Decompress...
I finally managed to take a bona-fide vacation, probably for the first time in four or five years. This is an actual vacation, paid and everything, which beats the hell out of being laid off or in between jobs. The week that I chose turned out to be a fairly hectic one at work, and I do feel pangs of guilt for leaving my crew in a lurch to run off and enjoy myself while there is so much going on that could require my attention and assistance. Just this morning, I felt compelled to call in just to check in and see how the first half of the week went without me.
I had been up around daybreak on the morning of our last day in after a chilly evening around the fire. Up and off to the East, the first glint of sun that had been seen since sundown the night before we left the landing just outside Ely shone through the morning haze. I was managing a small fire with kindling and tinder when a pack of wolves started up a couple of miles or so North of our campsite on the south end of the lake. The pack was faint, almost disappearing with the twilight as morning broke over camp, and I almost had to completely hold my breath to listen in.
This was the second time I had heard a pack of wolves in the wild. The first being last summer, backpacking solo on the Gooseberry River. On that occasion I was alone on the trail on a very wet weekend in July. I had made camp shortly after the rain had stopped and exhausted, I climbed inside my bag to sleep. No sooner had my eyes shut, they snapped open again at the loud and rather close sound of a small pack of wolves directly across the river from where I was trying to sleep. My heart was pounding in my ears and adrenaline racing through my system as I quietly panicked in my tent, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. I heard them twice more that night, once more downriver a mile or two and then again on my side of things, walking right up the very trail I had hiked in on. Making for Castle Danger the next morning I saw paw prints on the trail a bit bigger than the palm of my hand.
Slipping the canoe into the water later that morning finally brought it all back around to me as I realized I was leaving an intensely beautiful and rugged place for my normal life back in the city. There wasn't even a puff of breeze to feather the water as Nick and I eased into the loaded canoe and began paddling out into the lake, waiting for our companions to finish packing up and loading gear into their canoe and join us for the paddle downstream. Paddling through the calm of Lake Three was akin to paddling through silk.
My first exposure to civilization after four days in the woods was in Ely sitting at a sleepy steakhouse bar inhaling an 8oz hamburger and beer, finding out from the bartender that the world didn't come to an end while we were out, but the Vikings lost and their quarterback could possibly be out for the rest of the season. In that regard, the world did come to and end.
Now I'm decompressing. Front porch watching the world go by in passing cars and sirens and cable television, people coming and going and cell phones...TV and stereo...noise everywhere...a noise I didn't really know was there until I went away from it.
All of a sudden I feel clausterphobic.
I had been up around daybreak on the morning of our last day in after a chilly evening around the fire. Up and off to the East, the first glint of sun that had been seen since sundown the night before we left the landing just outside Ely shone through the morning haze. I was managing a small fire with kindling and tinder when a pack of wolves started up a couple of miles or so North of our campsite on the south end of the lake. The pack was faint, almost disappearing with the twilight as morning broke over camp, and I almost had to completely hold my breath to listen in.
This was the second time I had heard a pack of wolves in the wild. The first being last summer, backpacking solo on the Gooseberry River. On that occasion I was alone on the trail on a very wet weekend in July. I had made camp shortly after the rain had stopped and exhausted, I climbed inside my bag to sleep. No sooner had my eyes shut, they snapped open again at the loud and rather close sound of a small pack of wolves directly across the river from where I was trying to sleep. My heart was pounding in my ears and adrenaline racing through my system as I quietly panicked in my tent, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. I heard them twice more that night, once more downriver a mile or two and then again on my side of things, walking right up the very trail I had hiked in on. Making for Castle Danger the next morning I saw paw prints on the trail a bit bigger than the palm of my hand.
Slipping the canoe into the water later that morning finally brought it all back around to me as I realized I was leaving an intensely beautiful and rugged place for my normal life back in the city. There wasn't even a puff of breeze to feather the water as Nick and I eased into the loaded canoe and began paddling out into the lake, waiting for our companions to finish packing up and loading gear into their canoe and join us for the paddle downstream. Paddling through the calm of Lake Three was akin to paddling through silk.
My first exposure to civilization after four days in the woods was in Ely sitting at a sleepy steakhouse bar inhaling an 8oz hamburger and beer, finding out from the bartender that the world didn't come to an end while we were out, but the Vikings lost and their quarterback could possibly be out for the rest of the season. In that regard, the world did come to and end.
Now I'm decompressing. Front porch watching the world go by in passing cars and sirens and cable television, people coming and going and cell phones...TV and stereo...noise everywhere...a noise I didn't really know was there until I went away from it.
All of a sudden I feel clausterphobic.
posted by in.dog.neato at 3:43 PM
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