This is the second time I read “Stickeen” and I enjoyed it
just as much the second time around. Most of what I have read by Muir takes
place in Yosemite, so it’s nice to read his perspective about a different
location. When I’ve read his descriptions of the Sierras and of Yosemite, I am
always struck by the profound connection to the particular landscape he
describes, and how he goes about experiencing his surroundings. I remember one
essay in which he describes climbing a sequoia tree in the middle of a thunderstorm
so he could better experience the storm. Muir describes a similar excursion in “Stickeen”: “When I
heard the storm and looked out I made haste to join it; for many of Nature’s
finest lessons are to be found in her storms, and if careful to keep in right
relations with them, we may go safely abroad with them, rejoicing in the
grandeur and beauty of their works and ways.” In both stories I felt a bit
surprised to read about going out and about in the midst of a storm. To be
honest, I kind of prefer being in my tent or under a tarp when it’s raining,
toasty warm and dry and listening to the pitter patter of the rain fall on the
fly as I fall asleep. That is not to say that on occasion I don’t love running
about in the rain and stomping in puddles every once in a while. But this
latter scenario usually only occurs in the front country, when I know that
should I get cold I can quickly dry off and change clothes. In the backcountry,
however, there’s a question of how long the rain is going to last, and how long
until your clothes are going to dry.
I enjoyed reading about the development of the relationship
between Stickeen and Muir. After they both make their way across the crevasse,
and Stickeen transitions from “the depths of despair to exultant, triumphant,
uncontrollable joy,” the two become inseperable. Muir writes, “Stickeen was a
changed dog…instead of holding aloof, he always lay by my side, tried to keep
me constantly in sight, and would hardly accept a morsel of food, however
tempting, from any hand but mine…And often as he caught my eye he seemed to be
trying to say, “Wasn’t that an awful time we had together on the glacier?” I
was reminded of times leading trips when a particular difficulty, such as a hard
section of trail, horrendous weather, spilling dinner, or an insane number of
beaver dams creates a sense of solidarity within a group. It doesn’t always
happen – sometimes temperatures run high and everyone becomes cranky and
miserable, but occasionally the group community grows stronger because of such
an event. Muir’s descriptions of Stickeen are quite different before and after
their excursion out into the storm. At first he does not want the dog to join
the expedition, and describes him as “a queer character.” In contrast, after
their experience on the glacier, he writes, “I have known many dogs, and many a
story I could tell of their wisdom and devotion; but to none do I owe so much
as to Stickeen.” The change in how Muir writes about Stickeen reminds me of the
changes that a group of people sometimes undergo when spending significant
amounts of time together in the backcountry.
On a completely unrelated note, I saw a link on Facebook the other day that linked to a blog post that reminded me of our discussions regarding the
definition of adventure so I thought I would pass it along. I have never heard
of the author before, but exploring the idea of adventure as a type of art form was a concept that caught my attention. It’s
an interesting idea, especially since both adventure and art can mean such
different things to individual people. I didn’t particularly like the way it
was written (some parts seem a bit over the top and cheesy), but I would be interested to
hear what you all think about this particular perspective on the idea of adventure.
Here’s the link: "Adventure as Art"
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