Lessons from Camp Denali
By J. Drew Lanham, Safina Center Senior Fellow
The view form Camp Denali. Photo by J. Drew Lanham.
I learned at 63.5192° N, 150.8984° W
That anticipation of the gray- cheeked /Swainson thrush, white -crowned sparrow/dark-eyed junco, orange - crowned warbler competition for wake up by dawn song is the welcome last R.E.M. interruption. The morning that I metered the race the sparrows won.
Today it was varied thrush at 4:30ish a.m. but I'm not sure the ethereal flutist's buzz wasn't a dream.
That more white-crowned sparrow song variation just makes me fall more in love with the bird. I now owe the little Zonotrichia a letter of appreciation for welcoming me here.
That the iridescent bi-color tuxedo glow of violet green swallows makes the first cup of pour over coffee with Denali in full view even better.
That I'm more snow-pack-cool napping ursine griz than road trotting blond tinted tail coiffed red fox.
That the differential equation defined by downwind griz's nose and the distance to cover between us and him, is neither quadratic nor complex, but rather solved by the desire to not be next pile of bear shit on the road.
A grizzly bear walks off. Photo by J. Drew Lanham.
That tundra bliss is a real thing and good for the heart.
That blessing and blissing are only one letter apart, and neither requires a god.
That soul food ain't just a southern thing.
That passion is the spot on gestalt of the best guides.
That a golden crown of sparrow feathers is more precious than one of metal.
That a Wilson's warbler perched up on a poplar sapling is a nugget worthy of mining with eyes wide open and a close-focused heart.
That to stand still with one's eyes closed is to better see.
That getting arctic wildflower eye - level low is the best way to get high.
That summits are relative to desire. Some lower than others but never less inspired.
That the birds are trying to tell me something. First day gray jay greeting, then white-crowned presentation accompaniment then today, hearing a fluttering in my Gold Rush cabin woodstove and finding a besmudged violet green swallow inside that was all too happy to have its freedom through my open door into broody cloud-clotted sky. Hoping the rain finds it soon too and returns it to original pristine condition. Wondering next morning if this was the same swallow I doted on as it perched on Sourdough’s roof. I probably took 40 shots of it with my camera as it sat in morning sun soaking up warmth. Then, an orange-crowned warbler collides with my window and in my hand revives to bright eyes blinking and from my finger flying.
That even though I missed seeing a raven on the bluff, I still felt it.
That a landscape of permafrost, snow zebra striped sky scraping mountain, braided river oozing into heaved up blue tinted glacier toe is more likely to devour me than any bear.
And I will happily be breakfast lunch and dinner.
That wildness is as much a state of heart and mind as the 1964 legal definition.
That conservation is Love compounded daily by interest in mountains, and prairies, marsh and tundra, city park greenspace and knowledge that we share same air same water same soil same earth-- same fate.
That being a guide starts with the heart.
Drew enjoys the mountains in the distance. Photo courtesy of J. Drew Lanham.