Starting the Year With a Feeling of Dread

January 1, 2018 — Pat Bertram

In a post I wrote six years ago, I mentioned that I was starting the year with a feeling of dread. Back then, I didn’t know what brought on the feeling, but I have the same feeling this year, and I do know what is causing the dread.

I don’t like talking about my financial situation because it makes me look like a fool, but the truth is, I spent most of the last decades looking after sick and dying relatives. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do (and I still know it was), but it left me without any retirement. I’ve been living off savings and a small inheritance, and this year there will come a time when I have to make some hard decisions, such as where to live and where to get a job. (The only thing I am qualified for is taking caring of folks, and I simply cannot do that anymore.)

Knowing that this decision was coming was a big impetus to getting my works in progress finished, but I destroyed my arm before I could finish the third book, and I haven’t been able to get back to it. Maybe I will finish it this year before my life changes beyond recognition . . . again.

I’ve drifted this past year, and unless I make those hard decisions, I probably will continue to drift until the money for one more grand adventure is gone and the need to settle into a new and unwelcome life becomes dire. (Oddly, the decision to get up and go on that last big adventure is just as hard as the other decisions because once the adventure is done, then those other changes will have to be made.) Status quo will hold until May when I head up to Seattle. On that camping/hiking trip, I will face the reality of what I am capable of, and if it is possible to live a nomadic life for a while.

(I have two dreams — one, to hike one of the long trails, and the other to be nomadic for a year to see what if anything will happen. It’s entirely possible both dreams are leftovers from my grief days. It’s also possible they stem from the unwillingness to do what I must to take care of myself. Whatever the reason, I do yearn for a spiritual journey, a vision quest, something that catapults me into “more.”)

I have not cried at all since March 26th, the day before my seven-year grief anniversary, the day before I got the external fixator off my destroyed arm, but in the middle of last night I woke with tears on my face, whispering, “I am so afraid, Jeff.”

I have been very good about living in the day and for the day, without too much thought for the future or too much looking to the past, but all this talk of a new year must have gotten beneath my defenses. (And then, there is this dang flu that came to visit me, which doesn’t help matters.) Admittedly, with the state of my arm this past year, there was really no other choice but to live in the day, to heal and exercise the poor limb, but it is slowly getting to the point that no further progress can be made, so I will have to live with the weakened arm.

There is nothing I can do about anything today — not the finances, not the fear, not the flu — so I’m going back to bed.

I hope all your decisions this year will be easy ones.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Have a Wonderful Penultimate Day!

December 30, 2017 — Pat Bertram

“Penultimate,” means the second to last in a series, and today is the second to last day of the year, which strikes me as something special to celebrate. We have all, even the most curmudgeonly among us, at one time or another celebrated New Years Eve or New Years Day, if only with the purchase of a new calendar or a perfunctory toast with a bit of bubbly, but it seems as if this day is just as worthy of a toast as those two more iconic days. I mean, how often does one get to use the word penultimate? For that alone, I will pop open a bottle of sparkling apple/pear juice and toast the day.

Being cognizant of the second to last day of the year also gives us a chance to ease gradually into the end of a year/beginning of a new year cycle. Too often it seems that one second it is the old year and the next second it is a new year (I’m being silly here because obviously, that is the way things work), and celebrating this day gives us more of a buffer, an extra day to reflect on what was and what we hope will be.

20171230_111436.jpgBesides being penultimate, today was worthy of celebration in itself. For me, anyway. It was a gorgeous day, a perfect day for a practice hike. So I shrugged on my trainer backpack (my real backpack but with minimal weight) and headed out. That I could even walk three miles with ten pounds on my back and two pounds on my front (a fanny pack flipped to the front to make the water bottles more accessible) is something to celebrate. Even more — for a few minutes during the trek, I stopped feeling all that weight, which makes me think I will eventually be able to add more without any trouble. (Well, a little trouble. I was trying to make sure I stood upright instead of leaning forward, and I must have forgotten to tilt my hips forward to lessen the hip arch, and I can it feel it in my lower back. Ouch.)

Still, a little pain never hurt anyone, and pain in itself is something to celebrate. It means we’re alive! And that, for sure, is something to celebrate.

