It wasn’t so many years ago that anyone curious about the world, interested in nature, or yearning for adventure would just walk out of their front door and do their best to find it where they were. The notion of flying across the globe simply to have an adventure is a relatively recent one. Even younger is the awareness of the damage we do by jetting off to visit those wild places we love.
I asked myself whether I could perhaps search closer to home to feel and do the things I love about traveling—curiosity, nature, silence, simplicity, and wildness.
The answer was obvious, right? Of course I couldn’t. I live in a boring, gray landscape on the fringes of a big city. It was all very well for American author Henry David Thoreau to wander around the beautiful woods of Walden in Massachusetts, pontificating about going confidently in the direction of his dreams: He had a fabulous lake on his doorstep and an Instagrammable (even if he didn’t know it) log cabin to live in. I was living a life of quiet desperation under the sodium glow of streetlights, dreaming of the adventures I used to go on. Or could I?