169 Days A Spiritual Journey is my first and only book. I have aspired to be a writer all my life, but circumstances (Life) got in my way. It wasn't until my thru-hike that I took the dream seriously.

The question readers often ask is if or when I'm going to write a second book. I often ask myself the exact same question.

Here is the best answer I can come up with at this time. I have taken notes and gathered information for three separate manuscripts, but I haven't been able to get very enthusiastic about any of them due to being preoccupied with 169 Days A Spiritual Journey, which took seven years to finally get publish. However, I do have dreams of continuing to write and hope to be engrossed in my next book project soon.

 The three ideas are:

In the spring of 2011, I hiked from Manchester Vermont to the NY/NJ boarder on the Appalachian Trail and blogged several stories. I would hike for three to five days then squirrel away in a small motel in a trail town for two or three days to write and post stories of my adventures. I would always try to tie in a moral to the story.  These stories were very rough because they weren't edited due to the lack of time. Therefore, the typos and grammar embarrassed me a little. I have had some thoughts of using the stories as a starting point to write a book after cleaning them up.

Here is an excerpt from one called watched over:

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 I crossed the Palisades Interstate Parkway leading to and away from New York City. I took a picture of a sign on the interstate from the trail that said New York City 34 miles. I think that was the closest to NYC that I have ever been.

I was about a quarter mile later I was hiking through a large patch of wild blueberry bushes about eight inches high when I encountered a huge lady rattlesnake. She was about four feet away sunning herself on the left side of the trail. We saw each other at about the same time and she rattled a warning, which I took seriously and froze in stride.

I wasn’t too alarmed yet, but I looked for more snakes. My heart stopped when twelve inches from my right calf I found another female poised to strike with her head suspended six inches off the ground. I softly said the first word that came to mind, “Crap!” Now Scooter proofreads and censors all my posts. I’m sure she will censor out that particular word. However, I feel it was an appropriate word given the situation. The Pope would have used the same word in the same situation.

I wasn’t welcoming the huge adrenalin rush I was experiencing when my phone rang and upset my snake. I don’t recall if I said aloud or thought, “Crap, crap, double crap!”

I answered the phone to stop the ringing and softly said, “Hello.”

A friend from the program whom I haven’t seen in years, but talk to on occasion said, “How you doing?”

"I’m in a situation with a couple of rattle snakes.”

He said, “I’ll call you back later.”

“No, I’m okay.” I was lying, but I found comfort in his voice. "I will talk to you for the rest of my life, which probably wouldn’t take too long."

I didn’t say anything, but reached around to the other side of my lady friend with my trekking pole. I shifted my weight to my left foot, which was behind my left. I waited until she turned her attention to my pole. Then in one quick motion, I pulled my right foot and leg out of striking distance.

Feeling much better, I said, "Maybe I had better go," so we then hung up.

My lady friend seemed to relax, put her head back down to her side, and stopped her rattling to threaten and intimidate me.

I thought she’s big enough to eat a pit bull. She didn’t seem to want to leave and I didn’t want to mess with her, so I thought I’ll just go around.

I looked the short blueberry bushes over pretty well before I stepped into them. The bushes started to rattle with all her friends and relatives as soon as I put one foot off the trail.

I pulled my foot back right away thinking, Bad idea! I said aloud, “Great just what I needed was more Snakes.” I was being sarcastic. I rethought the situation again. The last thing I wanted to do was mess with the snakes, but I couldn’t see any other way. I got as far away as I could and still reach my girlfriend with my trekking pole. You have heard of girls you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, well I only wish I had a ten-foot pole instead of my all too short hiking pole.

I poked her and she obviously didn’t approve, but she didn’t strike at the stick, maybe she knew it wasn’t flesh. Eventually she moseyed off into the bushes.

The  backdrop is a two-week excursion into the Boundiary Water Canoe Area National wilderness with Scooter. We took this trip as a segway between my career as a Drug and alcohol counselor and a writer.

The substory is about my experience with Alcoholics Anonymous's Step six and seven, which deals with letting go of character defects.

Here is an excerpt from my journal;

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The temperature dropped in the night, which was a welcome relief from the tropical temperatures. I slept better and was the first to awake and made coffee. Scooter woke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee in a much better mood. We drank a pot of coffee and set out fishing and exploring Skipper Lake. We had a spot of luck fishing and caught two Smallmouth bass and two northern pike. We kept one northern and a bass for lunch. We cooked noodles Alfredo and the fish. We agreed the pike was much better eating than the bass. Scooter couldn’t eat all her share of fish, so I ate hers, but we couldn’t finish all the noodles. I put the leftover noodles in the same baggie I packed them in at home for a snack later.

We took naps then packed up and said goodbye to Skipper Lake to find a new home further into the wilderness.

We portaged 50 rods into Rush Lake. Rush lake has four campsites, but they were all occupied. I was not surprised as we had seen three parties besides Larry and his wife go by us and after the 320-rod portage from Poplar Lake to Skipper most people us included want to stop.

We had a hard time finding the portage into Banadad Lake from Rush as the maps are primitive and inaccurate the even have a disclaimer in the lower corner saying, “NOT FOR NAVAGATION PURPOSES.” If not for navigational purposes, why would anyone buy them? We finally found the portage and it was a short easy one.

We took the first campsite we came upon. I could tell by looking in the shitter, that nobody used the campsite yet this year. I caught a bass on the way in and put him on the stringer, but let him go because we didn’t want any more bass for supper.

We set up camp then took a sponge bath away from the lake. We carried water soaped up and rinsed about 100 feet from the lakes edge so as not to pollute the pristine lake with our soap. We then went swimming in the warm August water.

