Vision Quest

This weekend I headed out on a camping trip, solo for a change. I also had no tent, no sleeping bag, no map, no compass, and no flashlight, in a wilderness area with no marked trails. Although I had reasonable facsimiles of the most essential of those items, and the rest I was just dumb and forgot. And the trail, though unmarked, was pretty easy to follow. Because I didn't have much to do, I got some writing done, including this entry. So I'm presenting it here with minimal editing, along with some commentary about things I forgot.

Anyone who knows me knows that weekends are my salvation. On Wednesday night, I was playing the TFA Game (created by Jenny and Shannon)--basically I had to chose my favorite TFA concept out of a list. Unsurprisingly, my choice was W-3, the row on our all-important rubric that encourages "work-life balance." Of all the things TFA asks me to do, this is what I'm best at. I enjoy my weekends and my friends.

Which is why it was slightly unusual of me to head off on my own this weekend. Last weekend, I had a mild urge to head off on a miniature vision quest, venturing out into the wild uncharacteristically alone. Over the course of the week, that idea slipped y mind. But I still felt the need to do something new and refreshing: at this point last year I was roadtripping all over mid-America, and I felt as this year was starting out with a rut of the same old bars and Rez towns. So when I was unable to find anyone to adventure with me, I adventured alone.

I decided to head to French Creek Natural Area in Custer State Park. Ryan ha mentioned it last year--he wanted to go in the winter and build all kinds of elaborate snow shelters--and it seemed perfect. The Black Hills are always spiritually refreshing, but Custer often seems to loud and busy--motorcyclists cruise the park roads, families descend on the campgrounds for long weekends, and everyone sits around drinking beer. French Creek, in contrast, is entirely solitary. I hiked for three hours along a single-track trail, winding back and forth across the creek, and saw no one (I crossed the creek about 10 times. You will get wet, the signs warned. And I did once, but barely [I got wet 3 times on the hike back out. Shows me.]). The creek winds through a canyon, with rock cliffs rising up out of the water. I used my new digital camera that I won at a parent-staff restructuring meeting on Friday to take pictures, but I am afraid they're marred by its low quality. [They're not too bad. Hopefully I will get them up soon.]

I was nervous while driving to the park. Being alone doesn't always come easy for me. But while hiking, I was ecstatic. I reflected. I wrote. I settled down in a small clearing and unfurled my gear, and enjoyed a supper of three PB&J sandwiches and one Goose Island Oatmeal Stout beer.

For the purposes of this adventure, I decided to use an old one-man sleep sack that my dad gave me. It's not quite a tent, just a sack that goes around your sleeping bag. He says that he finds it claustrophobic. It's doubtful that it's been used--or washed--since about 1970. To supplement this, I had to, as I often do, borrow from Luke's extensive collection of camping gear. He gave me permission to do this once, and I've done it since then without really asking. I see it as a fair exchange: I've given him dibs on the garage and the big bedroom, so it's only fair I borrow his gear--and, I'll admit, eat his food--once in a while. As a bit of karmic payback, though, it seems that this weekend I grabbed a fleece sleeping bag liner instead of an actual bag. It was only supposed to get down into the 50s, but it was probably a little colder in the canyon. So it was a cold night.

[Around here it was starting to get pretty dark--almost too dark to write. Some owls were coming out and screeching. It sounded pretty close. Then I looked up and saw an owl perched on a stump, staring down on my campsite, screeching at me. Then it flew to another branch. Closer. Then it flew to another branch, even closer, still staring at me and screeching. I'm really a city boy at heart--this summer I was scared off a campsite by raccoons--so this was not a good sign. But when I stood up it flew away. I heard it screech a few more times but it didn't bother me again. Either way, I was pretty spooked by that, and probably a little loopy from being alone all day, so I ended my entry with this stream-of-consciousness list:]

Things I should have brought on this trip but did not:
A pocket knife (to spread my PB&Js)
A compass (I walked the wrong way for a bit at the beginning of the trail, where I hit a fork)
My Black Hills map (see previous)
A sleeping bag (see above)
A flashlight (it is now 7:35 and I have nothing to do but go to sleep, as it is quickly becoming too dark to read, write, or walk. At the very least I should have saved my Oatmeal Stout and savored that in the darkness for awhile before bed.)

At this point I did have to prepare for bed because I couldn't see a thing. I watched the stars come out for probably an hour and a half--something I've never really done before--and then drifted off into a rather restless sleep. I woke along throughout the night and had to curl myself into a ball to keep warm in the fleece liner, but it really wasn't too bad. Also just before drifting off I was freaked out by what sounded like small rodents scurrying their way into my pack to steal my food. At least there are no bears in the Black Hills (that I know of at least). Obviously, I survived. When I got up in the morning I was shivering pretty bad, though, so I climbed to the top of the cliff on the other side of the creek to get my blood pumping a little bit.