Fall Camping and Coming to Terms with my Statriotism
Have you ever woken up in the middle of night and had to pee really bad? Like if-I-don't-go-now-I'll-explode kind of hafta pee? But you are in a tent in 40 degree weather on the shore of Lake Superior in 20-miles-per-hour winds, pouring rain, and fiercely strobing lightning? And your tent (along with your bladder) is shifting with the wind, and the sound of the gushing rain, the ten-foot-high waves crashing against the rocks, and the spray of the wind-blown water is roaring in your ears?
I did. Last weekend. I can't show you any pictures of the weather conditions because it was too rainy and windy to have any sort of camera available. But trust me. You have not seen waves like this in the Midwest unless you have been on the shore of Lake Superior during a storm.
It was powerful and scary and difficult and beautiful all at the same time. Stacia and I nearly broke up trying to put the tent up. (And it's an easy tent to assemble, under normal conditions.) Once we finally had the tent up (and had kissed and made up), we left the campsite entirely to eat a warm meal that didn't require using her camping stove in the storm. By the time we returned, the only thing we really could do was retire to our tent and try to sleep. We had high hopes that the wind and rain would be gone the next morning.
Not so. The next morning was even colder and just as windy. We sat behind our tent in our camping chairs and tried to find a spot to boil water. Stacia fired up the stove and made me water for coffee. I put on about four layers of clothing, including wicking, thermal long underwear, a cotton/poly blend long-sleeved T-shirt, a big wool sweater, and a raincoat (okay, that's five). Even under my small village of textiles and hot press pot coffee in hand, I was shivering in my camping chair. We both endured the chill for a couple of hours, entertaining our morning camping routine which consists of coffee for me, green tea or O'doul's for Stacia, granola and soy milk (or, if it's an O'doul's kind of morning, buffalo wing chips or some other salty variety), and unlimited time for just sitting together outside and catching up on our busy lives, before we take off for long hikes. Usually, we linger and take our time just reveling in each other's company and whatever earthy surroundings we have. This morning, though (and it was certainly an O'doul's morning), we made the time for our connective morning chat but didn't push it beyond what was necessary. I sat, shivering and chattering and smiling, trying to stay optimistic. Stacia, between buffalo wing chip chomps, alternated grumbling about the cold and cooing about the beautiful leaves. "It's gorgeous here," she would say, and just as the words escaped her mouth, a gust of wind would rattle our chairs and I would be blinded by my hair whipping into my face. When it subsided and I could see again, she would be frowning. "This is impossible. We will never get a fire with this wind."
In the end, we decided to pack it up and leave. It was too cold, too windy, too wet, too dreary. Someone uninformed might say we "wussed" out. No, no, no! If you had seen the wind we had to deal with in the first place, you would say, "Wow, what competent campers! How brave to have stayed for the whole night!" (If you are a serious camper, you will surely understand. We were both pre-menstrual. Stacia has a bad back. It was cold!!! I'm not trying to justify it, I'm just explaining that we carefully considered our options, and while we weren't happy about it, leaving was the most prudent choice at the time.)
So, being the brave campers that we are, we set a safe limit and carted our heavy things back up the long, windy, muddy, hilly trail where the car sat waiting for us with its brand new 2007-2008 Minnesota State Parks sticker.
We stopped at Goosebury Falls, to see the sights, where the tourists had come in drones and busloads to admire fall in Minnesota. Here are some images of our good time there:
I really only have a camera on my cell phone, and it seemed frivolous to ask someone to take our picture. So, I took this one of the two of us myself. I know, it's pretty great.
This is a special place. Do you see the hint of water and foggy horizon in between the two birch trees? We have better images of it, but I can't show you too much or you will want it to be your special place too.
G to the Oosebury..........
I furrowed my brow and, from beneath my icicle-laden fuzzy knit hat and mittens, observed, "Wow, that bank sign must be broken."
To prove my point, I rolled down the window and reached outside.
Clearly, my hands were numb, because I couldn't feel any cold air at all! In fact, it felt....tropical...like humid and hot. It was very strange, and I could only imagine that my nerves had been so damaged by the tundra-like weather at our campsite that my sense of temperature was messed up. I said so to Stacia. Sometimes, Stacia likes to call me "Connie," which is short for "Hypochondriac," it's a term of endearment really, but this time she fully agreed with my self-assessment.
"There is no way is hot out there, Connie," she said. "You just really have frozen your fingertips off and now you can't feel a thing. Look, I'll show you that it is definitely cold out there."
She rolled the driver's side window and stuck out her arm. Amazed, she pulled it back in and looked at me with surprised. "I've frozen off my fingertips too. Either that or it's actually hot out there!"
Believe it or not, it really was in the mid 80's in Saint Paul! Outrageous! We left freaking Antarctica and found Fiji about 200 miles South. It makes me feel all the more awestruck by the sheer craziness of Minnesota weather. I never meant to be such a State-Patriot, but sometimes you just feel like waving a Minnesota flag while eating Lefsa and embracing your heritage of passive-aggression. You know what I mean?
