11/10 - 11/11/23 (catching up on old posts from last Fall)
It’s November on the Olympic peninsula in Washington state. And I’m committed to my first solo camping trip. After lugging my gear from Capitol Hill, Seattle onto a train, a ferry, and a bus, I finally arrive at the campground thanks to a sweet Uber driver on his way to a car show in Seattle. Ready to invest in an electric car to save on gas, not to mention the environment. I tell him I’m all for it.
I get my firewood from the FP (ranger). She is absolutely lovely! She even scrounges up some change for my $20 bill. She tells me to be careful with my fire tonight because the wind gusts are supposed to get bad. Yikes.
It starts to drizzle softly once I drop off my wood. I know I should set up my tent before it gets worse. The sun will be setting in an hour. But I can’t help myself. I have to go exploring.
There’s a wide open field with a playground, a washers court, and many picnic tables nearby. I count 3 different species of mushroom caps sprouting amidst pine cones and golden leaves.
A wooden fence stained green and mossy runs along a wooded path barricading a steep drop off into the ocean. The woods block most of the view but the fence slopes downward toward the shore.
I walk and listen to the tide hitting resolutely against a seawall, draped in boulders and the occasional flowers and shells. Every now and then a glimpse of the ocean and cloudy Olympic mountains peak through the trees. I’m so focused on catching glimpses of the view that I almost miss the bald eagle soaring overhead.
I hike down to the beach and watch the water coming in steadily, listen to the crows hollering to each other above my head. The water is so clear that I can see every rock and shell underneath. Huge red and orange leaves pool and drift in the current.
My feet are cushioned by moss and pine needles. The scent of pine is overwhelming and all encompassing, not just the thin wafts on the wind that I’m used to. I hear the seagulls and the waves, I breathe deep and everything relaxes inside of me.
Ok no more procrastinating. Time to make camp..
Hmmm. My tent advertises a quick easy 10 minute setup. But an hour and a half later, I’m on the brink of giving up. What would I do if I gave up? Uber to a hotel? I guess we’ll never know because I barely pulled it together despite the wind and the rain. At least I hope we won’t. Did I mention this is my first solo camping trip?
Now for the fire. It’s just after sunset but I have no kindling or paper or fire starter so I head into town. It’s not pitch dark yet but it will be on my way back. I’m lured by the thought of an ice cold bottle of water next to a warm fire. It’s a half mile into town and I’m beginning to regret my heavy hiking boots but I continue on through the dark, barely able to see the tall tops of the pine trees over the darkening sky.
I make it to the closest gas station and purchase water and a newspaper. A Seattle Times for the fire and a Kitsap Sun for reading with coffee in the morning. It’s nice to sink into small town news every now and then. I’m a bit too overwhelmed to remember to look for something decent to eat for dinner or better yet, some kind of fire starter.
There’s a small tavern near the road to the camp ground, and it’s full to the brim, happy hour drinkers on a Friday night. It’s gotten so dark so quickly I’m surprised to see it’s only 5 pm. Here I am thinking about dinner and bed but if I were at home I would probably continue working for several more hours.
I make my way back, weary of male truck drivers stopping by with giant cases of modelo or rainier. I step next to fallen leaves on the side of the highway, so giant they are larger than my hiking boots. I turn off towards the camp site and indeed the road is pitch black without street lights, I have to put my phone flashlight on to avoid walking off the road. It’s creepy but I don’t think about it. I listen to the car noise in the distance, swallowed by the louder wind noises blowing all around me through the forest. I can’t wait to fall asleep to the wind and rain.
I struggle a bit with the fire but one benefit of camping in Fall is there is no shortage of dry leaves for kindling! I start to relax and settle in, enjoying the wind and the quiet. I can do this. I’m doing this. Fuck yeah. I can’t believe I did this all on my own.
In for a night of snacking and reading by the fire. Not sure if I will venture into town tomorrow or just have a light easy day hanging around here. Sleeping and hiking and reading and just enjoying the wind.
Sounds of camping:
⁃ Leaves rustling
⁃ A small babbling brook flowing off somewhere behind my picnic table in the trees
⁃ Crackling and popping of my fire as it roars beside me
⁃ Branches and sticks snapping here and there. A rabbit or squirrel or some other creature traveling about, or a pine bough being tossed by the wind.
