Dan McCaslin: Embracing Adventure – Discovering the Joy of Travel Through Hiking

My spouse and I are passionate about exploring new destinations and have, fortunately, accomplished more than we ever imagined. Currently, a few age-related ailments restrict my ability to “travel,” and I reflect on how I discovered this “path” into such a wandering existence.

During my youth in suburban Los Angeles, the notion of embarking on distant travels and “journeys abroad” was never on my radar. The San Fernando Valley in the late 1950s saw kids aspiring for roles in retail or as laborers on the General Motors assembly line in Van Nuys. Yet, when I started dating the woman who eventually became my life partner in 1968, she sparked a new and wonderful wanderlust.

Her enthusiasm for the French and German languages inspired me to break free from my middle-class constraints, and I developed a shared longing to explore different worlds and reside in Paris and Central Europe. While many opted for a brief eight-day blitz trip to London, Paris, and Madrid, we settled in Bavaria, creating opportunities to wander through the streets of Berlin and hike in the incredible Alps for several years during the 1970s. (We adore the Sarntal area in South Tyrol.)

These years spent working abroad accumulated, nurturing an unexpected appetite for international exploration, ultimately leading to four pilgrimages to Southern India and Malaysia.

Reflecting on my numerous journals from those years, I discover that we managed to be outside of the United States for nearly six years between 1971 and 2022. I should note that we held teaching positions through the Bavarian Ministry of Education, yet could never afford five-star or even two-star lodgings. (In the early days, youth hostels served as suitable accommodations for adventurous travelers like us.)

At times, I felt compelled to rationalize or assess this abundance of journeys and excursions, leading me to devise my own approach to “slow travel,” promoting a local focus that allowed for periods of relaxed thought and reflection. While formal education can be beneficial, Jiddu Krishnamurti highlights that much of this methodology comprises “secondhand” thinking (consider today’s “influencers”).

Apart from overseas trips and residing in Germany and Greece, I’ve also relished at least two additional types of travel: hiking and cultural journeys. Hiking is genuinely a form of travel, although some individuals fail to view it that way.

The original homo sapiens species, the infamous hunter-gatherers from various Stone Ages, perpetually moved about, journeying widely in search of food sources, new territories, and simply out of curiosity.

Ötzi, the renowned “ice man,” whose 5,000-year-old preserved body was discovered in the Alps between Austria and Italy, had traveled far from his homeland when he met his demise. His possessions included a medical kit, tattoos, and a copper-bladed axe (4.1.1. Ötzi). Nowadays, I perceive that we may have evolved into a digitally influenced species — the phono sapiens.

I firmly believe that our species has evolved to engage in constant movement, which has recently transformed into hiking, trekking, and long-distance backpacking. We are instinctively programmed to appreciate going from place to place, uphill and down, searching for new food sources, gathering and hunting, but equally keen simply to explore.

Moreover, this hiking in verdant nature represents a form of concealed time travel, enabling us to revert to a more primal lifestyle/way of thinking, at least for a few hours, for a day, or even a few weeks.

During my younger years of extensive hiking, I carved out a unique backpacking niche by sometimes wandering solo for a few days into the San Rafael Wilderness along the Sisquoc or Manzana creeks in search of seclusion from Western civilization. These excursions fostered an environment that encouraged remarkably clear thinking, a clarity that arises only through prolonged solitude. 

In 1999, for instance, I backpacked eastward alone up the Manzana and connected with the deities of nature and spirits residing in those areas: Mother Momoy, the reclining whale rock ancestors, and riparian water spirits. Here I wandered along the southern slope of the sacred Hurricane Deck, potentially even experiencing a form of ‘alapay. One re-learns how to listen amid overwhelming silence. This experience inspired my essay “Six Days Solo in an American Wilderness” (4.1.1).

I recognized that these excursions into wilder nature —wildeor — can truly transform into paleo and pre-civilized modes of thought. I would diligently rid myself of family, analog watch, all electronics, and, of course, I’ve never carried a firearm or needed a cell phone or emergency beacon, thus I did not miss any of the technological gadgets. All I required was a moleskine journal (and pen), a D harmonica, and the compact Shambhala edition of Rilke’s Duino Elegies. (My Kelty pack also contained a Whisperlite gas stove, seven dehydrated foil meals, a one-person tent, among other essentials.)

I certainly did miss my family, friends, and social circle in Santa Barbara, but I intended to return to my own version of “eternal return” (4.1.1.).

Keep in mind that Henry David Thoreau commonly wandered around rustic Walden Pond, frequently strolling into town (Concord, Mass.), where he would collect his mail and join his mother for a meal.

Both these forms of walking — solo hiking up the Manzana and circling a local pond — epitomize vivid forms of travel. My solitary excursions into deep-nature solitude assist in regulating the wandering mind, a creature that perpetually seeks novelty and all too frequently accelerates into the linear.  

Simultaneously, simple walking provides us with physical advantages, whether we stroll through a local park (e.g. Parma Park) or trek up the Manzana. The challenging longer backcountry backpacks are not essential to ignite the profound joy of overseas travel and journeys outside the North American continent.

When my partner and I sought experiences abroad, we consistently directed our focus toward non-English speaking countries in continental Europe. No Scotland, New Zealand, or Ireland for us. When we were unfamiliar with the native language, even cultural travel felt like an adventure in the wild.

Nevertheless, I have frequently pursued more ambitious endeavors to traverse into nearly unspoiled wilderness or to “journey” far into the original Arcadia and the legendary East. I have discussed wildeor, a term that embodies an earlier European interpretation of “wilderness” (die Wildnis in German). True wildeor would lack roads, trails, and GPS and encompass fierce large mammals that could easily kill and consume reckless individuals wandering through.

OK, while I no longer explore such wild areas today, “extreme” could also pertain to time or solitude or aesthetics. Approximately 30 years ago, I began appreciating the Indigenous rock art in our vicinity, and these visions nourish the spirit.

Hiking in our local wilderness regions — roughly 500,000 acres in the Los Padres National Forest — can genuinely evoke a return to natural Stone Age liberty and freedom of movement. 

4.1.1.

Ötzi, also referred to as “The Iceman,” is the naturally preserved body of a man who lived between 3350 and 3105 BC. Ötzi’s remains were uncovered on September 19, 1991, in the Ötztal Alps (thus the name), and he had traveled far from his original location.

“Six Days Solo in an American Wilderness” in “Autobiography in the Anthropocene,” pp. 41-67 (2019). Refer also to “Eternal Backcountry Return” (Sisquoc River Press, 2018).

R.M. Rilke, “Duino Elegies,” tr. Stephen Mitchell (Shambhala Pocket Classics, 1992).

Undoubtedly, I acknowledge how privileged my partner and I have been — three sabbaticals, two year-long study fellowships, numerous summer travel grants, meticulous savings, and an eagerness to accept teaching positions in other countries (Germany).