Once When the World Was Quieter

Although the abundant spring wildflowers promised in the trail guide were nowhere to be seen, I thoroughly enjoyed my trek this past Sunday into the hills and valleys bordering the north western side of CA's central valley. It is a landscape I would not find hospitable once the scorching sun and lack of rain take their toll on it over the next couple of months, but right now, while it is still fresh and green, it is beautiful.

And quiet. I had gone alone since Darling Wife had too much grading to do to allow her to accompany me, and I don't like to take the dogs into untried territory. At first, the silence made me slightly uncomfortable. The trail traversed public lands let out as pasture to local ranchers, but I only glimpsed two distant cows on an opposite hill once by using my binoculars toward the end of my hike. Otherwise, I shared the expanse with one lizard, one hawk, one falcon of some sort, and one flock of small finch-type birds that I passed in some scrub brush at one point. Oh yeah, there was also a small, yellow butterfly. I was comforted by the well-traveled look of the trail, including the heavy marks of cow and horse hooves and the occasional boot print. There wasn't a soul out there that day,but these tracks made me feel pretty confident that mountain lions were unlikely to frequent the area. I was utterly alone with nothing but the sound of the wind in the brush as it gusted strongly from time to time.

The silence oppressed me a bit, and I started to whistle, then sing as I walked along until it occurred to me what a rare and marvelous thing it is to be surrounded by quiet. So, I stopped vocalizing and listened for the remainder of my outing, and as I did so, I wondered if this is what it felt like to be a cowboy or a hunter 100 years ago or more. Out there on the open terrain with nothing but myself, a few birds, and the smell of sage and cattle. Maybe. Though I'm not a fan of the West, I can certainly imagine the appeal.