solitude

New World Library

Contents

Preface.........................................................ixIntroduction: The Call of Solitude..............................xiFebruary 2001...................................................2March 2001......................................................19Interlude: On Journaling and Storytelling.......................43April 2001......................................................49Interlude: Method, Solitude, and Meditation.....................75May 2001........................................................81June 2002.......................................................107Interlude: A Glance at Other Solitaries.........................127July 2001.......................................................133Interlude: Dancing in the Hallowed Halls........................153August 2001.....................................................163September 2001..................................................187Interlude: The Urge to Be Alone.................................203October 2001....................................................215Interlude: Technology and Desire................................239November 2001...................................................245December 2001...................................................257Interlude: Spiritual Practice...................................265January 2002....................................................273Interlude: Small Mind/Big Mind..................................285February 2002...................................................291Reentry.........................................................205Epilogue........................................................311Patti's Story...................................................323Acknowledgments.................................................331Appendix........................................................333Notes...........................................................341Bibliography....................................................351About the Author................................................355

Chapter One

SURVIVAL KIT

Food, Water, Stove, Pot, Cup, Space-blanket, Blanket, Tarp, Rope, Machete, Satphone, GPS, Compass, Ratteries, Jumpsuit, Life-vest, Kayak, Foot-pumps, Anchor, Oars, Paddle, Waders.

- Reminder to myself, taped to my cabin door

FEBRUARY 6, 2001

I left Puerto Natales yesterday at dawn on the Chilean Navy patrol boat, La Yagan. Looking back as we headed down the channel, I watched the town diminish into the landscape and realized that, if all goes well, it would be the last time I'd see a town for a year. The early sun glinted off the windows and tin roofs and shaped the still-snowy peaks beyond. A rainbow arced from land to sea, and I decided to take it as a sign of good things to come. Why not? Then I turned to look northwest toward the remote wilderness where I planned to build a camp and live alone for the coming year. There I saw storm skies and wind-chopped water.

It took us ten hours to travel the hundred miles to the tip of the peninsula where the navy had decided they would leave me. While part of the crew began to ferry my supplies to shore in their small Zodiac, the others lowered my own inflatable to the rough water, Once in the boat, slapped by wind-driven 40F spray, I noticed the navy guys were all wearing survival suits-and I wasn't. Hmm. Not bringing one seems like a fairly important oversight in my planning. I can probably keep dry in chest waders and raincoat, but if I capsize or go over the side, I'll be in serious trouble.

The weather continued to deteriorate, and the captain decided it was too dangerous there for his crew and me in our small boats. He moved to calmer water to drop the rest of my supplies on this tiny island where I now sit writing. Unloading took a long time. The navy guys piled my gear high on the rocks, but knowing they were in a hurry I told them to just leave the lumber I'd brought to build a cabin on the beach. It was a tough grunt wrestling the two heavy crates I'd shipped from Vancouver and the 55-gallon drums of gasoline from the inflatables up into the bushes. We finally had all the supplies ashore as dark was falling. They immediately left to seek safe haven from the building storm.

The lower beach in this small cove is covered with rocks; further up, there is grass, dense brush, and trees. Working in the dark with my headlamp for light, I laid down a semilevel platform of 2x4s and plywood in the grassy area, set up my tent on the plywood, and then watched the tide come in ... and in.

I'd assumed the grass would be above the high-tide line, but I was wrong. It turned out to be sea grass, and at 1 AM water started splashing against the underside of the platform. I jammed more 2x4s under there to raise the plywood, while cursing at and pleading with the tide to stop. Uh-huh. I finally moved my sleeping gear out of the tent and up to higher ground. By this time all the lumber was floating in a foot of water, so I waded over to heave it up into the bushes before it could drift away.

Just when it seemed the tide was at its peak, the wind picked up again and drove the sea back up to the bottom of the plywood. Exhausted, cold, hungry, and discouraged, I crouched in the dark on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, pounded by wind-driven rain and far from other people. I felt pretty damned forlorn and started to wonder what I'm doing here. Crying in his cardboard box inside a plastic garbage bag, the kitten didn't seem too happy either. But the tide finally started to ebb and I put the gear back in the tent and slept. My body hurt everywhere.

It's been raining and blowing on and off all day today, but here in the lee of the trees only the strongest gusts can get to me - unless the wind shifts from northwest to southwest, then I'm screwed. The navy captain told me that seldom happens. I've moved the tent platform higher up the beach and raised it two feet above the ground. I'm glad to have stayed dry so far, but I'm a bit worried about all my food on the beach where we started to unload a mile from here. I hope they set everything above high tide, but until the wind drops I have no way to check.

FEBRUARY 7, 2001

Still blowing, and it may be tough to move my gear the fourteen miles south to the small bay where I want to go. I'm waiting for the wind to die and feeling frustrated even though it's very beautiful here. Across the channel to the west I can see more than thirty waterfalls cascading down the rock cliffs of Staines Peninsula to the sea. In the other direction, when the clouds lift, the snowy peaks and glaciers of the southern Andes loom.

FEBRUARY 8, 2001

Maybe the weather is never calm here; this may be as good as it gets. The wind has eased, but it's still raining. A while ago I went to check my food and the propane tanks. Everything is still there, but the tanks had floated around and the food bags had been washed by the sea. I hope the waterproofing held, but won't know until I get a cabin built and have a dry place to unpack. I brought back the first-aid kit and a jar of...