The Things We Carry
The Other Ten Essentials —
Intangible Assets That Mean So Much
Part 2: The Final Five
By Farwell Forrest
farwell@paddling.net
December 12, 2006
Many years ago the Seattle Mountaineers hit
upon a clever way to remind ounce-paring climbers that there were some things
they simply couldn't afford to leave behind — a list of
must-have gear that came to be known as the "Ten Essentials." It was a
very good list, too, containing nothing that was superfluous, while including
all things that were necessary. Not surprisingly, then, the list remains
useful to this day, for climbers and paddlers alike. But it has its
limitations. As important as the Ten Essentials are to all backcountry
travelers, there are other things that are even more vital. And you won't
find them on the Mountaineers' list.
What are these mysterious essentials? Nothing you can buy in any store,
that's for certain. They're intangible assets, you see —
qualities of mind and body, not things you can put in a pack. But they're no
less important for all that. I call them the Other
Ten Essentials, and I listed the first five a couple of weeks back. Now
it's time to complete the inventory.
In a hurry? Want me to cut to the chase? Then you may need more of the
first Essential on this week's list:
Patience
"Slow down," a song from the sixties counseled. "You move too fast." And
so do a lot of paddlers. Yes, there are times when speed is of the
essence, on the water and off. But far more often, it's best to make haste
slowly. In particular, if there's trouble ahead it's usually a good idea
to take your time getting to it — and to use the extra minutes to weigh
your options thoughtfully. Yet even when no imminent danger looms, many
paddlers feel compelled to rush pell-mell through the places they've gone to
so much trouble to visit. It's almost as if their paddling holidays have
become extensions of their work week, complete with performance targets,
deadlines, and penalties for late completion. Why? Good question. Still, I've
observed the same thing in myself, though only when I'm on a
bike. It never happens when I'm in a boat. Put me in a canoe or kayak,
and I'll dawdle happily through a long summer's day, going nowhere fast and
delighted to get there. No beaver pond or mountain tarn is too small to
occupy me for a weekend — or a week. Once I'm seated on my bike,
however, I'm a different man altogether. I become obsessed with covering
ground at the fastest possible speed, no matter how enticing the scenery. Go
figure. I can't.
But I know this much: the habit of speed can be hazardous to my health.
Not long ago, I was cranking down a rural byway at 20 miles an hour, my eyes
glued to the road ahead, when a dog — a very large dog — suddenly
materialized right under my front wheel. The bike stopped abruptly, but I
didn't. And I landed hard, hard enough to leave a good part of my face behind
on the asphalt. If I hadn't been wearing a helmet, I'd probably have left
part of my brain behind as well. It was an eye-opening experience, and not
just because I'd torn an eyelid off on impact. As I stood by the side of the
road, spitting out bits of broken tooth like a character in an animated
cartoon from the 1950s, it dawned on me that I needed to slow down.
So now I've entered myself in a competition that I call Farwell's Go-Slow
Challenge. And as I'm the only competitor, I can't help but win. The object?
Simple. I don't get any points for speed, on the road or off, but I get one
point for everything I notice along the way — ten points for
everything new I see on my daily commute and other familiar routes. The upshot?
Patience is the key to victory in the Farwell Challenge. I relapse now
and again, of course. But just as soon as I catch myself staring at the
cyclometer and trying to push the numbers up for no reason except to see how
high I can make them go, a quick poke of my tongue at the space where my
front teeth used to be is guaranteed to slow me down. I figure I've learned
something. Whatever my speed, I'll get where I'm going sooner or later. I
might as well enjoy the ride.
