The question took me by surprise, in part because we had been talking about federal grants at the time and usually when Anthony changes topics he signals it by saying, “Random question …  .”

It also caught me off guard because I happened to be reading a book about a guy who lived off the grid — way off the grid — in Western North Carolina. He’d begun his love affair with the woods as a teen, to get away from his father. When he reached the age of consent, he went at it full-time, with his mission to bring all of America with him. There was a lot to admire in this guy’s quest, which was largely driven by a love of the natural world and a desire to preserve it. A desire that included living in a low-impact teepee; drinking spring water; learning about ,and living off the plants around him; eating road kill. I was thinking about the latter when turned to Anthony and asked, “How far off the grid are you talking about?”

“Not having any bills to pay,” he answered. That, some follow-up questions revealed, meant still having modern conveniences — appliances, for instance — just not buying them on time. And also having a self-contained power system — solar, a water wheel, etc. 

We then asked each other how long we thought we could live off the grid.

“Not very long,” Anthony speculated.

“A weekend,” I answered. “Or up to a week.”

My answer was based on fact because I’d done it maybe 100 times over the past two decades. Or roughly how many times I’ve gone backpacking.

As Anthony and the fellow from the book demonstrate, living off the grid means different things to different people. I draw the line at eating roadkill and foraging for certain wild foodstuffs. Mushrooms, for instance, where there can be a very fine line between a fungi that sautés nicely over a camp fire and one that will kill you. I’ve drunk from many a spring (filtering if I think the source suspect), and while I’ve yet to build a shelter, it’s on my list. Until then, I’m content to sleep in a tent. 

Off the grid? Well, I need no outside power sources to get by, I’m self-sufficient, and because I’m observing Leave No Trace, I’m living harmoniously with nature. I may not be eating squirrel with a tire-track down its back and it may only be for a weekend, but it is, for the time being, the right amount of OTG living for me.

One last thing. That book I’m reading came out in 2002. Toward the end of the book the subject was growing suspicious and distrustful of others. I was curious about what had become of him, so I Googled him to see if he’d stuck with it and if so, how a lifetime spent off the grid had worked out. Not so good, it turns out. He’s less well-known today for his environmental efforts, more for his embrace and promotion of conspiracy theories. Apparently it takes a special kind of person to live entirely off the grid. 

Because I’m not special, I will confine my off-grid living to weekends, beginning Fridays after work, continuing through late Sunday. I’ll be in a tent, I will have hot coffee in the morning (thanks, JetBoil), I will have a comfortable place to sit and savor the evening (yo, Helinox Chair Zero). Off the grid, away from the grind.

At least for a weekend.

The post Off the Grid? Sure, for a weekend appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

I was helping to recruit correctional officers for a minimum security facility — “helping” may be stretching it. In fact, I was just making sure the laptops used to fill out applications remained charged; my colleagues with the Department of Adult Corrections were doing the actual hiring. We were two hours into a four-hour Saturday shift and traffic had slowed. It seemed like a good time to slip out.

It was 10:30 in the morning, not a cloud in the sky and a temperature in the upper 60s; certainly not a day to be cooped up in a prison. My intent was to simply splash some sun in my face and step back inside. Then I happened to notice that the road I’d driven in on shortly turned to gravel. I love a gravel road.

I’d walked maybe 100 yards when something to the right caught my eye, something I love even more than a gravel road: a narrow opening into the woods. What a find, a find that would shortly lead to a mystery. 

The short path led to a slightly wider one that was lined on both sides by Disc Golf tee boxes. I stopped at No. 14, with a sign reading: “Par 13 / 215 yards.” I looked around: the clearest path in any direction, in this jumbled hardwood forest, was maybe 15 yards — maybe. In the span of 20 yards I saw three more Par 3s, all in the 200-yard range, all surrounded by trees. 

Huh.

I kept walking, picking up my pace, not sure whether I’d stumbled onto a private course on private land. In a quarter mile the path led back to the gravel road, which had taken a sharp right turn. On the other side of the road was a sign with an arrow: “Senior Center.” I’m a senior, I thought. I forged ahead. 

The path widened to a good 20 feet and began to resemble more of a trail,  Sure enough, I soon came to another sign with another arrow, this one proclaiming: “Nature Trail.” I’d gone from a gravel road, to a narrow opening in the woods, to, baffling disc golf course to, somehow, an actual trail that may or may not lead to a Senior Center. All because I felt the need for some quick fresh air, all because I wasn’t afraid to, literally, go off the beaten path.

In part what made this adventure possible was that I didn’t deny my need for an adventure, no matter how small. A simple breath of fresh air, that was all I wanted. I also gave into some honest self-awareness: Did my coworkers need me? No. Would they even miss me or realize I’d been gone for a half hour? Probably not. 

I also didn’t ignore the fact that I was overdue for an adventure, even a 30-minute one. And because I love taking the path less traveled — or not traveled at all — I wasn’t bound by the need for an actual trailhead to jump in. Following a trail, especially a well-worn one, you inherit the energy of those who’ve come before you. Vibes that aren’t necessarily bad, but aren’t entirely yours, either. As soon as you step into a layer of leaves, into soft earth, you are creating your own way. It’s a way you’ll never tire of because you’ll probably never pass this way again. It’s a true form of adventure, available to the common person in the modern, discovered, world.

Best of all? There’s a good chance you can find it right out your own back door. Even the back door of your office. 

* * *

PostHikeScript

That “trail” I stumbled upon? It was indeed a trail, the 1.5-mile Orchard Lake Trail in Yanceyville. Turns out I’d hiked it a couple years ago, picking it up from behind Yoder’s Market on County Home Road. On that occasion it was mid-August and the trail was swathed in spider webs. I quickly turned back. But if you find yourself in Yanceyville, and it’s not summer, a nice trail to check out. Learn more here.

The post A surprise breath of adventure appeared first on GetGoing NC!.