I was born in New York state and reared-up in the Ozark Highlands of Missouri. My father was the “Norman Rockwell” country doctor, my mother, a devoted housewife and mom.
When I was five my loving sister, Salle Anne, came into our lives. We lived in the neat little farm-to-market village of Russellville, population: 336. I have fond memories of our modest home. We were the quintessential “Ozzie and Harriet” family, typical of that place and time. I remember the seemingly endless barefoot summers…
And of that era, the swimming hole, the old steam engines chugging through, hand-crank phones, party lines, and a cornucopia of fresh vegetables and produce from the gardens and farms about. For entertainment, who could forget the Green Hornet, Sky King, Bobby Benson of the B bar B Riders, and the Shadow Knows on the old Philco radio? And on the come-and-go, snowstorm black and white TV, we tried watching Hallmark Hall of Fame, Groucho and the Ed Sullivan Show.
There were five of us in my confirmation class at the Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church. I sang in the choir just to have a front-row seat, there to marvel each Sunday as the rays of the morning sun shone through the stained glass windows, splashing a heavenly rainbow of light across the altar.
There were only sixteen in my high school class. I lettered in basketball and track, also in baseball as a southpaw pitcher. The tenor sax was almost bigger than me when I began playing in the school band. Wheels were already the thing back then, and fast wheels were really the thing. I recall refitting my ‘53 Ford ragtop with a ‘55 Merc drivetrain. It was the hottest car around, nothing short of pure terror on wheels, with chopped top, dual Laker straight pipes, custom body, the works. Going fast on two wheels was also fun.
After a number of summers, I managed to make and save enough money working local odd jobs to buy my first motorcycle, a worn out ‘47 Harley Davidson. It was great fun when I could get it to run. During those days, you’d find me decked out in Roebucks, a black leather jacket, the famous old Harley “conductor” hat…and for sport: sideburns, mustache and a D.A. Doo. Bet you don’t know what that is!
I’m an armed forces veteran, and with much help and encouragement from wife, Sharon, I managed a doctor’s degree. We were blessed with two wonderful sons that would do any father proud: Jay, age 39, wife, Theresa, a darling granddaughter, Jillian Amber; and son, Jon, age 33, wife, Terri. I retired a few years ago, the senior practitioner in a busy three-doctor optometric practice down in the sleepy East Coast Florida village of Titusville.
Reflecting on all of this brings to mind the old saying, “You can take the boy out of the country, but…” well, you know the rest of it. In a nutshell, that’s me. After retirement, I moved down on Nimblewill Creek, near the base of Springer Mountain (a six hour bushwhack), a picturesque rural community much like the Ozark Highlands of Missouri, near the little mountain town of Dahlonega Georgia. There, I started making up for lost time…after being cooped-up in examination rooms with no windows for nearly thirty years. I love nature and wide-open spaces, pure and simple. Put me in the great outdoors, preferably the mountains, and you’ve got a happy camper. I think my philosophy fits: “There are no bad days in the mountains, some just a little better than others.”
I started hiking and backpacking in the early eighties. During that time I managed to hike a good bit of the Florida Trail and about half of the Appalachian Trail, from Springer Mountain Georgia to Duncannon Pennsylvania, all in jerks and starts over a period of fifteen or so years. In January 1998, I set out on my first uninterrupted long distance hike. That trek began on the Florida Trail, thence continued to the Cliffs of Forillon, Cap Gaspé Quebec, a distance of over 4,000 miles. During that time I took on the trail name: Nimblewill Nomad. The years 2000 and 2001 brought about nearly that same hike in reverse, the first known trek o’er the entire Appalachian Mountain Range, at least as we know the majestic Appalachians to exist on the North American continent. That journey lasted 347 days, covered a distance of over 5,000 miles, and included a hike through the Long Range Mountains of Newfoundland.
