Feral skiers and surfers have always intrigued me… those who pack all their worldly belongings into their cars and trucks and drive into the sunset, looking for the next unoccupied surf break or mountain line. I figure I’ve got some of that blood running through me, too. A commitment to the adventure, the process, and, also, an irreversible case of wanderlust. This lifestyle was typified by “The Endless Summer,” but many have done it since then, and many have done it better. I’ve read accounts of surfers repeatedly smuggling 5 tons of pot from Colombia to New England during the 1970’s just to fund their journeys around the world… back in the era when vast coastlines still remained undiscovered and un-surfed. Obviously, times have changed and I’m not entirely convinced that drug-running Colombian coke for Mexican drug cartels is, necessarily, a wise personal decision, even in order to fund the journey through the northern-US coastline or to the un-skied peaks of Central Idaho. But, the basis remains the same; the life best lived is the life spent through adventure, and adventure is only possible with continual motion.
The philosophy of becoming “feral” is intrinsically removed from the common perceptions of “adventure travel”, or so it has been termed. What separates it is the steadfast commitment to the process of adventure; adventure is not necessarily completing the original goals, but it is the space between. It is the accumulation of the entire experience. It is said “There is no adventure until something goes wrong,” and this is entirely true. In the spirit of true adventure, it is almost inescapable that something, somewhere will go wrong. That’s just what happens when you drive a shitty-car, strapped down with shitty surfboards and skis, on shitty roads devoid of most of the common luxuries we are, generally, provided on a day-to-day basis.
It is an entirely different experience than summiting something like K2; sure, it’s a feat, but it’s not an adventure. How can it be, when the price-tag is, at least, $14,000 a pop and everything is essentially provided for; there is no significant chance of failure, except those stemming directly from personal inadequacy. The high-powered lawyers and doctors that complete the ascent have done nothing that many people haven’t done before and, probably, many will, probably, do into perpetuity. Now, try driving 10,000 miles along the Pacific Coastline, through some of the world’s most remote coasts & jungles, raging conflicts, loneliness, and all-the-while dealing with the limitless potentialities that can come your way. In all this, you make those connections with people, communities, and, ultimately, find a sense of place, even while being in motion. See the difference… there is a vast one.
While the total-vagabond lifestyle is, in ways, respectable, the lifestyles I appreciate most are those who work blue-collar jobs to fulfill their dreams of hitting the road again. I believe a life devoid of work is, ultimately, a life wasted; work is not inherently bad; it is, instead, a pathway to self-actualization. I never really understood the people who employed all their time in finding ways to avoid work and, then, somehow subverted the perspective that, in fact, it was workers, and the working-class that was dishonest. It’s the “new-bohemian” subculture which, truthfully, is mostly people who have attained the means not to work; trust funds, wealthy families, etc. But those that swing the axe, the hammer, or do whatever, just to do what they have to do to get by for a bit while they plan their escape deserve, I think, the greatest respect.
On another note, for the majority of human existence, settlements have followed quarterly patterns (seasons) of mobility and work; due to the seasonal migration of food sources or the seasonality of agricultural conditions. Today, it is entirely possible to forego this particular facet of human history. However, I believe there is, also, a spiritual connection to this form of existence that we have forgotten; the ability to just pick up and leave. Whether or not it is a biological-psychological vestigial hard-wired into our minds, it is, still, definitely a universal impulse, some are just better at suppressing it I guess.
I guess this post is simply a way of justifying to myself, like it even really needs a justification, the life I see ahead. I’ve already organized it that way… if something better comes up, I’ll take it but I’ve got my doubts. I don’t think there’s anything more romantic than watching a beat-up truck meander down a lonely ocean road, surfboards strapped to the bars, kicking up dust in the evening sky or a cluster of half-buried tents underneath sprawling snowfields and twinkling stars, or, even, a handful of close friends in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere drinking beers around a crackling fire, reminiscing on good-times past. So, when people ask what I’m going to do now that I’ve graduated from the social-circus that was college (or, proceed to give advice on what I should do), I’ll simply tell them that I’m already living the life I love (and don’t need to do anything more); clearing trail/ cutting trees/ fighting wildfire for the Forest Service during the summer, skiing/working winters and traveling/surfing the time in between. Simple, I like simple.
