On a local radio show yesterday, there was a Dutch journalist who commented that she had not known that you could die in the wilderness in the United States, that no Dutch person would ever think of that because there is no wild land in the Netherlands. I suppose that's possible, though it takes my breath away: a whole country without untamed land. Then again, though she didn't say so, it can't be possible for any Dutch person to go to the beach without being aware that the ocean can kill them and completely wipe out all the land they live on. We don't ever really get away from wild.
Glenn said he keeps thinking about a time a few years back when he took a road through the hills at Neah Bay. We had one of the daughters and all three grandchildren with us, and we kept going long past the point where it became clear that the road we were on wasn't going where the map suggested it was going. We finally turned around and retraced our path, rejoining the other daughter and our friend Katherine about an hour after they expected us.
Glenn still beats himself up about that one, but there were a lot of big differences. It was summer. It was daylight, early afternoon with many hours of light before the sun would finally set. We had lots of food, spare clothing, sleeping bags, tents, and two boats on top of the van (okay, the kayaks would not be useful in getting us off the mountain, but we had them with us). Just because the road wasn't taking us where we thought it would didn't mean it was deserted; there were plenty of locals who passed us at the pullouts. Our give-up and turn-back point, as late as it seemed to the cranky kids in the car and to the people waiting for us, still got us where we needed to be only an hour late.
Tragedies like this make me think about close calls. They also make me check to make sure the space blanket is still in the car. And the emergency flares and first-aid supplies. And that poncho that has been used once, by John Berry in non-life-threatening circumstances. And the hatchet.
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Date: 2006-12-09 06:27 pm (UTC)On a local radio show yesterday, there was a Dutch journalist who commented that she had not known that you could die in the wilderness in the United States, that no Dutch person would ever think of that because there is no wild land in the Netherlands. I suppose that's possible, though it takes my breath away: a whole country without untamed land. Then again, though she didn't say so, it can't be possible for any Dutch person to go to the beach without being aware that the ocean can kill them and completely wipe out all the land they live on. We don't ever really get away from wild.
Glenn said he keeps thinking about a time a few years back when he took a road through the hills at Neah Bay. We had one of the daughters and all three grandchildren with us, and we kept going long past the point where it became clear that the road we were on wasn't going where the map suggested it was going. We finally turned around and retraced our path, rejoining the other daughter and our friend Katherine about an hour after they expected us.
Glenn still beats himself up about that one, but there were a lot of big differences. It was summer. It was daylight, early afternoon with many hours of light before the sun would finally set. We had lots of food, spare clothing, sleeping bags, tents, and two boats on top of the van (okay, the kayaks would not be useful in getting us off the mountain, but we had them with us). Just because the road wasn't taking us where we thought it would didn't mean it was deserted; there were plenty of locals who passed us at the pullouts. Our give-up and turn-back point, as late as it seemed to the cranky kids in the car and to the people waiting for us, still got us where we needed to be only an hour late.
Tragedies like this make me think about close calls. They also make me check to make sure the space blanket is still in the car. And the emergency flares and first-aid supplies. And that poncho that has been used once, by John Berry in non-life-threatening circumstances. And the hatchet.