2002 brought a cross-continental trek, an adventure-filled journey that lasted 147 days, over 3,000 miles, from the old lighthouse at Cape Hatteras North Carolina, to another old lighthouse at Point Loma in San Diego California. In 2003, in preparation for a trek up the Lewis and Clark Trail that runs from St. Louis Missouri to Fort Clatsop on the Pacific, a journey, God willing that I’ll attempt at age 66, I loosened my legs by hiking the Natchez Trace Trail, from Nashville Tennessee to Natchez Mississippi.
Quite interestingly, these respective odysseys generated much insight, much joy, and much profound inspiration. As a result, in the winter of 1999–2000, I published my first book, Ten Million Steps. Shortly after came a book of poetry entitled, Ditties, and in 2004, my third book, Where Less the Path is Worn was published.
Despite the fact that (over twenty-five years ago) heart specialists at Shands Teaching Hospital in Florida insisted on plugging me and a heart pacemaker together, a device I’ve very well managed to do without, thank you… and to this day, do I remain blessed with remarkably good health and stamina. In short, this old puddle-jumper carries the classic make, model and VIN for…
The long distance hiker, a breed set apart,
From the likes of the usual pack.
He’ll shoulder his gear, be hittin’ the trail;
Long gone, long ‘fore he’ll be back.
N. Nomad
As you pass this portal, I pray that a better vantage out and across the natural order of all God has created might come into view for you, especially as to man’s place in this grand and glorious design, the physical, mental, and spiritual world we live in day by day. This natural order, the mystery and wonder of it, and of which I speak throughout these pages, the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God, is set forth in the first paragraph of “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.”
Finally, I pray you will come to better understand and appreciate this natural order. As you read about how my life has been changed, how, by living with only the simplest and most basic things, then by orienting my body, mind, and spirit ─ uplifted by the realization that Nature is the true and manifest evidence of God ─ through this process, you will see how I came to believe beyond doubt (wisdom through unshakable faith) that there is a living, caring, and forgiving God.
Nimblewill Nomad
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
In Congress, July 4th, 1776
The happiest man is he who learns from nature the lesson of worship.
Every rational creature has all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, if he will. He may divest himself of it; he may creep into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, as most men do, but he is entitled to the world by his constitution. In proportion to the energy of his thought and will, he takes up the world into himself.
Nature stretcheth out her arms to embrace man, only let his thoughts be of equal greatness. Willingly does she follow his steps with the rose and the violet, and bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her darling child.
The visible heavens and earth sympathize with Jesus. And in common life, whosoever has seen a person of powerful character and happy genius, will have remarked how easily he took all things along with him, — the person, the opinions, and the day, and nature became ancillary to a man.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
The heavens are telling the glory of God;
and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech,
and night to night declares knowledge.There is no speech, nor are there words;
Their voice is not heard;
yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.
Psalm 19:1-4
“You will find that it is the modest, not the presumptuous enquirer, who makes a real and safe progress in the discovery of divine truths. One follows nature, and nature’s God; that is, he follows God in his works, and in his word.”
Lord Bolingbroke, in a renowned letter to Alexander Pope
Odyssey ’98
The most oft’ asked question…
Why did you go?
As I hiked north through Florida and Alabama I truly believed the driving force that brought me to the trail, there to propel me along, was simply the wanderlust that dwells down deep in all of us. But as I journeyed north through Florida and Alabama, then onto the Appalachian Trail in Georgia — and finally, and especially as I hiked alone on the International Appalachian Trail into Canada, I knew that wanderlust had very little to do with it. So what was the reason for going? Well, the answer to that question should not be all that surprising. For you see, the journey I was on — it’s the same one we all end up taking at some point in our life, quite often, as in my case, in total desperation. It’s the journey in search for peace — true peace.
When I departed the Florida National Scenic Trail on New Year’s Day, 1998, I was carrying an incredible burden, not the burden of my pack, but a burden that weighed so much heavier on my heart and on my mind. With time, and as I struggled along, I slowly realized — till the time came that I could truly look at myself, till I could face and overcome the anguish and revulsion of dealing with myself as a person, till then, I would have no peace. Finally, I began seeing those burdens for what they were — and finally, after nearly a lifetime, I managed (with divine intervention) to deal with them.
