Finding the Inner Caveman

Every so often, just for the sake of reminding ourselves of what we, as human beings, are capable of, we find ourselves with a need, a desire, to ‘Get back in touch’ with our inner ‘Caveman.’

No, I’m not talking about doing a GEICO commercial. I’m talking about getting up from in front of the computer, ignoring the television, getting out of the house, away from the stresses of modern life, and reacquiring our relationship with the natural world around us.

All too many of us have become unwitting slaves to the technological world. We do business via the phone and Internet, we entertain ourselves with television and video games, and we become wrapped up in world and national events via the 24/7 news outlets.

It takes a toll on us, whether we realize it or not.

So it was with me just recently. Too wrapped, too stressed, and too caught up in editing, writing, and rewriting, Ad nauseum, to the point of not being able to relax. “I have to get this chapter done!” I would scream to myself. “I have to respond to these e-mails! I have to schedule this meeting!”

But what I really had to do was get away from the trappings of technology. Of ‘Civilized’ life.

The ‘Inner Caveman’ beckoned. That Primal thing within each of us.

Hiking and backpacking were regular activities for me growing up. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park and segments of the Appalachian Trail were but a short distance from my childhood home in Tennessee, and I regularly hiked and camped the area. As an adult, I would often take weekend-long (or longer) excursions into the wilderness, just to experience the absolute peace and tranquility of not having the sounds of traffic and other noises of ‘civilization’ drown out the soft, babbling melody of a small brook or the harmonious chirping of crickets.

The ‘Inner Caveman’ was satisfied.

But then, a few years ago, my life took an unexpected turn, due to a physical impairment, and I found myself becoming less active. Sedentary. I allowed myself to get out of shape, and I ignored the warnings of the Caveman. I put off doing things that would have helped, electing to do almost everything via technology. I took the elevator rather than the stairs, drove when I could have walked, stayed inside when I could have been out, soakin’ up some rays.

I got LAZY.

Then the voice of the inner Caveman, the one I had been ignoring, became too overwhelming, too convincing. I was a physical and mental wreck, and I had to do something to remind myself that I was more than just my physical deficiency.

Out came the backpack, the tent, the sleeping bag, and the maps. I located a suitable trail and made a couple calls. The inner Caveman roared with delight.

Now, a 50-plus (plus) -year-old man who has issues walking the dog and only one good, fully-functional arm should probably not choose to hike 3.2 miles uphill on an unlevel, rocky path to a campsite carrying 30-plus pounds of gear on his out-of-shape back with a few friends who have never before spent a night in the wilderness without the benefits of a Porta-John or easy access to other conveniences of modern life. But I'm an extreme, 'all-or-nothing,' Type-A personality, and this was something I had to do. I had to remind myself of who I was, of what I was capable of doing.

We met and I handed out copies of the maps with the trail highlighted. I supplied essential emergency gear to everyone in the party, 5 total, and we hit the trail.

I was the slowest, and among the last to arrive at our campsite, but it had nothing to do with any pain or shortness of breath (I’m a smoker. Shameful, I know). I was enjoying the sights and sounds all around me. Stands of Hemlock and Birch, the chirping of a Nuthatch, the scurrying of a few chipmunks. I was absorbing all this. I was absorbing the Journey, and I felt good.

The Caveman was pleased and encouraged me all along the way with the occasional primal roar.

The two that had arrived first were sitting on some rocks, winded from their rush to get to the site first. “Did you guys see that cool formation of glacial erratics about a mile back?” I asked. “No,” they said in unison while gulping down water. “We wanted to hurry up and get here. Man, that was rough.”

I heard the Caveman snicker, but just a little.

We set our tents, and then I told everyone to make their last calls for the evening, to let people know they had safely arrived, then turn off the cell phones. There was some dissent from the two youngest members of our party, but after I explained that we had no means of recharging them, and might need them in case of emergency, they quit playing ‘Angry Bird,’ and turned them off.

Then the Caveman took over my psyche and began to explain to the others about how those huge rock formations (the aforementioned 'Glacial Erratics') were deposited eons ago by a glacier, and how certain ferns and tree barks could be eaten. The Caveman showed them how to properly use a map and compass to locate their exact position. The Caveman showed the others how to hang their food away from camp (we were in bear country, after all), and how to correctly prepare for the heavy rains that we would be experiencing later, in the still of night.

And the rains came, fully expected on my part, but not feared, as I had counted on them to replenish our water supply (and boy did they ever). The winds knocked huge branches out of the trees, but none fell on our tents, as I had discouraged the others from placing our camp under the trees.

My old, placed-up-in-the-attic-with-the-backpacking-gear knowledge had come back to me, along with the Caveman, and I, for the first time in several years, felt good about myself. I had a confidence that I hadn’t known in some time. So with the rain pounding against the fly of my tent, and water finding its way into my sleeping bag, I relaxed, truly relaxed, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning we arose, wet, but in good spirits, and our laughter mingled with the singing of the birds. We hung our damp sleeping bags to drain, cooked our breakfast (grits, SPAM, and Ramen noodles. Try it sometime), then began to pack our gear and head back.

Hiking back to where we had parked, I noticed the others now pointing out certain Birch trees, formations of glacial erratics, and even asking what a particular bird was. The cell phones came out not for calls, texts, or games, but to take pictures.

When we got back to the cars, there was some mention of going out to get something to eat, but the ‘Inner Cavemen’ now present in the others overruled, and we set up our cookstoves on the hoods of our cars and ate the last of the food we had brought with us.

Before going back to our ‘civilized’ lives, we set about making plans for a mid-Fall trip.

Driving home, I noticed the pack of cigarettes I had left in the car, reached for it, but stopped. I hadn’t needed one during the hike, so why should I have one now?

They’re still in the car, under the seat.

If there is a point to this story, I guess that it’s that each of us needs to get away from the stresses and sedentary nature of modern life every so often. Not to the extreme that I went, but just something simple to remind ourselves that we are much more than what technology has made us.

Take a walk rather than drive, even if it’s just a walk with your children or your pet. Take the stairs rather than the elevator. Sure, it takes longer, but it’s good for you.

Go fishing or bird watching. Google indigenous plants of the area and make it a point to go out and find them. Take advantage of an organized camping or hiking trip. Get out into the undeveloped areas around here with the camera and discover the nature that resides nearby. Nature that has been here much longer than any of us.

There’s so much out there, not far from where we live, that begs our attention. Discover it. Embrace it.

Let the inner Caveman, or Cavewoman, roar.

It’ll feel good.