So, have a wonderful penultimate day!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Getting a Head Start on New Years Resolutions

December 28, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I don’t really make New Year’s resolutions. Except for the calendar change, there isn’t anything that makes one year different from another. Seasons are cyclical, orbits are cyclical, life is cyclical — and by their very natures, cycles have no beginning or end. Still, a new year is a useful convention in the same way that a new day is a useful convention, giving us the feel of a new start, and so I am getting a head start on my resolutions.

Often during the year, I resolve to go back to a healthy diet and be more conscientious when it comes to an exercise program, but however disciplined I am, there comes a day when I simply do not care, and there ends the discipline. (This is, I think, a lingering effect of my grief over Jeff’s death, and seems to be a cycle that many of us left behind succumb to. On the one hand, we want to do what’s right. On the other hand, it makes no difference what we do — healthy or not, we all end up in the grave or the crematorium.)

I am going through one of my disciplined stages (or rather, my wanting-to-be-disciplined stage since this is only day two of this new cycle) in an effort to “youth” instead of “age.” Impossible, probably, to ratchet back the toll of the years, but it would take such a miraculous feat to enable me even to attempt my impossible dream of an iconic hike.

The only item on my disciplined to do list that I did not follow yesterday was perhaps the least important — the no eating after 6 o’clock rule. The others I did — stretched, lifted weights (very light weights considering my weak hand, wrist, and elbow), ate plenty of vegetables, and skipped the sugar, wheat, and milk products. Most importantly, I strapped on my backpack, added a bit of weight (the whole contraption weighed maybe eight pounds) and went for a two and a half mile trudge around the neighborhood.

Who would have thought so few pounds would make such a difference? I could walk but not with any bounce, speed, or glide to my step. And even though I used trekking poles and kept myself upright (too often you see people with backpacks bent over from the weight) my lower stomach muscles feel tight, and the inside of my thighs right above the knees are sore. (These must be muscles that my various dance classes don’t develop.) Those pains are in addition to an all-over body ache.

We’ll see what happens after a few days of this disciplined life. Before even the new year begins, I might have already broken my resolutions. But maybe not. There is that impossible dream — the unreachable star — to stretch toward.

Or trudge toward, as the case may be.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Measuring Success

December 19, 2017 — Pat Bertram

In her book Anatomy of Spirit, Caroline Myss writes: “While we measure our own success in terms of our personal comfort and security, the universe measures our success by how much we have learned. So long as we use comfort and security as our criteria of success, we will fear our own intuitive guidance because by its very nature it directs us into new cycles of learning that are sometimes uncomfortable.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever measured success by comfort, though it has long been a favorite pursuit of mine. Why try for big adventures when you can stay home in the comfortable chair and get almost the same benefits by reading about people on big adventures? (Apparently, there is a place in our brains that translates such vicarious pleasures into its own reality, though I doubt you get the same benefit you would get if you were actually out on the adventure, and I know you don’t get any physical benefits, but it is definitely more comfortable.)

I have never measured success by security, either, though I certainly wish I didn’t have to worry about money. (Whenever I think such a thought, a tiny reciprocal thought appears — “well, then, don’t worry about it.”)

As for what the universe wants and measures, I haven’t a clue. Does the universe have cognition? It’s hard to tell. The universe doesn’t talk to me, and it has not yet imparted what sort of lesson I have learned from nearly destroying my hand/wrist/arm/elbow. Shouldn’t I have learned something? You’d think such a traumatic experience would have led me somewhere meaningful, but I cannot think of a single lesson I have learned.

This is all just semantics because, with my continued talk of going on a grand adventure, I obviously believe the truth of Myss’s statement — I  do feel some sort of intuitive guidance toward the very idea of doing an iconic hike. And she make sense of why I would dream of going on an epic backpacking trip that not only is seemingly impossible for me, but also terrifies me.  Oddly, mental stagnation scares me even more — while comfort is . . . well, comfortable . . . it certainly is not something to get the senses heightened, brain synapses firing, and the body challenged.

The more I think about the impossibility of an epic backpacking trip, the more I find myself guided by the thought, “but what if . . . ?” That “what if” keeps me focused on getting there (wherever “there” might be), and if an epic hike truly is as impossible as it seems, there will still be all the “practice” adventures, the smaller adventures that are supposed to prepare me for the big one, and each of those adventures will bring its own cycle of learning.

Learning has always been my main thing, even more than comfort or security. As frustrated as I get when trying to learn a new dance (sometimes my mind goes blank instead of processing the sequence of steps we’re given), it’s the learning that is as compelling to me as the dancing itself.

