“Life is a journey, not a destination” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
I can’t recall the last time I completed a hike to somewhere.
Sure, I go, and generally have a goal in mind, but I’ve found that I’ve become so lost in the nature around me that getting someplace in particular isn’t always accomplished.
Maybe it’s getting older, or just a deeper interest in seeing the wonders of wild places, but the journey has become far more important to me than the destination.
There is so much to see and absorb.
As an exuberant youngster, my time outdoors was all about the destination.
Climbing a mountain, how many miles could I cover, checking off a list of places to see, or catching a limit of fish.
The destination was so important that encounters along the way didn’t much matter.
I missed a lot.
Thankfully, that’s changed over the years.
Two instances recently brought Emerson’s words to mind.
Fortunately, I was immersed in the journey both times, and the rewards were spectacular.
The first event was last month while ambling through an oak woodland, enjoying the warm sunshine between recent storms. Had I been focused on a goal, I may have missed what turned out to be a spectacular encounter with a bald eagle. Typically, eagles are close to water, but this was an area where I would not have expected to see one.
At a quick glance from a distance this large bird could have been a turkey vulture or dark morph hawk perched in a tree next to my route.
But I paused to look and as I lifted my telephoto camera, I could clearly see the white head of the bald eagle.
Just as I began to shoot, he spread his massive wings and pushed skyward in what seemed like slow motion.
It was an “oh, wow” moment.
Eagles in San Diego County are not a common thing, but this was breathtaking as the massive bird slowly lifted into the air.
This may have been a young, immature bird ing through, or looking for a new territory to claim.
Many of the few eagles who reside here are tagged, but this one was not, and the tail was streaked with black, not yet pure white, suggesting an immature age of 4 to 5 years.
I felt lucky to not only see this beautiful bird, but also for the opportunity to capture a memorable photo.
Last week, grabbing another sunny opportunity between storms, I headed out for a backcountry hike.
This time I had no destination in mind and was lost in the beauty of newly sprouted green grass pushing up through the brown forest duff, budding spring leaves on shrubs waking up from winter, and the dappled sunlight filtering through the oak canopy.
I was absorbed in the energy of an environment that was smiling after a few days of abundant rainfall.
I felt good.
Have you ever noticed how the aches and pains of maturity seem to melt away when you venture into the outdoors?
That reminded me of another Emerson age.
“In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child,” he wrote in “Nature.”
In the litter of sycamore and oak leaves and the carpet of newborn grass, something caught my eye.
No bigger than a nickel, a tiny parasol-shaped mushroom perched on a delicate stalk stuck up like a miniature umbrella to protect a mythical forest gnome from the rain.
I had entered a magic kingdom that I might have missed if I had dashed through while focused on reaching a goal.
Time stopped in this fantasy garden, and I sat for a while on a downed oak log to ponder this enchanted place.
Other types of mushrooms were beginning to pop up, and a fungus known as a turkey tail adorned the log where I sat.
A thousand or more tomorrows will , and this colorful mushroom will slowly feed on the nutrients of this dead tree, breaking it down to clear the way for new growth.
On a few patches of bare ground there were deer tracks, and since I was no longer disturbing the peace, a woodpecker returned to work tapping a hole to store the plump acorns.
Nearby a flat boulder cloaked in the shade of the yawning oak trees was dimpled with grinding holes created by nameless Native Americans, decades, or even centuries, ago.
Their journey had also brought them here.
Returning to my vehicle, Emerson’s words again came to mind.
I had traveled less than 2 miles, but it was a journey filled with nature’s beauty and tiny discoveries so easily missed if only seeking a destination.
Cowan is a freelance columnist. Email [email protected] or visit erniesoutdoors.blogspot.com.