We cooked rice and beans for supper, which was very good. I had brought a book about AA’s 6 & seventh steps to read and process with Scooter while here so we could grow spiritually as a couple here in God’s church.

We were gazing across the lake when Scooter discovered naturally formed image of a butterfly in an indent on the rock face wall on the other side of the lake. You can’t see it until the late afternoon sun hits it. She got so excited because butterflies have always inspired her. 

We spent the evening just reading to each other and processing what we read, spiritually inspired by the common wisdom of the book. I found it pleasant to just chill, which is something I rarely get a chance to do until now. I still feel I should be accomplishing something more, but I think it takes some time to detox from the fast pace get-r-done capitalistic world I just escaped.

I have just been here two days and already I feel better. I think living in God’s world is better than taking Valium and Paxil. Scooter took some pictures and seems more laid back than I have seen her in a long time.

We went to bed before it got dark. All is well.

Boundary Water

My wife Scooter and I needed to get away to one of our favorite places the Boundary Water Canoe Area National Park for an extended period to feed our relationship on a spiritual level. We decided to focus on boundaries in our marriage.

Alcoholics Anonymous's Fourth Step is in part a list of resentments. The Fifth Step is a discussion with God and another person about those resentments.

I soon realized that when I inventoried all my resentments with others then discussed them with my sponsor to find out my part in my resentments it was usually a boundary issue.

I became inspired to write about personal boundaries in the Boundary Water Wilderness.

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We were almost out of food, so we just drank coffee for breakfast. We had to catch fish that day because we only had enough food for a day and a half and that’s stretching it as far as we could. We planed on staying two and a half days, which meant we either catch fish or go hungry for a day.

We went fishing to a cold, but beautiful morning. The cloudless sky was deep blue as the morning fog lifted off the still water; it looked like smoke rising from glass. Hunger always makes for good fishermen/women. I thought of a line in the Lord’s Prayer, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

I told Scooter to put on her favorite plug and we were going to troll the entire lake or at least until we caught two eating size fish for breakfast.

We went east of the camp first right into the sun. A gentle breeze came up coming from the west so we didn’t have to paddle hard. We came to the east end of Pillsbury Lake with zero luck.

We did an about face and trolled into the wind, but we now had the sun to our back. We trolled the entire length of the lake and nothing, not even a slight bump.

The west end of the lake is shallow with  an abundance of lily pads, so Scooter and I spent considerable time casted surface plugs hoping to entice a bass or northern. Nothing just another big fat zero. We started to switch lures and cast everything in the tackle box trying to catch anything, but got nada.

The wind got stronger blowing us east back towards camp. I got tired of fighting it, so we started trolling with the wind. We didn’t have to paddle much, just steer the canoe. I put a light green Thunderstick about 6 inches long with three treble hooks on the end of my line. I picked it because it has teeth marks on it from catching fish on previous fishing trips.

We had been fishing hard for over three hours when the wind took us back to camp. I didn’t feel like fishing any more, but faced with the prospect of Mac & cheese or tuna helper for breakfast made me say to Scooter, “Let’s give it about another half hour and stick to the south shore.

The lake first gets narrow and then widens out into a much bigger lake. Just as the lake started to widen, something struck the Thunderstick hard. I dropped my paddle and grabbed the pole, which I was holding between my knees.

I told Scooter, “Hold it!” I set the hook and my pole bent and the reel sang as the fish stripped line.

Scooter said, “Is that a snag or a fish?”

“Fish!”

“It’s big!”

“I think so!”

She expertly turned the canoe around into the wind and paddled as I started to gain some line back. I think the fish actually swam towards the canoe for a short time. I thought I had lost him. About the time my heart started to sink he dove and made a second hard run. He started stripping the 8 lb line off my reel once again. I carefully held on letting the drag on my reel do its work. Eventually the fish tired and I started to gain control. There was still to be some drama, but I was starting to win.

I couldn’t see the fish because it stayed deep in the water, but when I saw a flash of color I thought it might be a big walleye. Eventually he came up and I saw the shape and said to Scooter, “It’s a northern.”

As the fish started to surrender from fatigue Scooter said, “It’s a funny color.”

I said, “It’s a musky!” I didn’t even think there was musky in these lakes, but behold one is right in front of me.

I still held my breath at the canoe for the final drama. I didn't have a net, so I knew he would be hard to land. I played him out until I grabbed him by the eye sockets and hoisted him into the canoe. He flopped around like a fish out of water.

I put him on my stringer, but didn’t trust those teeth and my old frayed stringer enough to put him back in the water. I let him stay in the canoe as we hauled ass for camp and breakfast.

I measured him on the canoe paddle.

Scooter asked me, “Why don’t you bring a tape measure? They don’t weigh much.”

I looked at her like she’s an idiot and said, “Everyone knows if you want to catch bigger fish you don’t bring a tape measure; you just guestimate the size.”

Scooter said, “I prayed for a fish and that fish was God’s provision.”

I didn’t say anything, but I thought I also just might to have had a little something to do with it too. 

I filleted the fish. The fillets were too big to eat them both at once, so Scooter cooked one in Cajun seasoning and garlic salt. I put the other one in our large cooking pot with a lot of salt water and set it in the shade to keep it cool until we are hungry enough later to eat it. Without ice I think the fish would spoil quickly in this heat.

We gave thanks for the fish then we gorged. The meat is slightly whiter than a northern. Maybe it’s just psychological, but we both thought it tasted a lot better. Hunger might have had something to do with the taste.

We took the remains back to where we caught him in the lake. We watched them sink to the deep, thus giving the fish back. The bugs and minnows will eat the remains and they will feed the bigger fish and so on. That’s the cycle of life or the way Mother Nature recycles.