It’s the possibility of learning and the fear of how I might learn what I will need to learn that makes the idea of an adventure so frightening and compelling, not just the impossible dream adventure, but the possible ones. In the case of the possible dreams, the learning comes in two parts. The first part is the planning/researching, which is what fuels the fear for the second part — the doing. The more I learn about the vigors and rigors of various campsites or trails, the more I want to bury my head under the covers, but also the more I want to go.

(I just thought of something — it’s this comfort vs. learning thing that could be the block that keeps me from finishing my decade-old work in progress. Since I know what I want to write, there is neither the fun nor the excitement of learning something new to keep me going. Maybe I have to turn things upside down to see what happens.)

I will not consider myself a failure if I am never able to even attempt the impossible dream of an epic hike; I will, however, measure my success by the learning and adventures (no matter how uncomfortable) to which I am directed along the way.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

 

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Letting Go

December 18, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I spent most of yesterday sorting out a few boxes in my storage unit. I have no idea why, but I woke with the feeling that I needed to start getting rid of more of my stuff. I got rid of half of everything Jeff and I owned when I left our home, and a third of what was left when I left my father’s house, but I still have way too much stuff for someone who is somewhat of a nomad, moving from one temporary place to another.

Although I hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even remembered I still had them, I ended up tossing out my grief journals and the letters I wrote to Jeff those first years after his death. I’m sure there was much wisdom in those pages, but there was also too much sorrow and too many tears. No one needs to keep that sort of grief-laden memorabilia. And anyway, if ever I am interested in my thoughts back then, I have hundreds of blog posts and of course, my book Grief: The Great Yearning.

It’s odd, but I don’t feel anything — neither relief that the sorrow is thrown away nor regret that I got rid of the journals. I suppose that means I chose the right time to let them go.

I still have Jeff’s ashes, but it’s getting close to time to get rid of those, too. It might be nice to take them with me on my May trip, and sprinkle tiny amounts in all the places I know he’d love. (Shh. Don’t tell. It’s illegal to dump human remains without a permit, but a teaspoonful here and a smidgeon there spread over hundreds of miles shouldn’t upset the ecology of any area.) Still, the trip is still months away, and anything can happen before I have to decide.

I also threw away the handwritten versions of my books (the first four were completely written by hand, and even parts of the more recently published books were handwritten). I’d been saving them for . . . I don’t know . . . posterity, maybe. But posterity has passed me by, and so far I haven’t needed them to prove my claim that I wrote the books, so it was time to let them go, too.

Some things I did not throw away, such as the binder filled with maps and information about places I’d planned to visit on my cross-country trip two years ago. The most astonishing fact about those pages is that so many were about long-distance hiking trails, including maps. I vaguely remember planning to hike and backpack in the various national lands along the way, figuring that when I hit North Carolina, I’d be ready to hike part of the Mountain to Sea trail. Unfortunately, by the time I got to North Carolina, I could barely walk up stairs. (I’d wrenched my hip in ballet class before I left, and the hiking I did in the beginning and all that driving only made things worse. I’ve been doing piriformis muscle stretches ever since, and maybe this next adventure, though shorter, might be more active.)

One piece of torn paper that I tossed in the trash yesterday while working was picked up by the wind, and so I went dashing after it. (Although I might not have a problem with littering the wilderness with Jeff’s ashes, any other sort of littering is anathema to me.) I have that dusty, wrinkled bit by my side as I type this blog. It was a quote I’d found and jotted down with pencil:

“Let go, trust and just take the first step. The pathway will unfold before you.” That advice comes from The Peace Pilgrim, a 44-year-old woman who set out to walk for peace carrying only a pen, a comb, a toothbrush, and a map, trusting to those she met to supply what she needed, though she never asked for anything. I wish I had her trust, her courage, her zeal. Could I ever just head out on foot with nothing and wait to see what happens?

It’s one thing to let go of possessions that no longer have value, but another thing to just . . . let go.

But maybe . . .

Someday . . .

Meantime, most of my stuff still needs to be sorted, and more gotten rid of. Do you notice I’m using the passive voice? That’s because I don’t want to have to face the reality of who is going to have to do all that work.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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A Plethora of Riches

December 17, 2017 — Pat Bertram

The internet makes research easier and quicker than finding the proper books or sending away for brochures and such, but so much information is available online, that it’s almost impossible at times to process this plethora of riches.