A hike the magnitude of trekking the Appalachian Trail, or a distance over twice that on the Eastern Continental Trail, challenges the individual on three separate planes. Each level represents a specific journey, separate in itself, yet dependent and intricately/intimately interwoven with the other two. I have chosen to name these journeys collectively after three well-known Biblical travelers, travelers from a far off place, from another time. They are: the “three wise men.”
Success as a long distance hiker is measured by one’s ability to excel in at least two of these three journeys, the first two being required, and the third purely optional. These journeys are: the “physical journey,” the “mental journey” and the “spiritual journey.” The physical journey is the first and easiest to master, the mental next, and the spiritual is the last and most elusive. But, you ask, “Aren’t these much the same journeys we all set out on and struggle with each and every day of our life?” Ah, indeed they are, but all truly successful long distance hikers (and trekkers along life’s way) take each of these three journeys to the wall, to the limit.
It has been determined that fully eight out of ten of those who fail, as long distance hikers, do not fail because of the physical challenge, but as a result of the mental one. Isn’t this an interesting statistic? For, wouldn’t we logically conclude that the physical demand of lugging a 30-50 pound pack o’er tall mountains and across broad valleys, for thousands of miles — wouldn’t we all agree that this grueling ordeal would most certainly be the ultimate challenge? But it is not. Ah, and so it seems, and now we know, that the second of the three wise men (not the first) is the true culprit!
After all is said and done, the question boils down to this; and it’s really quite simple: How many of us can honestly say we’ve ever dealt straight up with who we truly are as a person — as a kind, loving, caring, and forgiving person? Here’s the problem. When we start this thought process, when we begin probing, we become very uncomfortable, very fast! But with all the diversions and distractions around us — distractions that we create, along with all those that simply occur day-to-day here in the “real world,” we’re able to block out and avoid these painful thought processes. On the trail, however, where one is alone mile after mile, day after day, month after month, where these diversions don’t exist (and can’t be created), eventually all the masks, all the facades, all the little games played and replayed get stripped away. It is then you come face-to-face with yourself!
By now we’ve come to know the first of the three wise men. We’ve met the challenge of the daily grind, the endless miles along our physical journey. And we’ve opened up and have come to know the second of the three wise men on our mental journey, for we’ve dealt with, and have come to accept our human frailties — the person we truly are. This leaves the last of the three wise men, should we wish to seek him, and we all should, for the spiritual journey is the most rewarding journey of all. We’ve been preparing long; and we’re nearly there. Comes now the opportunity to experience the incredible wonders of life all around — and deep within our soul.
Problem is, there’s a gap that exists between the mental and spiritual journeys. It’s a very deep and very wide chasm that must be crossed before meeting the third of the three wise men. Spanning this chasm is a high and narrow *“bridge,” a crossing searched for by many, but found by few. For, until our mental journey is mastered, can we ever hope to find this bridge, much less take that first step. Sadly, of the few who find it, fewer choose to cross, for in the crossing there exists sacrifice.
And what will be required of us should we choose to cross? Well, first, we must be willing to face the task of fully extricating ourselves from that lofty, ego-centered pedestal whereon we’ve so long been firmly ensconced; a domain most assuredly bestowed as a divine gift. Indeed, did we not learn a little about this place (the high ground) that we so vigorously defended while struggling along on our mental journey? So, the task, a not so easy one, becomes that of wrestling our ego down — which might take awhile. But once accomplished, comes the time to take the first step.
Taking that step was an emotional experience for me, the most humbling in my life. For, once on the bridge (and thenceforth) I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve, vulnerability inconceivable to most. But on the bridge, it came perfectly natural. In the journey across the bridge, began then a mastering of the virtues of love, patience, compassion, and understanding. As I paused to peer into the chasm, it was then I realized that for the first time in my life I was standing (suspended) not by my own will, but purely by faith and trust. I was relying on a higher power. Once across the bridge, I met the third of the three wise men. There, we were all together for that glorious and wonderful beginning — my spiritual journey. Departing then, opened a wide and endless horizon seen only from that vantage. And the view from there? Well, it’s called “wisdom.” Wisdom comes through faith (and trust) — through a “trust.” And that trust is administered by God.
