Anyone else heard of/read Robert Service? I always carry his collected works with me, especially when camping or hiking. Few things better than being /out/ (yes I'm a crossboarder) and reading some Service. He encapsulates the danger, majesty, and personality of the outdoors and those who live there so well. Haven't seen him mentioned before, but I feel like he deserves much more appreciation.
Any favorite poems or ballads by him? Favorite verses? Super interesting dude. The Yukon is a pretty rugged place, I can't imagine the things he saw.
Joseph Mitchell
Post some of your faves, sell me on him. I camp a lot.
Sebastian Hall
Challenge accepted.
“There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't sit still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.”
Zachary Brown
“Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe."
These are just bits and pieces of some of his works. Actually just snagging these from Goodreads real quick.
Part of his most famous poem.... “There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.”
Ayden Roberts
The Call of the Wild
Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there’s nothing else to gaze on, Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon, Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar? Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it, Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost? Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God’s sake go and do it; Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost. Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation, The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze? Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation, And learned to know the desert’s little ways? Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges, Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through? Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes? Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you. Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver? (Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies). Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river, Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize? Have you marked the map’s void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races, Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew? And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses? Then hearken to the Wild -- it’s wanting you. Have you suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down, yet grasped at glory, Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole? "Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story, Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul? Have you seen God in His splendors, heard the text that nature renders? (You'll never hear it in the family pew). The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things -- Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you. They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching, They have soaked you in convention through and through; They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching -- But can't you hear the Wild? -- it’s calling you. Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us; Let us journey to a lonely land I know. There’s a whisper on the night-wind, there’s a star agleam to guide us, And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
On a side note, where are you from and where do you like to camp? I just moved to Boise and am diggin the /out/ here.
Isaac Carter
A Grain of Sand
If starry space no limit knows And sun succeeds to sun, There is no reason to suppose Our earth the only one. 'Mid countless constellations cast A million worlds may be, With each a God to bless or blast And steer to destiny.
Just think! A million gods or so To guide each vital stream, With over all to boss the show A Deity supreme. Such magnitudes oppress my mind; From cosmic space it swings; So ultimately glad to find Relief in little things.
For look! Within my hollow hand, While round the earth careens, I hold a single grain of sand And wonder what it means. Ah! If I had the eyes to see, And brain to understand, I think Life's mystery might be Solved in this grain of sand.
Parker Garcia
Sea Sorcery
"Oh how I love the laughing sea, Sun lances splintering; Or with a virile harmony In salty caves to sing; Or mumbling pebbles on the shore, Or roused to monster might: By day I love the sea, but more I love it in the night.
High over ocean hangs my home And when the moon is clear I stare and stare till fairy foam Is music in my ear; Till glamour dances to a tune No mortal man could make; And there bewitched beneath the moon To beauty I awake.
Then though I seek my bed again And close the shutters tight, Still, still I hear that wild refrain And see that mystic light . . . Oh reckon me a crazy loon, But blesséd I will be If my last seeing be the moon, My last sound--the Sea."
Jeremiah Walker
That's some top-tier masculine inspiration. Ripped right from Jack London.
I camp a lot in Missouri, but I've been to South Dakota, Arkansas, Minnesota. Also been to Idaho when I was younger, though I didn't do any outdoors stuff. You're lucky to live there -- gorgeous land, relatively untouched, tons of national forest. Want to explore Idaho one day.
I do love Missouri though. The Ozark hills are lovely. I spent a month alone in a tent there earlier this year. I highly recommend hiking in the Hercules-Glades Wilderness Area if you're ever in this part of the country. Glades, pine and oak forests, plateaus, creeks, hills, a ton of variety in a relatively small space.
Where did you live before Idaho?
Anthony Gutierrez
Also, some Emerson for you.
>THERE are days which occur in this climate, at almost any season of the year, wherein the world reaches its perfection; when the air, the heavenly bodies and the earth, make a harmony, as if nature would indulge her offspring; when, in these bleak upper sides of the planet, nothing is to desire that we have heard of the happiest latitudes, and we bask in the shining hours of Florida and Cuba; when everything that has life gives sign of satisfaction, and the cattle that lie on the ground seem to have great and tranquil thoughts. These halcyons may be looked for with a little more assurance in that pure October weather which we distinguish by the name of the Indian summer. The day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the broad hills and warm wide fields. To have lived through all its sunny hours, seems longevity enough. The solitary places do not seem quite lonely. At the gates of the forest, the surprised man of the world is forced to leave his city estimates of great and small, wise and foolish. The knapsack of custom falls off his back with the first step he makes into these precincts. Here is sanctity which shames our religions, and reality which discredits our heroes. Here we find Nature to be the circumstance which dwarfs every other circumstance, and judges like a god all men that come to her. We have crept out of our close and crowded houses into the night and morning, and we see what majestic beauties daily wrap us in their bosom. How willingly we would escape the barriers which render them comparatively impotent, escape the sophistication and second thought, and suffer nature to intrance us. The tempered light of the woods is like a perpetual morning, and is stimulating and heroic. The anciently reported spells of these places creep on us. The stems of pines, hemlocks, and oaks almost gleam like iron on the excited eye. The incommunicable trees begin to persuade us to live with them, and quit our life of solemn trifles. Here no history, or church, or state, is interpolated on the divine sky and the immortal year. How easily we might walk onward into the opening landscape, absorbed by new pictures and by thoughts fast succeeding each other, until by degrees the recollection of home was crowded out of the mind, all memory obliterated by the tyranny of the present, and we were led in triumph by nature.
Matthew Robinson
>These enchantments are medicinal, they sober and heal us. These are plain pleasures, kindly and native to us. We come to our own, and make friends with matter, which the ambitious chatter of the schools would persuade us to despise. We never can part with it; the mind loves its old home: as water to our thirst, so is the rock, the ground, to our eyes and hands and feet. It is firm water; it is cold flame; what health, what affinity! Ever an old friend, ever like a dear friend and brother when we chat affectedly with strangers, comes in this honest face, and takes a grave liberty with us, and shames us out of our nonsense. Cities give not the human senses room enough. We go out daily and nightly to feed the eyes on the horizon, and require so much scope, just as we need water for our bath. There are all degrees of natural influence, from these quarantine powers of nature, up to her dearest and gravest ministrations to the imagination and the soul. There is the bucket of cold water from the spring, the wood-fire to which the chilled traveller rushes for safety,--and there is the sublime moral of autumn and of noon. We nestle in nature, and draw our living as parasites from her roots and grains, and we receive glances from the heavenly bodies, which call us to solitude and foretell the remotest future. The blue zenith is the point in which romance and reality meet. I think if we should be rapt away into all that we dream of heaven, and should converse with Gabriel and Uriel, the upper sky would be all that would remain of our furniture.
