Last weekend Amber and I set off for our sixth (and likely last) backpacking adventure of 2013. We knew we wanted to launch our weekend get-away on Friday. We weren't paying attention to the date. Friday the 13th.
Normally we're not terribly supersticious - but an hour into the trip had us wondering if it was ill-fated.
Amber had loaded the car while I wrapped up work in my home office before heading into the tedium of weekend rush hour traffic (and why is it called rush...?) Finally past the constipation on the Interstate, traveling a reasonable 50 MPH, Amber gasped, "Oh, no!" What? What? "I forgot our sleeping bags!"
Normally we're not terribly supersticious - but an hour into the trip had us wondering if it was ill-fated.
Amber had loaded the car while I wrapped up work in my home office before heading into the tedium of weekend rush hour traffic (and why is it called rush...?) Finally past the constipation on the Interstate, traveling a reasonable 50 MPH, Amber gasped, "Oh, no!" What? What? "I forgot our sleeping bags!"
Should we head home for the bags and start again the next day? With a relatively open road finally in front of us, we rejected that dismal course. Instead we Googled our way to the nearest sporting goods store and picked up two of the cheapest bags they carried. Would their enormous polyester bulk even fit into our packs? Probably not, but we would deal with that later.
Back on the road, eager to make up for lost time and reach our destination before dark, Friday the 13th again reared its head.
"Oh, no!" What? What?
"Is that cop coming after us?" Yes, he was - but amazingly he gave us only a cheerful warning. Maybe we weren't doomed after all.
It wasn't until we'd set up camp near our trailhead and settled in for some fireside Scrabble that I asked Amber to grab something from my backpack in the trunk.
This time she skipped the "Oh, no!" The stricken silence on her face when she came back from the car empty-handed said it all.
Our backpacks had never made it into the car. All the contents, we had in bins and stuff sacks. But our homes-away-from-home, the turtle shells we'd carried 100 miles around Mt Rainier two years earlier and since then on every trail we found the time for - they were resting comfortably in our guest bedroom back in Portland.
* * *
Back on the road, eager to make up for lost time and reach our destination before dark, Friday the 13th again reared its head.
"Oh, no!" What? What?
"Is that cop coming after us?" Yes, he was - but amazingly he gave us only a cheerful warning. Maybe we weren't doomed after all.
It wasn't until we'd set up camp near our trailhead and settled in for some fireside Scrabble that I asked Amber to grab something from my backpack in the trunk.
This time she skipped the "Oh, no!" The stricken silence on her face when she came back from the car empty-handed said it all.
Our backpacks had never made it into the car. All the contents, we had in bins and stuff sacks. But our homes-away-from-home, the turtle shells we'd carried 100 miles around Mt Rainier two years earlier and since then on every trail we found the time for - they were resting comfortably in our guest bedroom back in Portland.
* * *
Earlier in the summer, a turtle had appeared to me during a guided meditation. I claimed it as a symbol of protection, a reminder that I could draw up into myself and find guidance from within. That when my fires burned too hot, I could put my feet down on earth, slip into water, wag my head in the air.
Slowing down, pacing yourself, emotional strength and ancient wisdom - these are the characteristics identified with the turtle totem.
I shouldn't have been astonished to arrive at Michigan Womyn's Music Festival to find that she, too, was calling forth the mighty turtle. Each year the Festival opens with a powerful ceremony tapping into timeless themes made relevant for a modern, multi-generational tribe. This year, the ceremony creators found 2013 reflected back to them in the 13 compartments on a turtle's back. The prop artists fashioned a bale of giant turtles (yep, a bale is what you call a bunch of these particular critters). Amazon warriors processed with them to the stage to the cheers of thousands of women and girls, united in that moment in this display of power and persistence.
* * *
Slowing down, pacing yourself, emotional strength and ancient wisdom - these are the characteristics identified with the turtle totem.
I shouldn't have been astonished to arrive at Michigan Womyn's Music Festival to find that she, too, was calling forth the mighty turtle. Each year the Festival opens with a powerful ceremony tapping into timeless themes made relevant for a modern, multi-generational tribe. This year, the ceremony creators found 2013 reflected back to them in the 13 compartments on a turtle's back. The prop artists fashioned a bale of giant turtles (yep, a bale is what you call a bunch of these particular critters). Amazon warriors processed with them to the stage to the cheers of thousands of women and girls, united in that moment in this display of power and persistence.
* * *
I didn't realize how strongly I've come to identify with the turtle until Friday the 13th, there in the campground, when we realized we wouldn't be hoisting our packs onto our backs the next day.
A three-hour round-trip back to fetch them was out - we felt supersticious about what might befall us on the Interstate. We would have to settle for day hiking, our water bladders and snacks strapped to our bodies with bandanas.
As lovely as a day-hike could be, the draw to carry all I needed for a night in the woods, to be fully self-sufficient out in nature for a 36 hour stretch, continued to assert itself.
And so, 20 minutes into our day hike, when we found a lakeside campsite with its own private huckeberry patch, we decided we could backpack after all, even without our packs. We left our water bladders to claim our space and returned to the car where we latched tent bag to food bag and slung them over one shoulder, lashed on gear and spare clothes with whatever straps we could find, and wrapped my arms around those ginormous sleeping bags.
Up the hill we trudged with our unwieldy loads, feeling very Beverly Hillbillies - and pretty darn inventive.
A three-hour round-trip back to fetch them was out - we felt supersticious about what might befall us on the Interstate. We would have to settle for day hiking, our water bladders and snacks strapped to our bodies with bandanas.
As lovely as a day-hike could be, the draw to carry all I needed for a night in the woods, to be fully self-sufficient out in nature for a 36 hour stretch, continued to assert itself.
And so, 20 minutes into our day hike, when we found a lakeside campsite with its own private huckeberry patch, we decided we could backpack after all, even without our packs. We left our water bladders to claim our space and returned to the car where we latched tent bag to food bag and slung them over one shoulder, lashed on gear and spare clothes with whatever straps we could find, and wrapped my arms around those ginormous sleeping bags.
Up the hill we trudged with our unwieldy loads, feeling very Beverly Hillbillies - and pretty darn inventive.
The apparently cursed trip turned out to be one of our very best. The rest of the weekend backpacker crowd bypassed our lovely lake in pursuit of further destinations. Once we had our homey camp set up we took a leisurely unfettered hike through miles of nearby lakes and meadows.
When we got back to camp at the end of the day, we dipped into the lake. Yes, that's an air mattress, also hand carried from the car - something that never would have made it on a "real" backpacking trip.
At dusk as the moon began rising over the lake, neighbors on the opposite shore brought out mandolin and fiddle and offered sweet lullabies to this charmed day.
When we got back to camp at the end of the day, we dipped into the lake. Yes, that's an air mattress, also hand carried from the car - something that never would have made it on a "real" backpacking trip.
At dusk as the moon began rising over the lake, neighbors on the opposite shore brought out mandolin and fiddle and offered sweet lullabies to this charmed day.
The next morning, fresh picked huckleberries for our oatmeal.
* * *
As day and night come into balance and summer yields to fall, may you enjoy the home life you find within, and that which you discover when you find yourself without your shell.
* * *
As day and night come into balance and summer yields to fall, may you enjoy the home life you find within, and that which you discover when you find yourself without your shell.
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