Onto the trail in the Everglades I lugged a pack of incredible burdens. They were the burdens of anger, bitterness, contempt, despair, envy, fear, greed, hatred, jealousy, resentment, and vain pride. There’s a word beginning with most every letter in the alphabet to describe some form of burden. I was lugging them all. But as I journeyed north with the first of the three wise men, then the second, began then a change in me, a very subtle change for sure, but a change none-the-less. For, as I struggled along on my mental journey, dragging this incredible load, it became painfully evident to me that I had missed the mark on living, truly living, in my nearly sixty years on this earth; not a very comforting revelation! As I began confronting these burdens, I quickly realized they were just too heavy for me to bear alone. It was then I decided to change my life; it was then I met the last of the three wise men — and it was then and there I set out on my spiritual journey. From that moment on I could feel the weight of each and every one of those burdens being lifted from me.
Slowly, one by one, they were leaving my heart and mind. With each step (and it is estimated there were Ten Million Steps), each burden slowly-but-surely released, to be drained from my body, to scatter the treadway beneath my feet, thence to be left to the path behind. That indeed, is exactly as it happened; for there those burdens lie today and there those burdens will remain — forever!
Ah yes, a desperate search for peace. And how did the old Nimblewill Nomad fare in his journey with the three wise men? Did he succeed, as did they, in their journey toward that perfect light? Well, next you see the countenance of this old man; pray tell you see there the radiance of a man at peace — at peace with the world, at peace with himself, and at peace with God.
Path of Faith
True happiness is seldom found,
Among the polished stone.
For on the path where most have trod,
Scant faith has ever grown.
But should we journey o’er the way,
Where Less the Path is Worn.
‘tis there the most pure radiant light,
Brings forth that glorious morn.
Whereon we rise to greet the day,
To find our prayers fulfilled.
There joy and peace fill full our cup,
Just like our Father willed.
But oh the faith to pass this way,
The path few e’er have known.
For ‘till we see God’s face have we,
Gone long and far…alone.
Nimblewill Nomad
Now, after so many years, after thousands of additional trail miles, after countless new friends and acquaintances have entered into my life, and especially, after hearing from so many of you through my website, I’ve decided to add this update to that oft’-asked question…
In the past my long-distance odysseys, such incredible, seemingly impossible goals (for such an old man) were undertaken for no particular purpose, certainly for no cause. What you’ve just read involving the “three wise men,” written many years ago now, those words still ring true. So, too, do the words in the ditty, “Why Go.” However, since, I’ve slowly come to realize and appreciate the joy it is (through my going) in offering up for others the least bit of comfort, a balm or salve if you will, to sooth that constant gnawing deep down in our gut that’s constantly driving us to go. It’s a burning desire, instinctive, innate, a longing, yearning, in all of us — to be free. Sigurd Olson described it best when he wrote: “Whatever it is, the need is more than can be borne with fortitude, and for the good of their families and friends, and their own particular restless souls, they head toward the last frontier and escape.” That so many follow along now, my ongoing odysseys, my quest to see Nature in all Her perfect splendor and beauty, that through my eyes, my words, my photos and videos, others find fulfillment and inspiration (from the comfort of their favorite chair) — that, as it has ultimately turned, has become the cause, my purpose to go.
Throughout my guestbook here, the word “inspiration” literally overwhelms the entries, gives me pause — and, indeed, overwhelms me. Now (as I grow older and older with each passing year) do I realize how amazing it truly is to be able to continue seeking (and achieving) such mentally and physically demanding goals. “You give me hope, Nimblewill. Your upbeat and positive attitude [through steadfast faith] is truly inspiring.” Not uncommon words spoken by so many. Yes, just intensely humbling. Always swells in me deep pride, that form of pride accompanied by true humility. For you see, I understand from where the blessings come — and for such profound blessing, I give constant thanks. That the good Lord has seen fit to choose me, to use me as example, yes, blessings beyond comprehension or understanding.
