Small World

Three and a half million people visit Yosemite national park every year. If you've been, then you may have hiked Half Dome, with its vertigo-inducing cables, or taken one of the easier hikes to Vernal Falls or Nevada Falls. But the chances are that you haven't even heard of the High Sierra Camps, which are perched high above the valley in landscape which is breathtakingly beautiful.

Last week, in company with an assortment of soon-to-be family members, I looked down on Half Dome from a peak called Clouds' Rest. We hiked nearly 15 miles that day, and saw just a handful of folks (and some mules) on the trail.

There is a sort of fellowship among hikers. Mutual encouragement is commonplace. As you huff uphill, redfaced and slow, complete strangers on their way down will stop to let you know that you are nearly there, and that the view is worth the work. And as you return down the slope, you dispense advice on the walk (wisdom learned just 30 minutes before) about the narrowness of the coming ledge, or the best off-trail view. And you see the same people along the trail as you pause for water, trail mix or lunch.

There are the Boasting Bores, the guys who travel in threes and have always climbed a little higher, walked a little longer and suffered quite a bit more than anything you have done. The Good Sorts are wearing slightly worn gear that has seen a lot of action. They have a map, and will happily lend it to you if you are lost, or take your picture if you are having a tourist moment. They will also overtake you multiple times on the trail, until you lose them completely as they gallop past you on a treacherous climb. And then there are the Complete Idiots, who have ventured out into the wilderness in pristine white t-shirts without sunscreen or a hat, and with only a half litre of water to share between two on a 15 mile hike.

As I walked, I mused upon the similarities between hikers and the folks I have been networking with as I look for jobs. There is a remarkable correlation. In business, the Boasting Bores are the types who assure you that they have a bunch of useful contacts for you, but then are completely unavailable when you seek to follow up. The Complete Idiots are the sorts who think that their Great Aunt Lucy, who once held a volunteer position in a petting zoo might know someone useful in your job hunt. And the Good Sorts are the gold nuggets in the sea of silt, who open their address books (chock full of fascinating people), write e-mail introductions and aggressively help you in pursuing your dreams.

And inevitably (just as it is on the trail), the Good Sorts all know one another. In the week before I journeyed to the north of the state, I met senior executives at Netflix and the University of Santa Cruz. And of course, they were connected. The spouse of one was a consultant at the offices of the other. And so it goes. I applied yesterday for a position at a company where I know that a Good Sort of my acquaintance has an in. I'll be calling him today.

The good news is that the Good Sorts have so far significantly outnumbered the other, less advantageous connections. So to all of the people I have besieged via Facebook, Linked In and phone, thank you. You know who you are, and you have already been terrifically useful. Keep up the good work!