I am dreaming of being in the cold forest, standing under a giant tree with elephantine leaves. The leaves are filled with water that rhythmically splashes on my forehead no matter how I move. In my dream it is beautiful, each drop seems to be filled with wisdom. I don’t want to leave this dream but my body is shivering and my eyes are opening. Opening to reality as ice cold water drips directly onto my forehead. Inside my tent.
This moment isn’t filled with wisdom this moment is filled with exhaustion, annoyance, and a touch of lingering wine drunkenness. I turn my head and look to my friends, sleeping snuggly, having covered themselves with their sleeping bags. One is on the slightly uphill side of the tent, the other in the middle, they are drier than me, but I know this won’t be the case for long. I know when it rains so hard the tent fails, eventually everyone gets wet. I also remember opening one vent on the tent leaving the other side to be opened by my less experienced companion. Likely still closed. This accounts for the condensation building on the inside of the tent. Who knew we were all such snoring mouth breathers. I blame the wine.
As I lay there I know that I could hunker down in my sleeping bag, make myself a small breathing hole and let the water just come. I calculate the hours left before we will need to get up and move and I know my sleeping bag will stay water-resistant long enough. It isn’t cold enough--even if the weather station predicted 3 inches of snow and temps in the 20s for tonight, we are definitely not getting that forecast-- to need my down at top performance. I also know we are snowshoeing to a hut in the morning where things will be able to fully dry out. I could just stay here, but I know that you have to love the outdoors like I do to put up with the suffering it often entails.
You honesty have to be a little addicted to put up with being damp all day and carrying all the extra weight that is currently soaking into our gear. Inside the tent. I know that not all my companions are there yet. One is still in the just getting to know you phase with nature. So, like a good matchmaker, I do my part. I smooth over the rough edges.
I drag myself out of the tent, careful not to touch the sides, lest a downpour of rain and condensation comes cascading down on my friends. I make sure to toss the vestibule back quickly and with force, sending all the droplets careening harmlessly into the air, away from the tent. I climb out in slippers that have been catching the brunt of the dripping vestibule and squish my way into a standing position, as quietly as possible. I am quick to rezip all the doors. This methodical approach may leave me with rain running down my backside but I know it will keep what remains dry, inside the tent, dry. In the downpour, I open the other vent that hadn’t been opened. I squish my way over to the rope we had to tie around a small boulder because we couldn’t get the stakes in the frozen, rocky ground. My fingers are red and cold as I pull the heavy rock further out and retie the now drenched and sagging rope. Damn this rain, is so very cold. It really was supposed to be snow. As that line is set, my companion hears the call of nature and comes bursting forth from the tent.
This is how I imagine bear cubs burst out of their dens for the first time, gangling, half-asleep and completely oblivious to what they are destroying around them. There goes my small dry area under the vestibule as the water comes pouring down from the unzipped, languid rain fly flap. There goes what small patch of my sleeping bag was dry as my friend, in true cub-like fashion failed to close either tent flap in a rainstorm. I quickly move from fixing the guy lines to zipping everything up, just as my companion finishes heeding the call of nature. She stumbles her way back to the tent, again barreling into bed in much the same way she barreled out, dragging her dripping body and muddy feet across my sleeping bag. I sigh knowing that all of the condensation that could have dried out has been rained down upon all the gear and people, inside the tent.
I continue to dig through the snow covered ground to find rocks, and when that fails drive ski poles into the ground as I pull the guy lines as tight as I can. I know the more I can separate the fly from the tent the dryer we will all be. After being thoroughly soaked I drag myself back into the tent. Adjusting my pack under the vestibule so it is out of the water that is flowing under the tent as much as possible. I quickly zip the vestibule, wiping off as much of the dripping water and mud on my body that I can, before climbing in. Pushing my pad as far into the middle as possible, I get in zip up and then smile as I snuggle into my sleeping bag. I can feel the slight breeze blowing between the vents, solving at least our mouth breathing problem, for a bit.
I drift back to sleep, knowing that my friends will be dryer and happier in the morning. They will feel accomplished because they didn’t get as wet as me. They will be confident in their ability to sleep through the night and stay dry. I will let them have that confidence, because they will need it to continue a three mile snowshoe in what will most likely be a full day of rain. I will let them have that until we are all dry at the hut. Then I will tell them of my nighttime escapades to keep them dry. Then I will tell them know how twice I went out to adjust the guy lines because when ropes get wet they sag and when they sag we get wet.
I do all of this for love. I do it because I love the outdoors. I love nature enough to suffer for her and I love my friends enough to suffer for them. I love them and myself enough that I want them to share in this love of nature with me, even if it leaves me wet and cold and exhausted. I do this because I love the absolute abandon that we share as sisters in nature. The singing, the wild poos, the deep and important stories, the laughter that comes from your belly. I let them sleep because I want them to love nature and I will tell them I let them sleep because I want them to learn how much work loving nature takes. It isn't an easy relationship we have with nature, but as we friends know, struggle deepens true relationships. I do this because I love who I am when I am with them in nature.
