"Some questions about ourselves cannot be answered in the office, or on a website, or in the home. Some things can only be found with the help of wilderness. To discover the answers, you must explore."
"He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial."
Jack London The Call of the Wild 1903
The Call of the Wild by Jack London was one of my favorite books growing up.
I loved to read about the journey of the comfortable and spoiled pet dog “Buck”, whom after being stolen away from his warm and comfortable life in California, was forced into work as a sled dog in the snowy territories of the Canadian Yukon.
Throughout his journey Buck experiences cruelty and kindness, both at the hands of man and nature. He is cruelly beaten into submission and starvation almost kills him. He endures the freezing trails and the savagery of other dogs. His beloved John Thornton, who saved him from certain death, is killed. Yet despite, and perhaps because of this, Buck is transformed from a domestic dog and into a wild beast of the forest.
Jack London’s evocative descriptions of the savage and beautiful icy frontier never failed to send a shiver down my spine, such was his skill as a writer. Each time I read the book I was transported away to a chilly landscape that I found both frightening and thrilling. Life in the Yukon winter existed on a knife edge, one that could kill just as easily as it could transform, and it was far more likely to kill.
The message that strength and wildness could be found even in the most desolate and cruelest of landscape excited me and it became a source of hope to my young mind during tough times.
"It filled him with a great unrest and strange desires. It caused him to feel a vague sweet gladness and he was aware of wild yearnings and stirrings for he knew not what."
Jack London The Call of the Wild 1903
Inspired by Bucks adventures, I began to sneak out at home late at night and would wander through the dark streets of my home town.
Living as I did in a small country town, only a handful of streetlights illuminated the main road at night, beyond which the town’s houses were rendered in a colorless grey by the moons pale light.
Through these streest I would walk until I reached a small river on the towns outskirts with a small pumping station on its bank. Once there I would climb over the fence, walk along the pumps gantries and drop down onto the rivers edge. There I would lie down and look at the starry night, listen to the river flowing by, and feel the gentle touch of the wind on my face as it moved through the trees.
As I grew into an adult and moved out of home, I would continue to seek out wild landscapes. I began making trips into the alpine areas of my region. Even though Australia is the most arid inhabited continent in the world, we do have alpine areas where snow falls in winter and I would visit them when I could.
If you’d asked me then what drew me to those landscapes, the best answer I could offer was that I simply enjoyed being there. Maybe it was because they provided an antidote to modern urban life. Maybe it was because, like Buck, these places spoke to a part of me that felt more at home in these cold wild places. Maybe there was a more clever sounding scientific rationale that I just couldn’t think of.
But at the time I didn’t know, I just liked being there, which was reason enough.
"Not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became alive again."
Jack London The Call of the Wild 1903
Evolutionary psychologists have suggested that our preference for natural landscapes is shaped by our evolutionary past. Meaning that evolution has molded our minds and emotions to prefer and be attracted to landscapes where our survival needs are most likely to be met, thereby increasing our chances of survival.
This could explain why images of vibrant green growth and sounds of flowing water soothe us – unconsciously we know that they indicate that resources necessary for our survival are likely to be found nearby and so we find ourselves gravitating towards those landscapes, or trying to recreate them at home with images, indoor plants and recorded sounds.
Research has also shown a link between development and movement, showing that children need opportunities to move so they can learn. Movement literally helps to build our brains, and the outdoor world is full of opportunities to crawl, climb, run and jump unlike our relatively sedentary indoor spaces.
Further studies have shown that even as adults that our health and well-being are enhanced when we have access to natural environments and fresh air. Going beyond the “access to resources” argument of the evolutionary psychologists, they show that time spent in natural environments influences our ability to experience balance, thoughtfulness and compassion whilst providing a host of additional health benefits, such as reduced levels of inflammation and stress hormones.
This is vis medicatrix natura, literally the healing power of nature.
And yet whilst science can be a useful tool to discover the how, it struggles to determine the why. Surely if the impulse to survive was the only thing that mattered we would never leave our well stocked and warm houses. Yet as a child and as an adult I found myself irresistibly and paradoxically attracted to the cold alpine landscapes where survival must surely be an unpleasant and cold struggle.
Clearly there was some other need, some other reason, that was being satisfied by my trips into the snow and I begin to suspect that time outside spent in nature is a critical component of human development and that it’s absence costs us dearly.
It’s clear to me that there are benefits to spending time outside in nature, that there is a mystery that calls us into the outside world, to explore.
But where there is mystery, there is also risk.
"But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book … “
Jack London The Call of the Wild 1903
The sky was a brilliant blue as we explored the snowy heights of Lake Mountain. The sun felt so warm on our faces that we shed our coats and packed them into our backpacks despite the cold layer of snow that crackled underfoot.
Encouraged by the wonderful weather, we decided to stray from the path in order to investigate a nearby vantage point that promised a good view for us to enjoy whilst we had lunch.
As we ate, the wind picked up and grey clouds started swiftly billowing over the mountain range. The sun vanished behind a cloud and the temperature dropped rapidly. We packed away our lunch, retrieved our coats and started walking back in the direction of the the path.
Snow flakes started to fall, lightly dusting our hair and the surrounding vegetation. It was a lovely sight and we took some photos.
By the time we reached the path, snow was falling heavily. Heavy gusts of winds sent flurries of snow spiraling in all directions. Within minutes visibility was reduced to zero and the way forward vanished.
A large boulder that had broken in two provided us with shelter from the wind and snow. We crouched together and looked at each other. Our faces were flush with a strange mix of fear and excitement. Neither of us had experienced a sudden change of conditions like this before. We understood the potential for things to go bad.
We took a moment to take stock of the situation.
We had a rough idea of the direction we needed to head but couldn’t risk moving due to the possibility of falling down an unseen drop or getting completely lost. We had told others of our trip and our phones were working so we could call for assistance. We had a compass and a good idea of how far we had traveled. We were warm, sheltered and had food.
After a brief discussion we decided to stay where we were, wait, and then reassess the situation when the weather eased.
And just like that, as quickly as it had began, the snow stopped. The sun quickly chased away the clouds and blue skies covered the sky once again and the path forward was revealed.
We shook the snow from our clothes and walked back to our car, talking excitedly about what we had just experienced. It was an exciting moment, but only in the hindsight afforded by not having anything terrible happen. We both knew it to be a reminder of the dangers that can be encountered when exploring the wilderness.
"Sometimes as he crouched there, blinking dreamily at the flames, it seemed that the flames were of another fire, and that as he crouched by this other fire he saw another and different man from the half-breed cook before him"
Jack London The Call of the Wild 1903
I must admit that I’m not entirely comfortable reading articles suggesting that the wilderness has something to teach us.
For one thing I think the wilderness, or rather the plants, animals, fungi, insects, bacteria that together make up ‘the wild’, all have lives all of their own. That they don’t exist just to teach us, generally have better things to do and would probably rather you didn’t disturb them.
They certainly won’t stop what they are doing in order to impart some great lesson to the brightly coloured buffoon who has wondered into their home on a day trip expecting an epiphany.
However there is also no denying that there is something out there to learn. It’s just that our relationship with the wilderness is more complex than that of a typical teacher/student. You’re not a passive observer having the answers handed to them, but an active participant that needs to search for them.
Sometimes I see the recommendation that you practice mindfulness when out in nature. This refers to the practice of simply observing your thoughts as they arise and letting them pass without becoming attached to any of them .
In the right setting this is an excellent practice.
When out and about in the wildnerness however, sometimes thoughts wonder into your head that you simply must pay attention to as your survival may depend on it. It may be some clue that you’ve noticed on the edge of your awareness, something that causes your guts to twist up in a physical warning of danger ahead.
Something that demands you pay attention or else.
In this way time in the wild can help you sort the necessary from the unnecessary. Thoughts about outstanding bills? Let it go. Workplace issues? Let it go. A sudden drop in temperature? Pay attention. A sudden noise? Pay attention.
At lifes extremity, survival situations have a way of whittling down your concerns to a very small set of choices. Do we stay and wait out the snow storm? Or do we wander off in the direction that we think will get us to safety. Each choice has a consequence. The storm may last for hours. We may walk blindly in the wrong direction. Mindfully observing the situation without become attached to any one thought will not help you. You need to make a decision and you may only get one chance to make the right one.
I will point out however, that in the scenario I described earlier, waiting was the right choice. It usually is when lost.
Fortunately you need not worry about finding the most wild and remote area possible in order to start exploring your connection to wilderness. You certainly don’t have to climb the nearest mountaintop in order to learn something about yourself. Start by locating parks and green spaces near you; wild spaces are readily available to all of us if we just go outside. It does not take much looking to find places where nature is reasserting itself from under the imposed order of modern society.
However if you do decide to go somewhere wild and remote, remember to take appropriate precautions. As a minimum you should let someone know where you are going.
When you find a place that speaks to you, simply spend time there. Don’t worry about having a set goal or expecting an epiphany. Simply spend some time noticing your thoughts and emotions as they come and go. Notice what draws your attention and what repels it, ask yourself why?
Quietly observe and thoughtfully interact with that place. Do this over a long enough period and you may start to gain an insight into a better way of living and a path to a new you. Just like Buck did.
