On several occasions I've been on solo backcountry hikes, stopped to rest, and realized that I could hear absolutely nothing. No wind. Not even bug-noise. Zero. It is truly sublime, transcendent, something entirely outside of ordinary human experience. Just typing this, laptop keys clicking, fan whirring, electrical timer creaking, crows squawking, the uncouth hollering of neighbors outside, cars rumbling in the distance, I am longing to experience such silence again.
I swear by getting out into the wilderness as a means of disconnecting and finding a sort of deep, long-lasting relaxation. My trips aren't extreme, but we hike long enough to be worn out at the end of the day, and deep enough into the forest to escape the sounds of civilization, and the reaches of cell service.
I've always loved backpacking, but the more connected I've become, the more important these trips have become to maintaining a sense of well being.
Sometimes when I'm on my boat in Alaska, the wind dies and the water's surface becomes a mirror of the sky. It's absolutely silent. I realize what we miss living among people in towns and cities -- we're denied the pleasure of silence.
The other time I experience this is when I cross Death Valley and camp on the unoccupied far side (an annual outing). There, also, the wind sometimes dies. But there, even the noises my boat makes are absent, as well as being a very beautiful environment:
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On several occasions I've been on solo backcountry hikes, stopped to rest, and realized that I could hear absolutely nothing. No wind. Not even bug-noise. Zero. It is truly sublime, transcendent, something entirely outside of ordinary human experience. Just typing this, laptop keys clicking, fan whirring, electrical timer creaking, crows squawking, the uncouth hollering of neighbors outside, cars rumbling in the distance, I am longing to experience such silence again.
I swear by getting out into the wilderness as a means of disconnecting and finding a sort of deep, long-lasting relaxation. My trips aren't extreme, but we hike long enough to be worn out at the end of the day, and deep enough into the forest to escape the sounds of civilization, and the reaches of cell service.
I've always loved backpacking, but the more connected I've become, the more important these trips have become to maintaining a sense of well being.
Sometimes when I'm on my boat in Alaska, the wind dies and the water's surface becomes a mirror of the sky. It's absolutely silent. I realize what we miss living among people in towns and cities -- we're denied the pleasure of silence.
The other time I experience this is when I cross Death Valley and camp on the unoccupied far side (an annual outing). There, also, the wind sometimes dies. But there, even the noises my boat makes are absent, as well as being a very beautiful environment:
http://i.imgur.com/M6iQpyU.jpg
Silence -- like many things, you don't miss it until it's gone.