Backyard Backcountry
As the snow melts, and the cold winter turns to cold spring, and then warm spring, there's one thing on my mind. Camping. As the weather gets "nicer" (read: it's no longer possible to go nordic skiing) I yearn to pack a bag, toss it in a canoe, or simply on my back, and walk off into the sunset with my adventure (and life) partner, Lindsay Bear.
This year, the dreams have been coming. They're coming on hot and heavy. Some days it's all I think about. That's a lie. Some days it's the only other thing I think about besides coffee. There, that's better. The problem is, I don't know if you've heard, but there is a global pandemic. Which means all the plans are thrown out the window.
The good news for the intrepid explorers out there is this: adventure travel is likely going to be one of the first types of travel to resume when we emerge on the other side of this pandemic. The bad news is, the same adventurous spirit that drives us to answer the call of the mountains might also drive us insane sitting around the smaller than ever insides of our teeny-tiny apartments. Seriously, was it this small when we moved in? I could have sworn this place was bigger in February...anyway...
While the state I live in has officially begun to open up campgrounds that are not part of state parks, as well as some backcountry camping, I feel it would be irresponsible to jump off the deep end; my partner and I got some new gear while we were busy not camping (and skiing), and we both would like to be sure the most essential pieces actually work before we trod off into the wilderness to go kick back with the bears.
This brings me to the solution. I was initially thinking we'd start off with a "small" backpacking trip, then realized my appetite for backpacking is definitely such that there's no such thing. Lindsay in one of her moment's of infinite wisdom that I often miss due to the fact that I'm so wrapped up in my grandiose visions of the future, said,"Why don't we just camp in the yard?" I believe I made a face at the suggestion; camping in the yard? How could that possibly be fun? Then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the perfect idea, and I'd been a little bit of a dink by making a face at it. After a few days of thinking, and, possibly more crucial to the decision, remote-teaching, we both decided that yard camping sounded pretty freaking great.
Allow me to go off on a brief tangent. When compared to the spectrum of stuff you can do, camping is one of the best things to do while living through a global pandemic. I can remember very few moments where I was forced to be within six feet of someone not in my family group while camping at any point in my life. (I did get within six feet of others, but voluntarily; I could have simply not walked a few steps and stayed out of the virulent droplet splash zone.) The only real issue with camping is the privy. The latrine. The loo. The bathrooms. Showering and shitting and urinating are basically the only things that brought me uncomfortably close to other people's germs. Backcountry camping offers an out, if you're willing to live without running water; most backcountry sites either have a site-specific privy, or none at all. Either is fine by me. You've never really been camping until you've shit in the woods in a hole you just dug with a garden shovel that was wondering what the hell it had done to deserve this. So, if you're somehow reading this before planning a camping trip in the summer of 2020, keep in mind the human necessities of existing. You're going to need to poop, and you're going to need to deal with it in a responsible and sanitary way.
This was the backdrop with which we loaded up the car with some freezer bag meals, a bag of instant coffee, our new backpacking stove, sleeping bags, some bug spray, and a desire to wake up outside smelling like a campfire.
After checking the weather forecast one last time, we loaded what we both thought was slightly too much crap into the car, and set off. The most important thing that needed a shakedown cruise was our new backpacking stove. It is a Coleman Dual Fuel 533, which, while not as light as a real backpacking stove, is (I can now say) so much easier to use, the weight might be worth it. It's definitely going to be a great little number for canoe camping, or lightweight car camping a la road trip.
We arrived late in the day, and made camp. The nice thing about using the yard instead of the actual woods is that we had no trouble finding a flat, grassy place to pitch the tent.
Because we felt we should do SOME walking at least to earn our supper, before breaking out the stove and attempting to light it, we went for a walk around a nearby park. When we returned, we got right down to it. Lindsay defers all camp-stove-related matters to me, which makes sense, because I would also not in my right mind choose to hold a highly compressed little bottle of super-flammable (that's an official term) liquid in one hand, while holding a lit match really close to it with the other. This time, though, the stove worked like a champ. In about no-time-flat, our water was boiled, and we were ready to eat.
I'll say a brief word here about planning: Plan.
But, seriously, make your camp recipes before you actually go camping. You might need to tweak the amount of water you put into a bag, as I found out when the polenta and mushrooms that was supposed to thicken into a nice porridge ended up being polenta soup. It still tasted good, and after all, what else is a shakedown campout for?
We built a fire in a fire pit (something we would likely not do while actually backcountry camping, unless we happened upon a pre-existing fire pit AND had a burn permit for whatever land we were transgressing; do your homework before you go) and sat by it reading. Another piece of equipment we were testing was a homemade bug spray using witch hazel and essential oils, which worked against whatever had been biting us when we first arrived. Something about a fire brings out the inner joy in people. Perhaps it's the shear primal sensation of making heat and light appear where none had before. Perhaps it's simply the nostalgia we get by recreating a memory from our past of That One Campfire to which we've all been. Either way, after reading by the fire for a while, we doused it, and headed into our tiny tent to sleep.
