I was four months old when my parents took me camping for the first time. I nestled in a sleeping bag between them at night, rested on my mother's hip during the day, or was cradled in a hammock with my dad in the warm wind. I'm certain my love for nature would have blossomed without this, but my absolute pull to the mountains was a seed planted in these early stages for sure.
I hear the calling in the summer weeks, the drive to plunge headfirst into the Rockies and sleep under the stars. By Friday the wind whistling across the tops of peaks sounds just like my name sssssssarahhhhhh and I bound out of work ready to pack my car. I've got camping down to a bit of a science, layering one shelf in my closet with all the things I need so I remember to pull them.
Sleeping bag - Check
Camp pillow - Check ( a must since I've gotten older - rolled up clothing or a bumpy backpack just don't work anymore.)
Food - Check
Tent - double check
Etc.....
I hear the calling in the summer weeks, the drive to plunge headfirst into the Rockies and sleep under the stars. By Friday the wind whistling across the tops of peaks sounds just like my name sssssssarahhhhhh and I bound out of work ready to pack my car. I've got camping down to a bit of a science, layering one shelf in my closet with all the things I need so I remember to pull them.
Sleeping bag - Check
Camp pillow - Check ( a must since I've gotten older - rolled up clothing or a bumpy backpack just don't work anymore.)
Food - Check
Tent - double check
Etc.....
The road out of town gets busy just before rush-hour on Fridays - everyone with the same idea... 'If I leave early, I'll beat traffic'. I have a one up on all of them being partway into the woods as it is. After seeing My Brother's Comatose in concert this winter I've loaded their pandora channel on my phone for drives such as this. Heading out to a camp spot seems to induce the want for music with a little banjo.
The pavement ends just outside of town, transitioning to a dusty service road laden with rock and divots from recently melted snow. I bounce along, camping pans rattling out the beat of a path less traveled. It's times like this I usually cross my fingers and hope nothing is too washed out or un-passable for my clearance, but I've driven this way before and I know I'll be fine. I wave to fellow mountain goers, the town ski bums that camp all summer so they don't have to pay rent. They move from spot to spot during the week while the rest of us work in our offices. Shirtless, washing their socks in a boiling pan of water over a campfire, they wave back with the hand holding a beer and grin. I have no idea who they are, but for one weekend we will be neighbors, and the closest thing to help if such a thing is needed.
I like the idea of it, strangers sharing this moment with me so completely.
The pavement ends just outside of town, transitioning to a dusty service road laden with rock and divots from recently melted snow. I bounce along, camping pans rattling out the beat of a path less traveled. It's times like this I usually cross my fingers and hope nothing is too washed out or un-passable for my clearance, but I've driven this way before and I know I'll be fine. I wave to fellow mountain goers, the town ski bums that camp all summer so they don't have to pay rent. They move from spot to spot during the week while the rest of us work in our offices. Shirtless, washing their socks in a boiling pan of water over a campfire, they wave back with the hand holding a beer and grin. I have no idea who they are, but for one weekend we will be neighbors, and the closest thing to help if such a thing is needed.
I like the idea of it, strangers sharing this moment with me so completely.
The season is still wet enough for campfires and I packed enough wood to make sure I take advantage of that fact. It won't be long before dry grass and high winds close down anything but a jetboil for the year. After unpacking the tent, table, and camping chairs, a fire is the first thing I build. It's flames dance in the twilight, tiny embers sparking off into the fading daylight like wild fireflies. It crackles as I unpack the kitchen and sleeping accessories.
The snowpack is melting in the lasting summer light - the solstice being only a few days away at this point- and the river flows at a steady pace, almost loud enough to drown out the throaty roar of the fire. I sit by it long after the mosquitoes have gone to bed, wrapped in the fleece blanket I stole of my Icelandic Air flight two years back.
The snowpack is melting in the lasting summer light - the solstice being only a few days away at this point- and the river flows at a steady pace, almost loud enough to drown out the throaty roar of the fire. I sit by it long after the mosquitoes have gone to bed, wrapped in the fleece blanket I stole of my Icelandic Air flight two years back.
The stars stretch out above me like tiny pinpricks of light in the watercolor tapestry of sky that has melted into a deep blue streaked with pink clouds. The air cools and the crickets sing the song of slumber, a luring melody that wakes the creatures of the dark. I can hear them string as I go to bed, the walls of my tent thin enough to let in the sounds of the woods on the wind.
Sleeping is deep and filled with vivid dreams that ride out the night at the edge of consciousness. I slumber until the heat of the morning finally makes the tent too warm to be comfortable.
It is 7am.
Water boils, coffee is made, and camp cups rest on tree stumps while breakfast is made. I love my camping mugs, as sappy as they might be, because the company plants a tree for every cup that is purchased. I'm sure they simply pay a company that is already placing them, but I like to imagine the employees heading out on the weekend with Aspen shoots, shoveling dirt, hands dirty as they plant the trees themselves.
Sleeping is deep and filled with vivid dreams that ride out the night at the edge of consciousness. I slumber until the heat of the morning finally makes the tent too warm to be comfortable.
It is 7am.
Water boils, coffee is made, and camp cups rest on tree stumps while breakfast is made. I love my camping mugs, as sappy as they might be, because the company plants a tree for every cup that is purchased. I'm sure they simply pay a company that is already placing them, but I like to imagine the employees heading out on the weekend with Aspen shoots, shoveling dirt, hands dirty as they plant the trees themselves.
The days are spent hiking, and gathering the perfect sticks for S'mores making. It is important to have not only the perfect thickness - so the marshmallow stays on - but also the perfect age of decaying tree. I like the taste of wood and smoke with my gooey sweet of melted chocolate and puffed sugar air.
Trails near the area are thick with snow, making the decision to climb south facing peaks easy. They are the only places passable without winter gear. Still, patches of white cling to slopes, blocking paths with their frozen wetness. The pack is hard and thick, but I know a few more days of direct light and my weight would make me post-hole (pushing me through the crust) with each step. I'm grateful not to sink up to my knees as I walk.
I forget how far I climb, and take accidental selfies as I try to shift my camera out of the makeshift strap I've created to carry the beast at my chest. The road curls its way miles below, a yellow snake amongst the green from the tops of trees. Dark thunder clouds roll past and I debate whether to continue to the top of the mountain or turn around. Lightning is a real danger in Colorado and I decide to be safe rather than sorry, I can always return to play around on a clearer day.
Nights are spent cooking in the dutch oven and reading campfire stories.
Trails near the area are thick with snow, making the decision to climb south facing peaks easy. They are the only places passable without winter gear. Still, patches of white cling to slopes, blocking paths with their frozen wetness. The pack is hard and thick, but I know a few more days of direct light and my weight would make me post-hole (pushing me through the crust) with each step. I'm grateful not to sink up to my knees as I walk.
I forget how far I climb, and take accidental selfies as I try to shift my camera out of the makeshift strap I've created to carry the beast at my chest. The road curls its way miles below, a yellow snake amongst the green from the tops of trees. Dark thunder clouds roll past and I debate whether to continue to the top of the mountain or turn around. Lightning is a real danger in Colorado and I decide to be safe rather than sorry, I can always return to play around on a clearer day.
Nights are spent cooking in the dutch oven and reading campfire stories.
Colorado is so crowded anymore, finding a good camping spot is a bit like discovering fight-club, you don't talk about it. It is rare to find such a winner, near a raging river, in an area that few still know about. My lips are sealed to it's location. If you are on the road dear reader, and you happen to stumble upon me, come on over and say hi. I'm sure I'll have an extra, cold, brew for you.
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