As I curl into my sleeping bag damp, muddy, cold, and so very tired, I am grateful. Grateful to be out here with these women because I know that the ability to be a wild female human is never as strong as when you are alone in the woods with your female friends.
This moment isn’t filled with wisdom this moment is filled with exhaustion, annoyance, and a touch of lingering wine drunkenness. I turn my head and look to my friends, sleeping snuggly, having covered themselves with their sleeping bags. One is on the slightly uphill side of the tent, the other in the middle, they are drier than me, but I know this won’t be the case for long. I know when it rains so hard the tent fails, eventually everyone gets wet. I also remember opening one vent on the tent leaving the other side to be opened by my less experienced companion. Likely still closed. This accounts for the condensation building on the inside of the tent. Who knew we were all such snoring mouth breathers. I blame the wine.
As I lay there I know that I could hunker down in my sleeping bag, make myself a small breathing hole and let the water just come. I calculate the hours left before we will need to get up and move and I know my sleeping bag will stay water-resistant long enough. It isn’t cold enough--even if the weather station predicted 3 inches of snow and temps in the 20s for tonight, we are definitely not getting that forecast-- to need my down at top performance. I also know we are snowshoeing to a hut in the morning where things will be able to fully dry out. I could just stay here, but I know that you have to love the outdoors like I do to put up with the suffering it often entails.
You honesty have to be a little addicted to put up with being damp all day and carrying all the extra weight that is currently soaking into our gear. Inside the tent. I know that not all my companions are there yet. One is still in the just getting to know you phase with nature. So, like a good matchmaker, I do my part. I smooth over the rough edges.
I drag myself out of the tent, careful not to touch the sides, lest a downpour of rain and condensation comes cascading down on my friends. I make sure to toss the vestibule back quickly and with force, sending all the droplets careening harmlessly into the air, away from the tent. I climb out in slippers that have been catching the brunt of the dripping vestibule and squish my way into a standing position, as quietly as possible. I am quick to rezip all the doors. This methodical approach may leave me with rain running down my backside but I know it will keep what remains dry, inside the tent, dry. In the downpour, I open the other vent that hadn’t been opened. I squish my way over to the rope we had to tie around a small boulder because we couldn’t get the stakes in the frozen, rocky ground. My fingers are red and cold as I pull the heavy rock further out and retie the now drenched and sagging rope. Damn this rain, is so very cold. It really was supposed to be snow. As that line is set, my companion hears the call of nature and comes bursting forth from the tent.
This is how I imagine bear cubs burst out of their dens for the first time, gangling, half-asleep and completely oblivious to what they are destroying around them. There goes my small dry area under the vestibule as the water comes pouring down from the unzipped, languid rain fly flap. There goes what small patch of my sleeping bag was dry as my friend, in true cub-like fashion failed to close either tent flap in a rainstorm. I quickly move from fixing the guy lines to zipping everything up, just as my companion finishes heeding the call of nature. She stumbles her way back to the tent, again barreling into bed in much the same way she barreled out, dragging her dripping body and muddy feet across my sleeping bag. I sigh knowing that all of the condensation that could have dried out has been rained down upon all the gear and people, inside the tent.
I continue to dig through the snow covered ground to find rocks, and when that fails drive ski poles into the ground as I pull the guy lines as tight as I can. I know the more I can separate the fly from the tent the dryer we will all be. After being thoroughly soaked I drag myself back into the tent. Adjusting my pack under the vestibule so it is out of the water that is flowing under the tent as much as possible. I quickly zip the vestibule, wiping off as much of the dripping water and mud on my body that I can, before climbing in. Pushing my pad as far into the middle as possible, I get in zip up and then smile as I snuggle into my sleeping bag. I can feel the slight breeze blowing between the vents, solving at least our mouth breathing problem, for a bit.
I drift back to sleep, knowing that my friends will be dryer and happier in the morning. They will feel accomplished because they didn’t get as wet as me. They will be confident in their ability to sleep through the night and stay dry. I will let them have that confidence, because they will need it to continue a three mile snowshoe in what will most likely be a full day of rain. I will let them have that until we are all dry at the hut. Then I will tell them of my nighttime escapades to keep them dry. Then I will tell them know how twice I went out to adjust the guy lines because when ropes get wet they sag and when they sag we get wet.
I do all of this for love. I do it because I love the outdoors. I love nature enough to suffer for her and I love my friends enough to suffer for them. I love them and myself enough that I want them to share in this love of nature with me, even if it leaves me wet and cold and exhausted. I do this because I love the absolute abandon that we share as sisters in nature. The singing, the wild poos, the deep and important stories, the laughter that comes from your belly. I let them sleep because I want them to love nature and I will tell them I let them sleep because I want them to learn how much work loving nature takes. It isn't an easy relationship we have with nature, but as we friends know, struggle deepens true relationships. I do this because I love who I am when I am with them in nature.
As I curl into my sleeping bag damp, muddy, cold, and so very tired, I am grateful. Grateful to be out here with these women because I know that the ability to be a wild female human is never as strong as when you are alone in the woods with your female friends.