BelleBottoms
New member
Is anyone sleeping under this bright half moon tonight?
Years ago, I pulled into The Black Canyon of the Gunnison in Colorado. It's a National Park complete with ranger stations, campgrounds, and an exhibit center. I think it was early October, and because snow always closed the roads, the park was preparing to shut down for the Winter. There was one camping loop still open, so I took a spot - the only other person I saw all night was a guy emptying trash cans.
After settling in I cooked up some instant garlic mashed potatoes - my stomach hurt and I was hopeful that some food would help. It didn't. I crawled into my back-of-the-truck bedroom and got as close as possible to a fetal position as you can inside a sleeping bag. Between worsening stomach pain and the low temps (over 7000 ft elev there), it was a very uncomfortable evening.
Eventually whatever was making me moan in pain for hours worked it's way to the end of the line. I was going to need a toilet. I feared squatting would result in a mess I wouldn't be able to clean up. As I was pulling on shoes the need to go suddenly became urgent - there was no time for a coat or flashlight. I barely noticed anything as I ran in untied shoes to the outhouse.
Walking back was a different story. There was a full moon and the whole world was lit up silver against deep blue and teal shadows. A deer watched me pass while munching leaves off a shrub. I made the short trip back and forth about once an hour, lingering on each return to marvel the moonlit forest despite the cold.
It's a scenario that repeats itself often: I begrudgingly leave a cozy shelter and moments later am so dazzled by nature that I forget my hurry to return. A sky brimming with stars, an unexpected snowfall, an aurora... they stop me in my tracks, force me to reevaluate priorities.
Years ago, I pulled into The Black Canyon of the Gunnison in Colorado. It's a National Park complete with ranger stations, campgrounds, and an exhibit center. I think it was early October, and because snow always closed the roads, the park was preparing to shut down for the Winter. There was one camping loop still open, so I took a spot - the only other person I saw all night was a guy emptying trash cans.
After settling in I cooked up some instant garlic mashed potatoes - my stomach hurt and I was hopeful that some food would help. It didn't. I crawled into my back-of-the-truck bedroom and got as close as possible to a fetal position as you can inside a sleeping bag. Between worsening stomach pain and the low temps (over 7000 ft elev there), it was a very uncomfortable evening.
Eventually whatever was making me moan in pain for hours worked it's way to the end of the line. I was going to need a toilet. I feared squatting would result in a mess I wouldn't be able to clean up. As I was pulling on shoes the need to go suddenly became urgent - there was no time for a coat or flashlight. I barely noticed anything as I ran in untied shoes to the outhouse.
Walking back was a different story. There was a full moon and the whole world was lit up silver against deep blue and teal shadows. A deer watched me pass while munching leaves off a shrub. I made the short trip back and forth about once an hour, lingering on each return to marvel the moonlit forest despite the cold.
It's a scenario that repeats itself often: I begrudgingly leave a cozy shelter and moments later am so dazzled by nature that I forget my hurry to return. A sky brimming with stars, an unexpected snowfall, an aurora... they stop me in my tracks, force me to reevaluate priorities.
