"Are you bringing a gun?"; "What's a McLeod?"
Despite fearful warnings from co-workers and friends, I went camping on my own this weekend at Sequoia National Park. I've done this before and it never seemed weird to me. But, when mentioned to a co-worker who then mentioned it to others it became a snowballing piece of conversation.
I didn't bring my camera camping because I wanted to focus on being present and memory. But my PDA does have one so you'll see a photo taken at the end of my trip right before I left. Yes, that's snow. It was gloriously sunny and reflecting off the white snow at that altitude. The drive down descended into fog and clouds and an overcast day.
This trip brought up the thing I love best about camping in the wilderness and the thing I hate the most as well.
At 1:55AM I heard yelling from nearby campers. I thought it was 5AM and early morning risers getting ready for the day of hiking but when I opened my eyes it was black dark. A dark that squeezes out all the light and seeps into you.
Immediately, I zipped open the screen of my tent and saw the most brilliant and gorgeous stars against the darkest sky ever. I've seen my share of beautiful night skies. Spending time in the UP of Michigan you see the entire span of Milky Way without lights. I've seen the sky from a boat. And even in the desert. But there was something about this sky...the stars looked so close and I could see all of the little pinpoints separately. It was just gorgeous! Of course I got out and walked around looking up and around the trees bumping into things with my glasses on, but it was worth it.
After 3 hours of hiking I come across a sunny part of the trail with long yellow grasses along side the mountain. The trail is narrow and it forces you to lean into the mountain so you don't fall off the cliff face. As I walk I look down to see black dots of various sizes on my pant leg. I look at the other one. There's some there too. Big and little. TICKS!!! I HATE TICKS!!! Wood ticks and the small pinhead ticks that give you Lyme disease. AAAARRRGGGHH!!! As I flick them off, determined that they will not stop me from seeing the waterfall at the end of the trail, I realize that with every sunny patch they will come flying off the grass and it practically ruins my hike. I get to a rocky overlook where you can see the waterfall. There is a small last leg left, but I turn around seeing only grass and ticks below. 3 hours back through more ticks and I walk downhill quickly (and run through the grasses) almost all the way. My knees are killing me, and I'm praying, no pleading with God under my breath to please keep the ticks away as well as any kind of bites or diseases. And, hoping I don't fall off the cliff.
I've survived. And if any ticks have, they're sitting on the floor of my car in the bag of clothes from that hike—waiting to be washed in scalding hot water separate from my other laundry.