The morning brought dew. It had dropped down to about 40°F (4°C) overnight, and the grass around us and much of our tent had been soaked with little dew droplets. However, it didn't matter. Sleeping in a tent on the ground makes you not really care as long as you're toasty inside your sleeping bag, which we were. I emerged from my little cocoon and went over to fire up the stove and try out some new instant coffee mix and make Lindsay some tea. This would usually also go along with breaking camp and figuring out how best to dry our dew-soaked rain fly as we move along to the next evening's abode, but since we were in the yard about 30 feet from the car, we just sat with out feet out the door of the tent sipping out warm beverages and taking in the early morning sunshine.
COVID-19 has forced a lot of changes to plans in the past few months. Lindsay and I had planned a bike-packing trip in Iceland, but once the international travel restrictions started dropping, and we started looking into things, like so many other adventure minded people, we decided getting in an airplane was a pretty shit idea. So then the focus turned to things we could do fairly locally with fairly little contact with other people. Backcountry trips were front of our minds for some time, and we will go out and have some in the coming months, staying within our ability level, and keeping in mind that having someone come out to save us would defeat the whole point of the exercise in the first place. It doesn't need to be that complicated though; many of us have access to the great outdoors by literally stepping out of doors. You don't need a campsite to camp; your backyard will usually do just fine in a pinch. And we are most certainly right now in a bit of a pinch.
Those of us that strive to see as few people as possible on our trips away from reality are probably really tired of being stuck inside or tethered to our dwellings for the past few months. This weekend being the unofficial start of summer probably makes it seem like we can finally just say screw it and go out anyway, especially with many states beginning to lift some of their social distancing restrictions. That doesn't mean it's a good idea to just go without thinking though. If you've never been back country camping before, take the time to do your homework. Know the guidelines for shitting in the woods. Know the leave no trace principles. Know how to safely sterilize drinking water. The last thing we need is for more people to have to get really close together while they try and figure out how to get your butt out of a situation beyond your skill and ability level.
That said, camping is likely to be one of the safest things we can do this summer.
(THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOCIAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT. I'm gonna say that again for the people in the back. THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOICAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT!)
A great staring place might be no further away than right outside your back door. Is it exactly the same as a trip deep into the back country? No. Does it satiate your craving for waking up on the ground in a remote, far away place? Maybe, a little bit. Is it fun? Absolutely. And after all, especially right now, isn't that what we need a little more of? Fun? I think so.
So, if you need me, I'll be in the tent. Tchüss!
This year, the dreams have been coming. They're coming on hot and heavy. Some days it's all I think about. That's a lie. Some days it's the only other thing I think about besides coffee. There, that's better. The problem is, I don't know if you've heard, but there is a global pandemic. Which means all the plans are thrown out the window.
The good news for the intrepid explorers out there is this: adventure travel is likely going to be one of the first types of travel to resume when we emerge on the other side of this pandemic. The bad news is, the same adventurous spirit that drives us to answer the call of the mountains might also drive us insane sitting around the smaller than ever insides of our teeny-tiny apartments. Seriously, was it this small when we moved in? I could have sworn this place was bigger in February...anyway...
While the state I live in has officially begun to open up campgrounds that are not part of state parks, as well as some backcountry camping, I feel it would be irresponsible to jump off the deep end; my partner and I got some new gear while we were busy not camping (and skiing), and we both would like to be sure the most essential pieces actually work before we trod off into the wilderness to go kick back with the bears.
This brings me to the solution. I was initially thinking we'd start off with a "small" backpacking trip, then realized my appetite for backpacking is definitely such that there's no such thing. Lindsay in one of her moment's of infinite wisdom that I often miss due to the fact that I'm so wrapped up in my grandiose visions of the future, said,"Why don't we just camp in the yard?" I believe I made a face at the suggestion; camping in the yard? How could that possibly be fun? Then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the perfect idea, and I'd been a little bit of a dink by making a face at it. After a few days of thinking, and, possibly more crucial to the decision, remote-teaching, we both decided that yard camping sounded pretty freaking great.