I’ve been researching campsites and campgrounds for my upcoming adventure in May, and last night, when I realized I did not end up with a single hard fact after a couple of hours of perusing various websites, I closed down my computer. It would be nice if I could just drive for as long as I wanted, then magically find a perfect campsite when I needed it, but unfortunately, most campgrounds or campsites are down a side road. I could pass within fifty feet of one such and never even see it.

So, as frustrating as it is, if I don’t want to end up in motels every night for lack of a more interesting place to stay, I have to do the research. Besides, some places are only available on a reservation basis. I’ve been told you need to reserve a space six months in advance for Yosemite National Park, and though I really should visit the park, without a firm grasp of my itinerary, making a reservation seems a bit risky.

Most of the online camping directory sites seem to be geared for RVing rather than tent camping. For example, in one listing of places to camp, I found Walmarts, truck stops, turnouts, and various other places that might do in a pinch for parking an RV (though does anyone really get excited about sleeping in a Walmart parking lot?) but there is no way to pitch a tent. Or if tents are allowed, which I cannot imagine, there is no way I would ever tent camp in a Walmart parking lot.

Even some campgrounds in national parks and other national lands seem to be geared solely for RVs. One campground I researched that seemed ideal had a single spot for a tent camper. And that spot had to be reserved.

There are still tent-only campgrounds, but those all seem to be the hike-in kind. I might be comfortable out in the wilds by myself, but I am not comfortable parking my ancient VW and just leaving it at a trailhead for a few days. Besides, although wilderness hiking and backpacking is generally safe, I’m not sure the same would be true of a campground on the edge of civilization. And anyway, would I really feel comfortable walking five miles to camp? (I’m laughing at myself. I don’t know why this is even a blip in my head — five miles? Carrying a full pack? That is so ridiculous at my stage of fitness — or unfitness — as to be a non-issue.)

I know there are plenty of places out there for me to stay — after all, I found them when I was on my road trip. Admittedly, the parks and monuments where I camped were not insanely over visited like Yosemite and other parks in the Pacific states, but still, May is not the height of the tourist season, and I do not need to see the popular parks just yet. (After all, I have never been to the Grand Canyon, which everybody knows, but I did stay at Chiricahua National Monument, which few people ever heard of, and it was wonderful!

It’s a good thing I have four months to research. At the rate I am going, I will need every day of that time to prepare if I don’t want to stay in motels or (heaven forbid!) sleep in my car in Walmart parking lots.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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The Mature Adult and Hiking

December 16, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I received an early Christmas present yesterday. Well, technically, it wasn’t early, I just opened it early. I figured since I was grown up, I could either act like a mature adult and save the present until Christmas or act like a mature adult and do whatever the heck I wanted, and I opted for the latter. And it was the perfect time to open the gift and the perfect time to enjoy the book. (Since I love this particular gift giver’s wrapping, I wrapped another book in its stead, a perfect example of having one’s gift and reading it too.)

The gift? The Creaky Knees Guide to the 100 Best Easy Hikes in Washington. Isn’t that a perfect gift to prepare for my May adventure to the Pacific Northwest? Most of the hikes listed do seem easy enough for these creaky knees, but some seem difficult even for the pre-creak set. Eight miles round trip with a 2,880 elevation gain? Yikes!! Not a beginner slope for sure.

Just because a hike is easy, it doesn’t mean getting to the hike is easy. In one case, the directions call for a drive of 14 miles on a washboard road, and then another 3 or so on what sounded like a barely navigable dirt track. That is simply not an option for my poor ancient VW. The bug looks pretty and runs well, but the welds holding it together are 46 years old. Yikes, again.

And then there is the little tidbit I found in the book about a private hiking club in Washington with $5,000 a year dues and a mere 63 members. The sole purpose of the club? To stealthily grade, or rather de-grade the roads to their favorite trails, making the roads all but impassable, in order to keep the trails to themselves. More yikes.

The most daunting part of the book is the admonition against solo hiking. This isn’t the first time I have encountered that rule — every single tip sheet for hikers talks about the dangers of solo hiking. Apparently, “do not hike alone” is the number one rule. For everyone, of course, except solo hikers, who love being out by themselves. Yes, things do happen to solo hikers. Bad things. But bad things also happen to people walking in the city, solo or otherwise. (It was in the city, in a parking lot, that I fell and had to endure the absolute worst injury I ever suffered.)

