Lament for a Lost Companion
Poetic license, that is. A walking stick is an inanimate object, hardly a companion in the fullest sense of the descriptive. Yet in a sense, a treasured, long-owned piece of wood of the right weight and height and comfort does represent a companion-piece to a woodsy venture, a hike in the woods, a forested area, up a mountainside, and the concomitant descent. The use of a walking stick, or a hiking pole, call it what you will, is also conducive to good balance, and good health. Using a stick or a pole gives you a 30% easier ascent/descent on the wear of your knees, for example.
For sheer physical utility there is nothing like a good, reliable stick. An old piece of wood, once a tree sapling; heavier-weight a hardwood, lighter-weight a softwood, both invaluable for the long-term hiker or climber. You can buy these sticks, or metal counterparts at outdoor sports shops. Or you can select your own, using fallen, dead not-yet-rotted saplings of the right width and adaptability, found in any forested area. Take with you a trusty Swiss army knife, and use the saw to cut the desired length. Use the knife to peel the bark.
A thing of beauty.
We've got many such sticks, assembled over many years of hiking and climbing. Some are more valued than others. One in particular has seen more than two decades of use, and it's the hands-down favourite. It was discovered by chance. We'd been on a week-long canoeing expedition in Algonquin Park, just coming off one of the many lakes, accessing a mucky portage, and there was this stick, used by someone before us likely to keep the prow of his canoe out of the muck.
We picked up the stick, examined it, admired it and accepted it along with our other cargo. And it has been in our possession ever since, valued and much-utilized. Alas, now gone. As we've had it for twenty-some-odd years, someone else will now discover its sterling qualities and adopt it for their own use. That is, someone sensible who recognizes quality and function and beauty when they see it.
We were already driving home after our last hike up at Gatineau Park when we realized the stick hadn't been placed in the car. Very unlike our usual careful handling of that treasured but yet taken-for-granted object.
We're hoping it will find a good home where its qualities will be fully appreciated.
For sheer physical utility there is nothing like a good, reliable stick. An old piece of wood, once a tree sapling; heavier-weight a hardwood, lighter-weight a softwood, both invaluable for the long-term hiker or climber. You can buy these sticks, or metal counterparts at outdoor sports shops. Or you can select your own, using fallen, dead not-yet-rotted saplings of the right width and adaptability, found in any forested area. Take with you a trusty Swiss army knife, and use the saw to cut the desired length. Use the knife to peel the bark.
A thing of beauty.
We've got many such sticks, assembled over many years of hiking and climbing. Some are more valued than others. One in particular has seen more than two decades of use, and it's the hands-down favourite. It was discovered by chance. We'd been on a week-long canoeing expedition in Algonquin Park, just coming off one of the many lakes, accessing a mucky portage, and there was this stick, used by someone before us likely to keep the prow of his canoe out of the muck.
We picked up the stick, examined it, admired it and accepted it along with our other cargo. And it has been in our possession ever since, valued and much-utilized. Alas, now gone. As we've had it for twenty-some-odd years, someone else will now discover its sterling qualities and adopt it for their own use. That is, someone sensible who recognizes quality and function and beauty when they see it.
We were already driving home after our last hike up at Gatineau Park when we realized the stick hadn't been placed in the car. Very unlike our usual careful handling of that treasured but yet taken-for-granted object.
We're hoping it will find a good home where its qualities will be fully appreciated.
Labels: Perambulations
posted by Pieface @ 6:29 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home