⁃ Wind. Always the wind. In every delicious flavor. It builds and grows and shrinks and recedes. Howling through the collective grouping of trees. Fluttering through the leaves and branches over the picnic table. Occasionally surrounding me with a crashing wave, tossing limbs of pine and raining needles and leaves all around me in a storm before it settles and turns peaceful again, silencing briefly to carry the sounds of other campers and cars in the distance.
I finish “dinner” (Chex mix and Pringles with an NA beer), brush my teeth, and head to bed. I pour water on the remnants of the fire and a huge gust of billowing smoke surges forward, raging into a cloud of steam that drifts away into the night. The rain falls with more certainty. The wind blusters on. Something large crashes onto the ground outside.
My failure to remember to buy a sleeping pad and travel pillow is a bit tedious. The last few times I went camping I was so drunk I stumbled into my sleeping bag still holding a bedtime can of wine. Sober camping is more painful. I have no memory of the cold hard ground given I was completely shit faced at the time. I feel off, like my head is angled downhill from the rest of my body. Rocks dig into my legs and hips. I can see my breath fogging around me.
In a moment of weakness, I check Expedia for any hotels nearby. The closest available is 12 miles away in Silverdale. The thought of disassembling my tent and waiting 10-20 min in the cold and rain for an Uber makes the decision for me.
I suck it up. Take some preemptive Advil, swap the tank top under my sweater for a thermal knit. Layer fleece socks over my wool socks. And move the head of my bag to where the foot was, so my blood flow will go back to normal. Any remaining socks, underwear and shirts go under my head to form a “pillow.” I have a new level of respect for people who are unhoused and experience worse conditions than this every single day.
Despite the extinguishing and all the rain, about 30 min later my fire starts up again. I’m watching it quietly when a siren goes off somewhere in the distance. I wait a beat, and then the most haunting howls light up the night. Piercing, screeching yelps and singing, several animals at once. My guess is coyotes. Or one of the neighbors brought a pack of wolves.
I am cold but not too cold. Uncomfortable but starting to yawn and droop. Too uncomfortable to feel afraid it seems. I don’t know why I don’t feel afraid but I don’t. There are nights I’m in a hotel room that I have to sleep with a light on and the tv going. But not here. In some ways I feel more safe than I do at home. This is home.
The sound of the wind and rain is super comforting. It’s actually my favorite. The patter on the tent roof is a sound I often try to recreate in the city when I pull my rain jacket up above my head on a drizzly walk. But this deluge on the tent roof is a sleeping app’s wet dream. The wind blowing through the woods puts my fan at home to shame. I feel more alive than usual. Grounded. More connected with myself and the earth and less so with the world and the other reality. The rain and wind surrounding me, rocking me to sleep, makes the whole trip worth it I think.
It was a fitful night of not sleep. The rain and wind were delightful but the lack of sleeping pad and pillow, the cold hard ground, were not. My Fitbit says I got an hour or so here and there for a grand total of 3.5 hours. Even though I went to bed nearly 10 hours ago. I eat a packaged croissant and a Twix for breakfast, washed down with yesterday’s leftover coffee.
It seems a morning fire is out of the equation, by the sounds of the rain coming down. I decide to hike for a bit before heading back to town. On my way out, I realize it’s not current rain but merely last night’s rain still dripping off the pine branches. This makes me very happy. I decide to read for a bit with my window zipped down to enjoy the dripping noise harmonizing with the birds singing outside. It’s not long before a few rays of sun break the clouds.
I hike around the park one more time before I fold up my campsite. I find myself looking out at the water again, watching the clouds come in.
I end up in another circle of trees, trunks mossy and bark stained sage green. I’m in the woods, but the trees are spaced further apart than I would expect, almost in formation. But new saplings planted strategically in between the needled path, strands of web connecting them all.
The sun shines through, the wind carries chatter of birds and other flying creatures. I stand in this copse of trees for a long time, listening to changing patterns in the breeze, watching the sun filter and shine, casting shadows as pine needles rain down all around. Shiny mushrooms reach up and greet the earth. The trees and sky tower above and reflect back into rain puddles, or perhaps a portal into another space.
I tread lightly and do not fear getting lost in this place. There are worse places to lose yourself.