I’ve already broken the solo hiking rule (being the aforesaid mature adult and doing whatever the heck I want) — I’ve hiked a couple of hundred solo miles (not all at once, of course) in various wild places, and many hundreds more walking in the Mojave Desert — the rather tame part close to town, though rattlesnakes and coyotes and jackrabbits carrying jackknives do abound.

I won’t give up solo hiking, no matter what the rule, nor will I give up my absurdly impossible dream of a solo backpacking trip on one of the iconic trails. Hiking in a group is too dangerous, at least for me. As a straggler who hikes my own hike, stopping frequently to drink in the ambiance or to take photos of nature’s artistry, I often have to hurry to catch up to the group, and so end up going much faster than I feel that either I or the trail can handle. And there are too many times groups cross creeks or rivers that are more than I want to attempt, and usually some well-meaning folk end up trying to help and merely land me in the drink. And if I hike in a group, I have to hike when and where they choose, regardless of what I might want. There is definitely a place for companionable hiking — I have done many hikes with others that were enjoyable — but that is not the same as being alone with the world, feeling connected to the world, breathing in the essence of the world. Of course, the first time I meet a cougar, I’m sure I will rethink this lofty position.

Meantime, like any mature adult should be, I am safe inside, comfortably ensconced in my armchair, reading about hiking in far-flung places and dreaming of being out in the wilds.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Help Me Plan My Next Big Adventure!

December 14, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I don’t feel like writing another bah humbuggish post. To be honest, I don’t feel like writing much of anything. Despite a lingering cold, today I went to dance class (classes, actually), and now I want a nap. But this is day thirty-three of my fifty-day blog challenge, so I want — need — to post something.

How about something fun? Something for me to look forward to?

I know! My next big adventure!

In May, I will be going to Seattle for a weekend with my sisters, and I will be driving through Northern California, Oregon, and Washington, camping and hiking along the way. I’m planning to be out adventuring for approximately a month. (Unless I become subsumed into the camping culture, then who knows how long I will be out wilding in the wilds.)

I’ve been looking at the atlas, and it seems as if it could take years to explore even one of those states (which someday I hope to do). A month will give me only the merest glimpse of the area, and I don’t know much about Oregon or Washington at all.

So . . .

If you have any suggestions of places (or people!) to visit or to stay away from, special campgrounds or dispersed camping spots, great hikes and other delights, please let me know so I can add them to my itinterary.

Thank you!

This photo was taken on my only trip to Oregon, a four or five mile hike along the Oregon Coast outside of Brookings. The impossible dream includes doing the whole coast, but . . .  well, impossible dreams by definition are impossible. Unless you want to come and carry my backpack for me?

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Pointing Myself in a Direction

December 7, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I reconnected with my once-upon-a-time Yoga teacher the other day. She happened to “like” one of my twitter posts, and I was so pleased to see her name after all these years, that I immediately wrote her a message, and we’ve been “talking.”

I loved her Yoga classes and her philosophy. She was the one who taught me to use my whole sphere. She said we live in a personal sphere, the space taken up by outspread arms and legs. As we age and become more fearful of missteps, we shrink into the center of our spheres, shortening our stride, hunching into ourselves. Ever since, I have striven to open myself not just to my physical sphere, but also beyond what I can encompass.

I was devastated (devastated for myself, not for her) when she left to accept a fabulous job offer. It worked out, in a way, because I went searching for something else to do to give me a respite from looking out for my father, and I found dancing. (This was one of those very rare cases of one door closing and another opening, though I truly hate that platitude. After Jeff died, people frequently said, “When a door closes, a window opens,” but who uses a window in place of a door? And anyway, what good is a window or even a door to a widow who has lost her foundation?)

In one of the recent messages to my erstwhile Yoga instructor, I mentioned my idea of eventually doing some sort of epic hike, and she responded: “Baby steps everyday towards your goal will help you accomplish your dream. We have a Bucket List of walking The Camino de Santiago-we’ve begun working on it-It’s years ahead. Just point yourself in that direction & start!”

So, baby steps.

The first step is to get well. I caught the cold that’s been going around, and I’m stuck inside for the duration. (It’s interesting how the idea of an epic adventure always rears its head when I am housebound. Well, perhaps not interesting. But understandable.)

