Mountain People

             Have you ever asked yourself, “Why I am following this dirt pathway into a heavily wooded area full of hidden dangers replete with claws, fangs, and antlers?” Have you ever thought, “Why am I sleeping on the ground when I’ve got a perfectly good bed at home?” Perhaps you’ve truly questioned why you continue to sit there smiling as smoke from a campfire assaults your lungs and stings your eyes. The answer to all of these questions and more is that you’re part of a highly-specialized group of humans known as “mountain people.” It’s in your blood. Actually your genes. You possess the mountain people gene.

            I have been on numerous hikes when I suddenly find myself at the back of a long line of people hiking the same trail. Instead of wishing I had chosen the path less traveled by, I feel validated that I picked a good trail, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many people clamoring to hike it. Of course I enjoy a nice, quiet, unpopulated trail, but when I’m in the company of fellow mountain people there is never a dull moment. Mountain people are notorious for telling stories that sound like lies, but are almost always true. Sharing a trail with someone who has come face-to-face with a bear or was caught in an avalache and lived to tell about it is an exciting experience.

            Mountain people pride themselves on their ability to go without modern comforts, like chairs with cushions, soft beds and personal bathrooms with clean, running water. When I was a teenager I had a friend who frequently went camping with nothing but a knife and the clothes on his back. He would often go alone and for two days at a time. Even when he was home he was constantly sleeping just outside his house in a tree. His self-taught survivalism sometimes bordered on masochism. Every challenge nature presented he accepted with gusto. He rarely wore shoes, unless it was cold. He refused to eat anything that he didn’t kill or gather himself. He sought out the most difficult routes up a mountain; trails were for sissies. He was the incarnation of the axiom “what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” I’m pretty sure he has since become feral and roams the Oquirrh Mountains in search of the next challenge nature has in store.

            For the longest time I wished that someone would find a way to bottle the smell of campfire in the form of a cologne. I would have worn it all the time as a boy. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that I discovered most people find a campfire’s aroma slightly offensive. Since the discovery of the mountain people gene, I now understand why I am so attracted to the smell. A fire attracts mountain people like a fluorescent light attracts bugs. We can’t help ourselves. Camping is incomplete without a firepit and plenty of thin sticks to burn.

The mountain people gene is nothing to be ashamed of if you possess it. The sudden urges to shoot animals and lick your fingers that haven’t been washed in anything except stream water for three days are perfectly natural. Now get out there, explore the canyons, take on nature and start a marshmallow-roasting fire. Let that mountain people pride show!