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The other day we were busy right up to darkness but the evening was so nice I decided I was going to go camping, by jove, anyway. My saying is “Events conspire.” They conspire to stop me from doing a lotta things. Try to do something and watch other things rise up and stop it. So sometimes ya just gotta do it anyway even if it’s a little awkward. You’ll be glad you did.
So at 10pm I lashed my boat to my roof and drove 10 minutes to a lovely little impoundment at Rose Lake and set off into the night on the water. I had a headlamp but didn’t need it. After a lovely 10 minute paddle I found my perfect campsite on the shore in a nice dry hardwood forest. It was easier canoeing than hiking in.
The forecast was clear. No bugs out. So I just laid my bag on a pad and hit the hay to the lullaby of frogs. Oh, but first I gouged a hip-ditch with a stick. Makes the ground a lot more comfy if your butt or hip has somewhere to drop into. It’s Indian lore, it is. I slept great. Well, I was woken like 6 times by a beaver slapping his cornball tail but fell back asleep in 5 seconds each time.
I awoke at sunrise. A lovely pink one. We don’t see them at our woodsy house. And lots of birdsong. Nice.
I didn’t even bring any coffee or breakfast. Who needs it. I packed up and paddled a mile further in then went for a hike in some nice new nilly terrain. The trillium are out.
Then I paddled back to the car and on home where coffee was waiting. Martha had just woken up.
That’s S24O for ya.
Creek view from a ridge trail.
Dawn’s early light.
Waking up swampside.
