The power of nature

Published 8:00 am Friday, August 1, 2025

I’m not sure exactly when I became claustrophobic.  It’s not a debilitating fear, at least at this point in my life.  I just prefer not to be in tight spaces.  It’s strange because there was a time when the idea of confinement wouldn’t have bothered me at all.

Over the years, I’ve wriggled into tight spots ranging from crawl spaces beneath houses and barns to underneath tractors and vehicles.  I’ve even crawled in and through a few caves.  The Wild Cave Tour at Mammoth cave comes to mind.

“Nature is Medicine” and it’s time to fill your prescription today. Get out there and enjoy! Photo by Brad Dye

Now, just reading the requirements for the tour makes me uncomfortable, such as the fact that “chest or hip measurements must not exceed 42 inches” due to an inability to fit through the compact spaces.  I’m hyperventilating a bit just thinking about that.

These days, for some reason, I don’t like cramped spaces.  Prior to neck surgery back in 2019, I had to have an MRI.  I’d had one in the past with no issues.  However, as I rolled into the tube of the machine that day, I had to close my eyes and transport myself to another place to avoid what felt like an oncoming panic attack.

The place I envisioned myself at that time was the “Notch Trail” in Badlands National Park.  I could think of no place more open and less confined than the vast prairie which the trail overlooks at “the Notch.”

That view of the White River Valley got me through the MRI, but I told myself if I ever had to have another trip into the tube, I would only be able to do so with the help of modern pharmaceuticals.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to test that theory for a few years.

However, a couple of weeks ago, I found myself sitting in a waiting room for my turn in the whirling tube of magnets and radio waves.  Could I do it without any sedation?

Before rolling in, I was asked if I had any questions.  “Sure do,” I replied, “How long will this take?”  The answer made me wish that I had never asked. “About 45 minutes,” I was told as they strapped me into position.  That seemed like a lifetime to have my nose inches from the top of the narrow enclosed channel.

At that moment, I began to regret my decision not to opt for some form of sedative; however, if mentally transporting myself to another place had worked before, surely I could make it work again as I had no other choice (other than the handheld distress button which would mean stopping the test).

As I began my entry into the tunnel, I took a deep breath and thought of the words of author and fly-fisherman John Gierach:

“The real truth about fly fishing is, it is beautiful beyond description in almost every way, and when a certain kind of person is confronted with a certain kind of beauty, they are either saved or ruined for life, or a little of both.”

I needed a little saving at that point.  It was time to go fly fishing, and for the next three quarters of an hour, that’s exactly what I did, starting with Hazel Creek in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

After Hazel, I fished three different sections of the South Fork of the Snake River in Southeastern Idaho before moving to Tickanetley Creek in North Georgia.

Ultimately, it was the water, or I should say the waters, that swept me away from the buzz and clatter sounding inside the tight space of the huge apparatus.  I could feel each cold, clear mountain river and stream.

Better yet, I could taste them, which is exactly what I was doing when the voice of the MRI technologist came through the headphones to let me know that “we” were almost finished.

“We,” I thought, “you’re not in this tube!”

Fortunately, at that moment I had just filled my Grayl water filter from the gelid waters of Tickanetley Creek and was sitting down to enjoy a streamside lunch.

On one of my Appalachian Trail hikes a few years back, I came across a sticker that says, “Nature is medicine.”  I thought about that sticker as I climbed down from the MRI platform.

Hippocrates, the father of modern medicine, said that “Nature is the physician of diseases,” and I firmly believe him.  Nature has powerful healing properties.  It is also a powerful medicine as it seems for me that outdoor memories alone can rival the effects of certain prescriptions.

Those memories took me to other places, which came in handy, allowing me to escape the narrow confines of the diagnostic machine, transporting me, if only mentally, into the wide-open spaces of a mountain river.

Never underestimate the power of nature.  It truly is medicinal.  Until next time, here’s your prescription.  Fill it today. Get out there.  I look forward to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.