January Resolution: Don’t Wait
Twenty five years ago, when I first went to Alaska, I did not own any Gore-Tex. I might not have even known what it was. This, my friends, is hard for even me to believe. I had some crappy discount hiking shoes, a sieve-like rain jacket, and a rain-sucking cotton hooded sweatshirt. Even if I’d been aware of better gear, I would not have been able to afford it. Despite those deficiencies, over the course of a month with two friends I had the time of my life.
There were times that we were wet, times that we were cold, and as best I can remember those conditions generally did not cause any problems. The only hiccup along the way I can recall is when we emerged from three days in the backcountry of Denali National Park and headed to a restaurant that advertised all-you-can-eat blueberry pancakes and reindeer sausage. We took off our wet shoes and socks, placed them next to the wood-burning stove across the room, and prepared to eat. As our forks clattered, a distinctly unhappy employee approached us and asked us to put the shoes and socks back on, or better yet, to leave. Apparently the distinct wafting odor had offended some other guests.
When Hanna and I returned to Alaska in July, we traveled with all of the gear we needed: waterproof, ergonomic shoes, quality raingear, etc. We’re aware that it exists, we can afford it, and we want it. Besides, at 50 I’m understandably a little bit less tolerant of weather-based discomfort than I was at 25. As we hiked up 800 feet over a rise, down 800 feet to Portage Glacier, and that same route back (a distance totaling somewhere between 5 and 6 miles) we got wet. After all, it was pouring and at times the trail was just a meet-in-the-middle canopy of soaked bushes and branches. We did not, however, get as soaked to the bone as I would have in my gear circa 1995. This time around was more comfortable, but both trips were memorable only for positive reasons.
All too often people – myself included – allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good. We decide that we’re not going to Asia until we can afford a business-class ticket. I know people who won’t buy a bass boat until they can afford a 20-footer, and in some cases a garage to put it in. There’s nothing wrong with patience and preparation in some circumstances, but at the same time our days are numbered. Each day we don’t have a boat, or don’t go on a particular trip because we can’t justify the five-star experience is a day that we’ve lost, and an experience we’ve foregone.
That’s why it was so important to me to go to Alaska in 2020. Tomorrow’s not guaranteed. If this whole awful COVID situation has taught me one thing it’s that you can’t always wait. We’re already planning a return in 2021, but if it doesn’t happen I know that I seized the chance in 2020, and 2019, as well as in 1995.
If there’s something you want to do, and you can’t come up with a good excuse not to do it, it’s time to get moving.
“Now” is the new “tomorrow.”
