January 13, 2013: When The Wind Calls

Gravity is every where. It effects trees, water, us--and everything we know macroscopically. Fundamentally it interacts with nature. It pushes. It pulls. Credited for the existence of planets and stars and for keeping us in orbit around the sun--for the changing tides. Leaves float gracefully to the ground--unable to hold on any longer to dancing, delicate branches. Creeks rage and fall in turbulent beauty from the slopes of mountains, the place in which they were born. And we are forever being drawn down, down, down--our feet on the ground, our bodies uncrushed by a perfect,  gentle balance of force. Gravity is unseen, yet we know it exists--we feel it. We understand how it works, but no one knows why. 

Some weeks ago I found myself on a quest in the Dry Valleys--on a search for mummified seals. I find these poor deceased animals fascinating. They are an unsolved mystery. An anomaly. Why an animal, who belongs in the sea, ends up in the mountains, is a question that has left biologists baffled. They awkwardly crawl away from comfort, food, and companionship, and towards the unknown and certain death. 

Penguins do it too. They walk into the mountains and they can't be stopped--its been tried. Scientists have physically turned the poor creatures around and pointed them towards food, their colony, towards home. But seconds later, they turn right back around and continue on their strange journey. The theory which stands is that they have lost their poor little bird brains.

I usually have great luck spotting wildlife where ever I go. I am just as lucky when it comes to finding dead wildlife. It wasn't long before I had located not only a mummified seal, but also the remains of a penguin that had wandered deep into the interior of the valley. The seal lay halfway up the stony ridge, facing down towards a mountain lake. It looked peaceful--as if it had stopped to rest and take in the view. 

The wind-polished bones and quilled feathers of the penguin lay at the base of a moving glacier--undisturbed for who knows how long. What had these animals felt? What unquenchable desire took them from their home, and into the dangerous unknown? They weren't looking for food--they would have relocated along the coast--instinctively knowing that water equals life. Maybe they came here to die--driven by a diseased mind or body. Or perhaps, like some Inuit tribes of old, these individuals practiced the act of leaving their colonies when old age and their impending deaths were near. There are many hypotheses. 

I am just as intrigued by the behavior of some arctic explorers. Shackleton, Amundsen, Scott and others who have walked into the interior of the continent--away from safety, food, and human contact--into a harsh, freezing, and very often, deadly place. Were they mad?

Continuing my quest, I walked down the ridge and along a frozen Lake Hoare, and found myself face to face with a cricking and cracking Common Wealth Glacier. I made my way along the side of the massive expanse of ice, and discovered a slotted path. A rocky, sloping, ridge on my left, and the giant slab of moving ice on my right. I was literally between a rock and a hard place. The sun was high enough to cast its rays down and illuminate my path with an ethereal glow. I continued on, stopping occasionally to examine and touch the living ice that I walked so closely beside. Waves and dimples from wind and sun erosion decorated the wall of glaciated accumulation. 

I eventually reached the top, and the canyon opened up to reveal a wide expanse of mountains, glaciers, and turquoise-colored lakes. The sun warmed my face as I looked upon the amazing landscape. At that moment, standing in silence and awe, I knew why. Why explorers entered this land, braving the elements and gambling with their mortality. I understood why penguins waddled, and seals crawled towards these mountains--leaving instincts behind.

It calls. It called me now as I stood alone, looking into Pandora's box. I only had a nalgene of water, one peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a light carharrt jacket, but I considered walking towards these layered mountains--disappearing into the wilderness, never to be seen again. Maybe in 5,000 years they would find me sitting against a boulder, gazing longingly at a valley I was hoping to visit. And they would wonder why. I stood and stared at the layered mountains, my brain tumultuously fighting against my heart's desire to keep walking.

After a while, sense and self preservation began to poor back into the  channels of my clouded brain and the voice began to fade and become quiet. I turned and gazed back at my small camp that was now invisible in the distance. I looked north, towards foreign lands and uncharted waters. Towards places I had yet to see and new adventures. Towards life, and loved ones.

The force that envelopes many, drawing them in, spell-bounding them against their will and good sense, did not over power me that day. Perhaps years from now, when I am old and ready, I will return to this valley and gaze upon this magical wilderness. I will hear the voice again, hear the call, and I will answer--joining the misunderstood souls of seals, penguins, and adventurers who put instincts aside to venture into the unknown.




When the wind calls you know that somewhere in the mountains it has found the answers that you were looking for.The pull of the horizon overcomes the inertia of reason...and you just have to go.

-Vikram Iberia