderness,” sometimes on the fringes of cities, sometimes way out woop-woop. The experience hurt me, in the sense that I often felt challenged and (yes!) scared (scared as only a city boy can be scared). This period changed me deep inside, but in particular shifted my worldview towards the thinking of those who see the human race as part of our planet’s diverse ecosystems.

Now I’ve changed once more. Suddenly I no longer wish to test my physical limits. Suddenly I can make do with my memories and the surfeit of nature imagery and writing available to anyone seeking it. Suddenly I resent the time imposts of bushwalking/hiking, etc. The one aspect of my former exploration that remains thrilling is birdwatching, so that’s what I’ve enjoyed over the last two years, birding time out in nature without the need to hike and suffer.

Will I change once more? Will the classic mountain hikes (Feathertop, Mont Blanc, Snowdon) call to me? Will inter-village/town treks (Great Britain’s national trails, the byways of Italy, the new vistas of eastern Europe, the river valleys of France) once more fill up my days? We shall see, we shall see.

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