Not that this knowledge didn't come at a high price. It did. To be honest,
it was several days after the crash before I could get back on my bike, and
the problem wasn't sore muscles. It was fear, pure and simple. And that fear
is still with me. But I didn't let it keep me off the bike for long. I
suppose you could call this…
Resilience
It, too, is a must-have. Talk all you want about Mother Earth. The truth
of the matter is that Nature isn't a very loving Mum. She doesn't care what
happens to us. It's not personal, obviously. But it sometimes seems as if it
is. And any paddler who's spent more than a few sunny afternoons on Golden
Pond can remember at least one time when he was certain that Nature was out
to get him. Maybe it was a log hidden in the plunge pool at the bottom of a
runnable falls, in just the right place to catch the bow of your boat and
hold it under while you practiced breathing through your ear holes. Or a rogue wave
that came from nowhere to tower over you, and then smashed down on your deck
with a noise like the crack of doom. Or a sudden thunderstorm
that struck with icy, gale-force winds and forks of white-hot lightning when
you were still a mile from shore. Whatever the circumstances, the results
were the same. You took a hit. You got hurt. But you
survived — and you kept going. That's resilience. The ability to
bounce back when Nature unsheathes her claws and strikes out at you. If your
paddling career is going to last longer than a sultry summer's day,
resilience is essential.
And so is another quality, one that's closely related to resilience:
Humility
No, I'm not thinking of Dickens' Uriah Heep here. You don't need to
proclaim to all the world that you're a very 'umble person, while wringing
your hands and bowing your head. There doesn't have to be anything abject or
groveling about humility, in fact. It's nothing more than the recognition
that however much you know, you've always got something more to learn, and
that however strong you are, the forces of Nature are always stronger.
Humility is the opposite of hubris, in
other words. And that's a very good thing. Hubris, the overweening pride that
almost always incited the Greek gods to jealous rage, has gotten more than a
few paddlers into trouble over the years. Luckily, there's an antidote.
Humility.
Of course, you can be too humble, as well as too bold. Too much humility
saps confidence, and confidence, we decided last time, is also one of the
Other Essentials. Confused? No need to be. It's all a matter of…
Balance
This is important in both the literal and figurative senses. Let's see
how. In any small boat — and canoes and kayaks are the smallest of the
small — you are the most important element in determining your
craft's ultimate
stability. Good boat control requires good balance. Your boat has to
become an extension of your body, and if you want to keep your head
above water you have to respond immediately to each impinging force, even
as you anticipate the next. That's balance in the literal sense, and it's one
of the many things that paddling and cycling have in common. But the
figurative sense is more important still. Many of the Other Ten Essentials
are subtly opposed. Confidence is at odds with humility. Curiosity and
courage are often at war with patience. Strength is frequently invoked as a
substitute for skill. And what's the key to resolving these apparent
contradictions? Balance. Once you're ready to go beyond the mechanical
drills and rote prescriptions of many how-to-paddle books and training
classes, you have to embrace opposites and reconcile them, each to the other.
Is this easy? No. But it's worth it, because the end result is…
Joy
And joy requires no explanation. At least it shouldn't. Make no mistake,
though: it is essential. If being on the water doesn't bring you joy
from the first moment you pick up a paddle, you'll be back in the
La-Z-Boy® before the day is out. Joy is the alpha and the omega of
paddlesport, the beginning and the end. For some paddlers, joy comes from
pushing harder than they thought possible, going farther and faster than
they've ever gone before (notwithstanding the need for patience). For others,
it's enough just to be out on the water, magically suspended on the interface
between two worlds. And for a happy few, there's joy aplenty to be had in simply
contemplating the sweeping arc of a gunwale or the slim throat of an ash
beavertail. Each of us responds according to his (or her) own nature. But
first and last, there must be joy. Or there is nothing.
To the first five intangible assets — curiosity,
courage, skill, strength, and confidence — we can now add five more:
patience, humility, resilience, balance, and joy. Taken all together, these
are the Other Ten Essentials. You probably won't want to add them to
your gear list, but if you always bring them with you whenever you venture
forth, you're not likely to find any challenge too great, on the water or
off. That's a pretty big return on a small investment of time and sweat,
isn't it? I think so, at any rate, and I'm betting you'll agree.
Copyright © 2006 by Verloren Hoop Productions. All rights
reserved.