A Wuss in the Woods

I’m meditating.

My mind is calm, my body relaxed, my senses in tune with the music of the cosmos, my whole being focused on the one…ohmigod here comes another gust of WI-HIND!

Damn, it’s cold.

Reluctantly, I give up on the meditation and open my eyes to see Wiley the dog staring back at me. The question on her face is obvious. “Can we go home now?”

A camping trip seemed like a good idea when I initially made my plans. The weather was sunny and warm, with definite signs of spring in the air. Of course I should have remembered, Colorado doesn’t give up winter without a fight and by the time the trip rolled around, the temperatures had plummeted once more making the whole prospect much less appealing. However, the weather had also turned nasty the last time I’d planned a camping trip, several months ago and to my regret, I’d wimped out. Not so this time. I was going ahead, cold weather or no.

At the last moment I decided not to take my little hike tent, but to sleep in the back of the car. With the seats folded down there’s plenty of room for me and a dog and I figured the ease of set up might be handy. After checking the weather forecast I also changed my destination, deciding that a high mountain pass might not be the best location to camp during a winter storm. So southbound we were, to the back roads and jeep trails behind Buena Vista. It was one of the many areas in this state I’ve yet to visit so spirits were high as we bowled along 285 early Wednesday morning.

It’s a while since I’ve been camping and it was disturbing how much I’d forgotten when it came to packing. A hat would have been nice. And a can opener. And perhaps that loaf of bread sitting in the fridge at home. And definitely some hot drinks for the evening. I had my coffee of course, and a healthy supply of beer. But I can’t drink coffee in the evenings and even cold beer loses its appeal in sub-zero temperatures. But those concerns were hours away; at this point we were still optimistic of a fun couple of days, getting back to the wild and communing with nature.

It took a while bumping and wheezing along the trail before I found the perfect campsite beside a picturesque rock outcrop, and I jumped excitedly out of the car. Seconds later I was hopping back in to re-organize my attire. As in, to put on most of the clothing I’d brought. Man, it was cold.

Now I had anticipated the temperatures dropping during the night and had brought plenty of warm stuff. What I hadn’t really allowed for was how to fill the day when all I could think about was how bitterly cold it was. I had some kind of fantasy about getting in touch with my primal spirit, becoming one with nature and aligning my energy with the natural forces of the earth. I saw myself spending time drumming, reading and meditating, with frequent walks among the flora and fauna which surrounded me. I hadn’t really envisaged myself huddling behind a rock in a desperate attempt to avoid having my face seared off by the wind.

And once darkness fell, oh boy did those temperatures drop. I was using Dear Wife’s sleeping bag rather than my own, for no other reason than that I came across it first while rummaging through the shed. It was billed as a three-season bag when we bought it but I think that must have been one season in Florida, one in Hawaii and one in Acapulco. It certainly isn’t warm enough for spring in Colorado. Although to be fair, considering the water bottle by my head froze in the night, keeping me toasty would have been a challenge for sleeping bags a lot more expensive than this. Wiley had already staked her claim to the tartan rug I had intended to use as back up insulation and as she’s eleven now and presumably every bit as cold as me, I reluctantly cut her some slack. Instead I lay and shivered, and wondered how long it would be until morning.

When daybreak finally arrived it took several mugs of hot coffee to warm my soul but as the sun made its feeble appearance through the clouds, I was feeling less like a popsicle and ready to face the day. All eighteen hours of it.

We went for walks. Lots of walks. And I spent a lot of time reading whilst huddled in the back of the car. This wasn’t much warmer than outside but at least it offered a temporary respite from the wind. And every now and then I would climb outside and stretch my stiff limbs in an attempt to keep the blood circulating. I tried drumming but the percussion of the wooden sticks hurt my frozen hands. And I meditated; for a few minutes but totally failed to empty my mind of extraneous thoughts, concentrating as I was on the next gust of icy cold wind.

And all the while there was that nagging voice. The one questioning why I was doing this in the first place

“You could be in town, sitting in a café, or a bookstore, or a bar. You don’t have to stay out here. You could always spend the day in town then come back and sleep out tonight. Or you could stay in that cheap motel you saw. Or, in two hours you could be home. You’re supposed to be having fun. You aren’t having fun, are you?”

Eventually I silenced the voice by telling myself that I’m a middle aged guy who works in an office. I can’t run a mile and I can’t lift anything heavy. I can’t fix things around the house and I wouldn’t know how to kill my own food. When civilization finally breaks down, I won’t last five minutes. But I am not going to give up on a camping trip just because it’s cold!”

And I’m proud to say, I didn’t. I stuck it out for the full 2 days before scraping the ice from the inside of the windshield and running for home. Am I a hardened camper or what? Wiley would probably have wimped out though, given the choice.

What, you didn't think the wuss in the title was me, did you?