The second step is to continue working to get my hand/arm/wrist/elbow in as good a shape as possible.

The third step is to . . . well, one and two should be sufficient for now.

I am beginning to see, though, that an epic hike for me would be years in the future, which is one of the things that makes it an impossible dream — by the time I am ready, it’s possible I would be too decrepit or too broke. But it is a direction in which to point myself, and that has been the problem these years after Jeff’s death — I’ve had no direction.

I might be driving up the coast to Seattle in May, which would be a good time for a reconnoitering trip. I am also collecting lists of hikes that are less ambitious than the iconic national trails and that might possibly be good starter long hikes. I just added the Pinhoti Trail to the list. I am sure there are hundreds of trails that would be perfect for a few weeks or even a few days. Or even one night. (If I’m going to do baby steps, a one nighter would be the first trip!)

It’s possible what I like is the impossible dream and that backpacking is more of an ideal than something I ever want to do. (My father had such a dream — for as long as I can remember, he talked about walking the coast of Portugal. I don’t know when he finally gave up on the idea, or when it gave up on him.) And yet I have enjoyed every one of the day hikes I have ever taken, and enjoyed every night I spent camping.

Step three, now that I think of it, should be to get over the idea of chucking it all and just heading out. Considering the dismal state of my finances, it seems silly to pay rent when I am elsewhere, but for now, it would probably be best to have a base. And anyway, there would be the problem of what to do with my car if I were on the trail for months.

So, baby steps all the way.

I do like the idea of doing something every day to prepare, even if it’s only research. (Only research? From what I’ve been able to gather from the research I have already done is that research is one of the most important things a beginner backpacker can do.)

But for now, I’ll point myself in the direction of a nap.

***
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Puzzling Through the Impossible Dream

December 5, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I had lunch with a friend today, and she mentioned wanting to walk the Pacific Coast Trail, which was one of the trails I’d researched during my original research for an epic hike. She said the problem is that the trail is still two decades away from being completed, and by then she’d be too old to have any interest in doing it. Since that was also my reaction to the trail, we talked about how to do the trail anyway, such as taking the Greyhound around unfinished places or possibly Ubering.

One big problem of an epic adventure, assuming of course that the other problems such as being able to carry a pack, go the distance, and various other minor matters, is the necessity of hitchhiking to town to replenish supplies and returning to your starting point when you finish the hike, which is not something I would ever do. But Ubering into town? Along the coast? It might be doable, especially on the more populous parts of the trail where there is no camping.

Unlike the Pacific Crest Trail, which is a continuous trail through the three coastal states, there is no real Pacific Coast Trail. There is a California Coastal Trail, which connects various walkways, boardwalks, multiuse trails, and roads all along the coastline (well, except for the places where there is no place to walk) and there is the Oregon Coastal Trail, which as I understand it, is completed. In both cases, tides have to be taken into consideration, because there are many spots that are only traversable during low tide. And the trail is narrow, steep, and rocky in other spots.

I have hiked small parts of both coastal trails (very small) and the beauty is only matched by the difficulty. But still — a wonderful, if impossible dream.

So far, I have not found any map or website for a Washington State Coast Trail for hiking, though there is one for biking. (And you do not want to hear me talk about the problems about walking on cycling trails. Yikes!)

But this gives me something more specific to aim for. Best of all, I don’t have to worry about as many ticks as on other trails (I don’t think I do), and perhaps not as many mosquitoes. Since I am dreaming impossible dreams, starting at the northernmost area and working my way south could be best way of doing it — begin in the summer at the coolest part of the hike, and hike the warmer spots in the fall and winter.

Forgetting for the moment that I lack the necessary physical stamina (which might — might — be offset by frequently Ubering into town for supplies so I don’t have to carry as much), I wonder if I would have the mental stamina to do this. To just throw myself onto the world and see what would happen. (And then, there is the problem of what to do with my car while I’m gone. Unless I park, hike back to where I last parked and then head back to the car? Or walk ahead and Uber back to the car? Or forgot hiking and just drive the coastal road?)

I sometimes (well, all times) think I am foolish for continuing to think of such an epic adventure, and yet, for a person who loves puzzles, this is one of the greatest puzzles I have ever encountered — how to move one sluggish older woman several hundred miles along a trail without destroying her.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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