Allow me to go off on a brief tangent. When compared to the spectrum of stuff you can do, camping is one of the best things to do while living through a global pandemic. I can remember very few moments where I was forced to be within six feet of someone not in my family group while camping at any point in my life. (I did get within six feet of others, but voluntarily; I could have simply not walked a few steps and stayed out of the virulent droplet splash zone.) The only real issue with camping is the privy. The latrine. The loo. The bathrooms. Showering and shitting and urinating are basically the only things that brought me uncomfortably close to other people's germs. Backcountry camping offers an out, if you're willing to live without running water; most backcountry sites either have a site-specific privy, or none at all. Either is fine by me. You've never really been camping until you've shit in the woods in a hole you just dug with a garden shovel that was wondering what the hell it had done to deserve this. So, if you're somehow reading this before planning a camping trip in the summer of 2020, keep in mind the human necessities of existing. You're going to need to poop, and you're going to need to deal with it in a responsible and sanitary way.
This was the backdrop with which we loaded up the car with some freezer bag meals, a bag of instant coffee, our new backpacking stove, sleeping bags, some bug spray, and a desire to wake up outside smelling like a campfire.
After checking the weather forecast one last time, we loaded what we both thought was slightly too much crap into the car, and set off. The most important thing that needed a shakedown cruise was our new backpacking stove. It is a Coleman Dual Fuel 533, which, while not as light as a real backpacking stove, is (I can now say) so much easier to use, the weight might be worth it. It's definitely going to be a great little number for canoe camping, or lightweight car camping a la road trip.
We arrived late in the day, and made camp. The nice thing about using the yard instead of the actual woods is that we had no trouble finding a flat, grassy place to pitch the tent.
 |
| Our teeny-tiny tent. |
Because we felt we should do SOME walking at least to earn our supper, before breaking out the stove and attempting to light it, we went for a walk around a nearby park. When we returned, we got right down to it. Lindsay defers all camp-stove-related matters to me, which makes sense, because I would also not in my right mind choose to hold a highly compressed little bottle of super-flammable (that's an official term) liquid in one hand, while holding a lit match really close to it with the other. This time, though, the stove worked like a champ. In about no-time-flat, our water was boiled, and we were ready to eat.
I'll say a brief word here about planning: Plan.
But, seriously, make your camp recipes before you actually go camping. You might need to tweak the amount of water you put into a bag, as I found out when the polenta and mushrooms that was supposed to thicken into a nice porridge ended up being polenta soup. It still tasted good, and after all, what else is a shakedown campout for?
We built a fire in a fire pit (something we would likely not do while actually backcountry camping, unless we happened upon a pre-existing fire pit AND had a burn permit for whatever land we were transgressing; do your homework before you go) and sat by it reading. Another piece of equipment we were testing was a homemade bug spray using witch hazel and essential oils, which worked against whatever had been biting us when we first arrived. Something about a fire brings out the inner joy in people. Perhaps it's the shear primal sensation of making heat and light appear where none had before. Perhaps it's simply the nostalgia we get by recreating a memory from our past of That One Campfire to which we've all been. Either way, after reading by the fire for a while, we doused it, and headed into our tiny tent to sleep.
 |
| Camp coffee |
COVID-19 has forced a lot of changes to plans in the past few months. Lindsay and I had planned a bike-packing trip in Iceland, but once the international travel restrictions started dropping, and we started looking into things, like so many other adventure minded people, we decided getting in an airplane was a pretty shit idea. So then the focus turned to things we could do fairly locally with fairly little contact with other people. Backcountry trips were front of our minds for some time, and we will go out and have some in the coming months, staying within our ability level, and keeping in mind that having someone come out to save us would defeat the whole point of the exercise in the first place. It doesn't need to be that complicated though; many of us have access to the great outdoors by literally stepping out of doors. You don't need a campsite to camp; your backyard will usually do just fine in a pinch. And we are most certainly right now in a bit of a pinch.
 |
| The morning view |
Those of us that strive to see as few people as possible on our trips away from reality are probably really tired of being stuck inside or tethered to our dwellings for the past few months. This weekend being the unofficial start of summer probably makes it seem like we can finally just say screw it and go out anyway, especially with many states beginning to lift some of their social distancing restrictions. That doesn't mean it's a good idea to just go without thinking though. If you've never been back country camping before, take the time to do your homework. Know the guidelines for shitting in the woods. Know the leave no trace principles. Know how to safely sterilize drinking water. The last thing we need is for more people to have to get really close together while they try and figure out how to get your butt out of a situation beyond your skill and ability level.
That said, camping is likely to be one of the safest things we can do this summer.
(THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOCIAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT. I'm gonna say that again for the people in the back. THIS DOES NOT MEAN WE CAN IGNORE SOICAL DISTANCING PRACTICES WHILE WE DO IT!)
A great staring place might be no further away than right outside your back door. Is it exactly the same as a trip deep into the back country? No. Does it satiate your craving for waking up on the ground in a remote, far away place? Maybe, a little bit. Is it fun? Absolutely. And after all, especially right now, isn't that what we need a little more of? Fun? I think so.
So, if you need me, I'll be in the tent. Tchüss!
Comments
Post a Comment