Rebecca and I have always known the value of sitting still in nature.  When you sit still, the ripples caused by your presence slowly dissipate, and nature begins to take you in.  Soon squirrels will stop their scolding and go about their acorn-caching, birds will flitter into nearby branches, and if you sit still long enough, an up-wind fox or deer might wander into the vicinity.

Kenton Wild-Running

But ever since I began my turkey-chases, I've discovered that the opposite of stillness -- running as fast as you can -- can also bring you into close contact with nature.  I've coined the term 'wild-running' to describe this way of flowing through the landscape.  It's simply a matter of getting as far away from trails as possible, letting your body 'go loose', and really feeling the sensations as your legs carry you over fallen trees,  as your breath burns in your lungs, and  as your vision widens out to take in everything around you.

Most spectacularly, wild-running can get you up-close and personal with some animals who tend to sense you via smell or sound if you're approaching more slowly.  There have been many times over the last year when I've come upon creatures as I've crested the side of a hill or sprinted down a valley.  We're both usually startled, and more often than not we'll simultaneously freeze and stare at each other for a while.

The other day it was a Barred Owl.  I haven't seen an owl in daylight for over a year, and as I burst through a stand of trees she flew from a nearby treetop.  We both stood still, she perched on a branch a few trees away, and me on the snowy ground.  After a moment her head turned away in that odd manner that owls' heads do, and it became a sort of game-- I would wait until her head turned away, take a step closer, and then freeze as her head snapped back to gaze upon me.  This carried on for about ten minutes, until I was close enough that I could admire the individual feathers and the clarity of her gaze.  Then she lifted from the branch and flapped soundlessly away over the valley.

We still walk through the woodlands, of course, and as Rebecca recovers from her injury that's as fast as she'll be able to go.  But when I do run, I cover vast distances, exploring much further than I ever would if I was walking.  And yet, wild-running affords plenty of moments of stillness.  Whether it's the breathtaking brilliance of barberry rubies dangling from a branch, an encounter with an animal, a tree that simply needs to be climbed, or sheer exhaustion, there are many reasons to stop. 

These Barberries were too beautiful to eat.

The speed with which we travel through life gives us different perspectives.  I don't think any particular speed is better than another, but in our culture we're used to traveling very fast -- physically and mentally.  Stopping to experience where we are is an invaluable lesson.  But strangely, this wild-running has taught me the value of moving quickly -- our awareness can be carried even into fast-paced situations.  These days, I don't favor one pace over another, and am just as eager to experience the wildlands whether I'm walking, lying silent in the snow, or flying over the landscape as fast as my feet can carry me.

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