Morgenson’s death-and the conjecture about his state of mind at the time-are what make the last section of “The Last Season” such a page-turner. If Morgenson hadn’t died, I’d like to think Blehm would have been equally compelled to write the story (but that’s probably a dream). This non-fiction account of Randy Morgenson’s fascinating life is deftly told and deeply intriguing. This is a book about the space, if the space exists, where man begins and nature begins. You can now live by whim.”Įric Blehm’s “The Last Season” is a contemplation of a legendary park ranger who yearned to live by whim. Here for once in your life you needn’t do anything, be anywhere at a determined time, walk in a certain direction. Be free enough from intentions to find goodness wherever you are and in whatever is happening. Seek them and find them yourself…This is your birthright as an animal, most commonly denied you. Don’t demand trail signs and sturdy bridges. Don’t ask me how to get to McGee Canyon or Lake Double-Eleven-O. “Here is your chance to find your own way. “All of your life, someone is pointing the way, directing you this way and that, determining for you which road is best traveled,” he wrote in his 1973 logbook, when he was a ranger for the National Park Service in California. To Randy Morgenson, that idea was a dream. Find out what you’re made of or, possibly, who you are. Just you and a rugged piece of open country. His ethos boiled down to this: get out there. The outdoors were like a drug, his salve, his place. He probably would have felt a little lift of ecstasy. (Ask the same question to the average person 150 years ago-minus the helicopter-and the percentage of people who would be confident in such a situation was probably much, much higher.)īut, back to this hypothetical situation and you. How are you going to eat, what are you going to drink? How are you going to stay comfortable when the sun goes down? The day is warm but it’s a two-day hike to the next closest town and that hike goes over several high mountain passes. It’s summer, the scenario goes, in Colorado. You’ve got your clothes and maybe some water, an energy bar or two. Say I drop you off on the top of a mountain and fly away in my helicopter.

The last season by eric blehm