I was mostly excited about Hurricane Irene because I was looking forward to kayaking the Potomac in flood. I headed out Sunday without checking the flood gauges because I just wanted to experience the river first-hand. I'd been working upstream the day before and it had seemed adequately rainy, but when I put in, the river was running silty for fall, and a bit faster than usual, but not much higher. I've been out on the river during pretty wild floods, and it's gorgeous.
I've been kayaking the same stretches of the river for ten years now, and while I might argue that I'm experienced enough to know what I'm doing, the feeling of being out on a flood river is probably closer to that of charging across a battlefield in the Civil War. Not to trivialize that experience, but I'm reading George Walsh's "Damage Them All You Can" and that's the metaphor that comes to mind.
The contrast between the river I was expecting and the one I experienced was an interesting apposition, reminded me once again of the breadth and scope of the experiences I've had on the Potomac. You can't step into the same river twice, and each time I try, both the river and I are changed.
This time, despite my disappointment, I went back to places I know well, and haven't spent enough time with, this year. As I get older, I spend more time sitting Buddha, take the time to experience a place and connect with it, before moving on. And I think of all my time on the river has meditation - paddling meditation, swimming meditation, walking meditation, and sitting meditation.
This time, my most profound nature experience was with ticks, the tiny sesame seed-sized swarming monsters. I've only once before been so badly infested, meditating on top of a hill near Charlottesville I'd bushwhacked my way up. I assume that both times I inadvertently sat close to a recent tick hatchery - I picked up 30+ ticks this time, and over 100 the previous time. A highly unpleasant experience.
I likely only noticed the ticks on me 30-60 minutes later, am blessed with a slow tactile prescience that allows me to notice the tiny beasts. Ticks have evolved over time to crawl us (and other animals) unnoticed, and we have evolved to notice them - a long slow selective process, and likely a factor in early human society, given our inability to remove ticks from our backs or heads. Also, a convincing argument for fire-based management of natural landscapes - no better way to purge an area of noxious parasites and plants.
When I realized I'd been swarmed, I paddled out to a small rock in the river to minimize the chances of survivors escaping and populating other areas, and combed my body, scraping the crawlers off with a knife and then crushing them against a pebble. Tick meditation likely has its own merits but I couldn't get past my heebie jeebies. When I got home, I was still finding crawlers so I worked the rest of me over as well as I could with a mirror, swabbed myself down with pure bleach, and soaked my clothes and shoes in boiling water. If the bites keep bothering me, I'll go to my doctor and do an antibiotic run, which I hate, but I know people with Lyme disease and that's a lot worse.
As unpleasant as a tick infestation is, on some level I'm grateful for their contribution to keeping nature wild. Most people never go off-trail, and many don't go into nature at all, for fear of ticks and other threats. And even though I've spent a significant amount of my life encouraging and supporting nature experiences for others, I really like that there are still wild places that I can go, an hour from DC, and rarely see other people, even from a distance.
When I move through the wild, I never now what's coming next - box turtles making love, dragonflies fighting cicada-killers, kingfishers sparring like jetfighters across a river valley, swimming deer, sunning snakes, sun-gleamed foxes, blue-tailed skinks, vernal pools, scour prairies, wind-gnarled cedars growing from cliffs, lush fields full of butterflies.
And ticks. And Poison Ivy. And Tear-thumb. And cold and heat and flood and danger and challenge. I'm grateful for them all.