Calm radio sleep music1/10/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I blinked at my hands and arms with wide eyes. I attempted to hold the tent poles in place as the wind lashed against us, but the poles would bow inward, and I worried they might snap or that the fastening hooks would be ripped off.īeneath the green hue of my rainfly, my skin seemed to assume a scaly, reptilian quality. Inside my tiny tent, Matt and I sat nose to nose. I haphazardly threw my belongings inside to weigh it down and felt the first raindrops begin to fall like chilly little kisses on my head and shoulders. ![]() Matt and I struggled to assemble my tent, as the sheer fabric whipped into the air each time we tried to stake it down. I found that, in the San Juans, there were vast areas with few trees and little vegetation to slow the wind’s momentum. It was both epic and terrifying to experience the dramatic temperature drop, the unrelenting wall of wind that rushed toward us without abating. Big Spork, farther along into his trip, laughed carelessly into the face of the looming storm and shouted, “This is gonna be sick!”īig Spork getting stoked on the incoming storm. A storm system was amassing and moving with purpose in our direction. Wanting desperately to be undeterred by my injury, I borrowed one of Matt’s trekking poles, and limped the short distance down to the lake.Īs Matt, Big Spork, and I reached our desired campsite at the edge of a lake, big black clouds unfurled on the horizon. Shooting pains radiated along my tendons as I clutched hard at my ankle, waiting for the sensation to dissipate. An involuntary, embarrassing yelp preceded my graceless tumble as I collapsed in a heap on the dusty trail. Distracted, I misplaced my foot and rolled my ankle with a sickening twist. Waves of unnamed emotion would roll over me, then ebb away like the tide going out. On the hike down to the lakes, I felt as though certain boundaries within myself were dissolving. Willow thickets marked the lakes’ boundaries, indicating thriving moose habitats. They shimmered with pockets of indigo, reflecting the soft green of the grassy mountainside, and the pink hues of the peach-colored sediment that formed jagged rock formations at their backs. Seated a couple hundred feet below the trail, the lakes’ iridescent bodies mirrored the blue-bird sky overheard. When the lakes came into view, I was awe-struck by one of the most glorious views I’ve ever encountered. He extended the open bag in our direction with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Let’s celebrate. I think I’m going to eat some mushrooms and camp early,” Big Spork announced, already in the process of retrieving one from a ziploc baggie and tossing it into his mouth. “You know, we’re coming up on this beautiful lake. Matt, myself, and Big Spork at the CT high point. They’d say things like, “Last one to Durango wins!” Or, “Shit, girl! Where’s the fire?” And I’d laugh and before hustling away. I passed by one hiker after another that moved at a more leisurely pace, oblivious to the fact that I was racing them. My trail-runners decisively struck the earth underfoot as I rushed up the ascent, speeding toward the highest point on the Colorado Trail. I felt a certain competitive impulse kicking in. By the time we had rallied, the other hikers we had camped with had already gone ahead. Matt and I had developed a bad habit of sleeping in, and consequently, hiking late into the evening. “Probably when we stop hiking,” He hypothesized before beginning the process of packing up. “Will it ever stop raining?” I sighed self-pityingly. On the boundary between sleep and wakefulness, I nestled into Matt’s neck and chest, which didn’t work very well because of our separate sleeping pads and quilts. The pitter-patter of raindrops on my tent was as predictable and agitating as an alarm clock. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply.AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |