THE HARMONICA

28 Oct

The moment I was invited on the trek I had a thought, “I can finally learn the harmonica!”

It’s the perfect instrument for a hike; lightweight, pocket sized, simple, and the breathing required to play would help me adapt to the altitude. (You already know that last bit is going to come back to bite me, don’t you?) I mentioned my desire to Ric and the gang, along with one caveat- I’m tone deaf. (Which isn’t what it sounds like; I can hear the difference in tones, I just can’t necessarily recreate the difference in tones.)

No one blinked an eye. They were overwhelmingly encouraging (they’re a very positive lot.) Even with the endorsement from my would-be-victims I was hesitant. The worst case scenario played out in my head- driven mad by my noodling, the others would band together to shove my mouth organ down my throat and drown me in a mosquito infested lake. No court in the land would convict them. The less-worst case scenario involved the mouth organ drowning in the lake, and me left wondering where I misplaced it.

Buoyed by everyone’s support I ordered a decent harp, and anxiously awaited it’s arrival. I announced to the group that it was on it’s way… and they turned on me. Groaning, moaning, and cajoling about how I was going to make their ears bleed. Seems I’d done too good a job warning them of their impending doom.

It arrived a couple weeks before the hike, and lived in my pocket that entire time. I’d take it out to fiddle with here and there, taking it on my training hikes, showing it off with an ear to ear grin. A month in the wilderness would surely have me out as a master musician. It being my only entertainment, I’d perfect sweeping runs of the notes and chords, figure out how to put them together in song, and lead a rousing campfire rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” sometime before we left the territories where fires are permitted.

We hit the trail, and while the ribbing about my noodling continued, each of my companions took me aside to confide that they were, in truth, enjoying the sounds coming forth, even if they weren’t necessarily recognizable as song.

There wasn’t as much time to devote to it’s mastery as I’d hoped. There just weren’t enough hours in a day. I wasn’t good enough to enjoy playing with an audience (particularly a captive one) for more than a few minutes at a time, and my lungs never quite got to the point where playing at altitude was easy enough to do while slogging along.

My earlier assumption that all the breathing would help didn’t pan out exactly right. I should have been practicing much more before the trip (defeating the “I’m going to learn to play, on my own, in the mountains” theme) to prepare my lungs. It turns out that the thin air at altitude means you have to push that much more air to play.

I did manage to figure out how to play a song one day, when I had a good stretch of hiking without too much incline. But at this point, months later, I can’t recall what that song was, let alone how to play it. I’ll figure it out and let you know next time I hit the trail. It’ll be my constant companion on any future hikes, because even if I never learn how to play it, it is surprisingly uplifting to coax a smooth harmonious chord with no one to hear it but the marmots and the wind.

PS – The marmots don’t mind that I’m tone deaf.