Something happened, however, between purchases of ski boots. A decade before, I'd expected my next boots would be expensive mountaineering ones to go with the metal-edged touring skis Jane had given me for Christmas. Now I surveyed the trendy-spendy clamp-down bindings and mountaineering boots necessary for scaling summits and telemarking down the other side, then analyzed what I've come to believe is waning desire.

Do I really want to ski across the Bob Marshall Wilderness in February? The answer is yes. So I asked the really tough question. Will I ever do it? The clerk waited patiently while I struggled for an answer.

What happened during the two decades since I took up flat-track skiing? Why the flagging desire? It's not just winter sports; there's spring, summer, and autumn adventures, too. I'm still into bushwhacking during my summer hikes, but no one else in our hiking group is so inclined. Therefore I rarely amble from designated trails to see what's beyond the purview of every other trail traveler.

A few hunting seasons ago Jane and I packed into a remote, tough-to-get-to camping place in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Ostensibly we were there for a week of elk hunting. In reality, Roland merely wanted to see if he could still do what he'd done with wild abandon thirty years before. But a funny thing happened on the way to our dotage -- the last thing I wanted to do after getting there was shoot an elk. Pack an elk out of here? Roland, you've got to be out of your mind!

My goals have scaled down at the same time the hair over my ears turned gray and the waistband on my Levi's leaped out. Is there a correlation? We now have a fancy extended-top van with window blinds all the way around, carpet on the floor, and plush captain's chairs to relax in at the end of a hard day touring macadam highways. We use that van for really long packtrips that, once upon a time, was accomplished via horseback. Now we sometimes (blush, blush) stay at Forest Service campgrounds instead of remote glades in the deepest wilderness.

Are we talking age here? Is flagging desire a part of growing older? Could I really make it skiing across the Bob Marshall in the dead of winter?

I honestly don't know. But such uncertainty would not have deterred me a few years before. These days the operating system governing what Jane and I do during our golden years is different. We take fewer risks, place less demands upon our bodies, rely more on experience than daring, plan farther ahead, suffer fools with little grace, seek knowledge more assiduously, and shun the concept of "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"

"I'll take the intermediate boots and bindings," I told the saleclerk. And I walked away wondering how far I can push into Glacier Park's mountainous backcountry with any outfit, old or new?

 

Next week? Another walk on the wild side.