A Fool In Paradise Pt 2

Not long afterwards, I walked out onto Ivestor Gap and my heart leaped for joy. I’m not sure what it was about the place—the bald slopes that gave a 180-degree panorama of the mountains, the sense of being far from civilization, or simply the setting of blue-green vistas, bald mountain tops, and small woods—but I was completely unprepared for its effect on me. My heart felt lighter and I skipped about like a young child or an old fool. Several times, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. I was filled with pure delight.

Soon, I discovered more balds—Tennent Mountain and Black Balsam Knob—with even better vistas. Despite some serious climbs for an out-of-shape priest, I skipped along the path in utter rapture, spooking, I must add, not a few birds and rabbits. I could feel months of stress pouring out of my muscles, and something long dormant in me began to awaken. Had anyone been around to see me, I’m sure he or she would have turned around to flee this obvious lunatic. But I didn’t care; delight had me completely in its grip.

There have not been many times that I have been filled so powerfully with delight. A few times come immediately to mind—the moment my bride appeared on the far end of the church aisle (though with less skipping on my part), the birth of my son, my discovery (believe it or not) of the sermons of Lancelot Andrewes, and a blessed moment when upon giving final communion I experienced the sweet passing of a man long afflicted with Parkinson’s Disease—and I am sure there are more, which further reflection would bring to mind. They’re rare and precious moments when I have felt a deep connection to God’s good creation, with those whom I love, and ultimately with God Himself. It’s at these moments that I often recall C.S. Lewis’ description of delight: “Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are ‘patches of Godlight’ in the woods of our experience.”[1] They’re moments when the world feels very real and solid. More importantly, they’re moments when God seems close.

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[1] Letters to Malcolm, p. 90 (ch. 17)

A Fool In Paradise Pt 1

Excerpted from the book I'm writing on delight.

I had a few days to myself. Living as I do in western North Carolina, it wasn’t difficult to decide how I would make use of this gift of mid- October freedom. The mountains beckoned. I would go walking.

Mind you, I hadn’t yet done much hiking. Supposedly, the average American walks around three hundred yards a day; no doubt, much of it back and forth from the fridge or in search of the remote. I’m not sure I was doing that much. The fifty pounds I’d gained since leaving seminary seemed to suggest that I had developed a certain attachment to our sofa. But my map happily informed me that the route I was planning to take was relatively level and shouldn’t pose much of a problem even for me.

And so I packed a lunch, snacks, a good book, and my pipe into my backpack, put on the L.L. Bean jacket I had conveniently failed to return to my father, strapped on a pair of heavy Wal-Mart boots, grabbed a hat and walking stick, and drove up the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Art Loeb trail. I was in a happy mood.

Fall is normally a breathtaking time of year in western North Carolina. The wooded slopes are a patchwork of gold, red, and orange, and the air so clear and crisp that you can see for miles. But, that year fall had arrived a little ahead of schedule, and by mid October many of the trees had shed their leaves. Still, naked forests have their own unique beauty with the added advantage that you can actually see through the foliage to admire the views.

When I stepped out of the car, I was immediately hit by an invigorating blast of cold air. Actually, it turned out to be a constant blow of wintry air. Fortunately, the path—a disused lumber road—turned out to be as level as my map had promised and the views south and west towards the Smokey Mountains were spectacular. Buttoning my jacket and pulling on a pair of gloves, I set off at a good clip down the road leading to my destination: Ivestor Gap.

The walk, which involved avoiding puddles and scrambling over broken terrain, was pleasant enough. The mountain sloped steeply to my left into a valley that wound its way among the surrounding mountains. Behind these lay rows of farther mountains, each set growing less distinct in the bluish haze. After a while, I encountered a small wood that held on stubbornly to its colorful leaves. Dappled sunlight filtered through ash, hickory, and oak while finches darted from the underbrush and skipped along the ground ahead of me like dolphins before a ocean liner. I felt like I had stepped into a forest from Tolkien.

Camping at Davidson River

I've spent the past few days camping at Davidson River Campground in Pisgah Forest with my son and his friend Ethan. We are all old hiking and camping buddies. Paul and Ethan (now 7 & 8 respectively) have been hiking or camping with each for four years now. They have joined me (often with Ethan's father, Eric) on walks in Pisgah Forest, camping at Hunting Island and Edisto Beach, and (most memorably) along thirty miles of Hadrian's Wall. Not bad for a couple of Hobbits!

It's always a delight to watch these two out in the woods. Both are perhaps far too intelligent for their own good--their conversations are often a hilarious mix of erudition and childhood assumptions--but they now know the woods like an old friend or an accustomed third companion. On this latest trip they skipped like billy goats up mountain paths, swam rivers, tried to net trout, and battled each other with sticks-turned-swords. One of the highlights for me was sitting with both of them on top of Black Balsam Mtn. watching the sunset behind the mountains. We all agreed that God is an extraordinary artist.

I know that not every child gets to enjoy such experiences. I also know that not every dad gets to enjoy watching them drink in those experiences. It's the small pleasures such as these that see me through the one draw back of these two companions: no peace and quiet!

New Blog

I've been resisting getting into the blogging business for a number of years now. You see, I've not entirely made up my mind about whether they are healthy or not. Oh, the exchange of information can be wonderful. But they can also turn into a colossal waste of time. I often wonder how the managers of the some of the busiest blogs ever get anything else done. And I also wonder what blogs say about those who host them? Not precisely a humble business. It takes a certain amount of self-importance to presume that someone actually is interested in what one has to say.

Having said all that, I've decided to press forward with this blog because I've been pestered into it. I spend much of my free time hiking. 'm an avid walker, as these pages will show. During the past five years, I've probably hiked more than a 1,000 miles. Most of these miles have been tallied within the Pisgah National Forest. Others on the Appalachian Trail, the Lake District in England, and (perhaps most memorably) along Hadrian's Wall. I've said my morning office surrounded by breath-taking vistas and celebrated the Eucharist with fellow backpackers on old, gnarled logs.

These walks, often alone, in the woodlands and across mountantops have made a strong impression on me. Walk for hours on end along a woodland path and the sounds, smells, and sights of nature will work their way into you. These walks have introduced me to deep delight and subsequently to a often forgotten tradition within Christianity of a God who delights and wishes us to delight in Him.

I hope to give my readers (whomever they may be) a taste of what I get to enjoy after only a twenty minute drive. I can't give you the smells and sounds, but my little Canon 610 can do wonders with the sights. I hope you enjoy!