A Snapshot and The Scoop: He Filled Those Straps

Look at how big Ghost has gotten! Just six months ago he was a tiny little puppy who was swallowed by this backpack (check out the picture here), and now look at him! He's completely grown in to it, and he'll continue to grow a little more for a few more months yet! I took Ghost and Callie on an adventure in West Texas and finally got to put Ghost's backpack to good use - he carried all the dog food, bowls, and their water! I was so proud of him, he kept step with me every inch of the way and the backpack didn't bother or slow him down at all. My little grey adventure pup isn't so little anymore!

Leave me a comment below with a picture of your adventure pup in their travel gear!

Capable and Competent

Assured. I've got a new one for ya: somehow, I had to convince the man standing in front of me to let me backpack. I had arrived earlier than expected at Monahans Sandhills State Park, tucked back in the Chihuahuan Desert in western Texas, and decided to make the most of my time by backpacking out onto the dune field to spend a night among the sands. For past trips, if I had to talk to anybody at all it was just to talk to the wilderness ranger and receive my permit. This time, I had to convice the park ranger in front of me that I was a capable and competent backpacker - something I had no idea how to do. I understood his position: the dune field stretches on for hundreds of miles north, east, and west, with very few distiguishing features to navigate by and even less water to support survival in the desert heat, with no shelter to hide from the sun, storms, or wind. Simply put, he didn't want to have to look for me if I failed to check out in the morning. I was lectured about the importance of navigational experience, being able to keep my head, and was warned on more than one occasion that backpacking into the dunes was not something they let just anybody do. Apparently I convinced him I was capable, because twenty minutes later I was filling up my water bottles and loading my pack for an overnight in the dune field.

Talk about a huge confidence (and ego) boost for me! Some time in the last few years I've developed from a novice hiker with no experience and only book smarts to a seasoned backpacker confident enough to take friends with me on crazy adventures and to hold my own on trips that would leave others hoplessly lost. How did that happen without me noticing?!? My spirits soared as I began my trek into the dunes. I had meant to get out to Monahans for ages but never made the time; now I'm wondering what took me so long. I mean, the desert is less than six hours from my house! Comforting and familiar, the dunes reminded me of one of my favorite national parks in Colorado, though they're smaller here, with more vegetation and I didn't get the mountain vistas, but they are definitely sand dunes and I couldn't have been happier. I want to hike every mile of that park, to find every water seep that makes life possible, to feel the hot surface give way to cool sand under my toes.

Callie, Ghost, and I had a lazy afternoon, hiking about a mile and a half through loose sand and thorny vegetation before I let the dogs pick a spot to camp. The first dune bowl they both went in to after I was ready to find a site became our home for the night. The dogs ran loose, kicking up sand as they flew up and down the dunes around me while I set up the tent. I'm pretty certain they were just as excited to be camping and hiking as I was. We explored all around our camp, rolling and played in the sand with abandon. I let the sun warm my bones, the last of my stresses drifting away with the breeze as the afternoon wound down and the sun slowly sank toward the horizon.

Night on the dune field wasn't too dark, even with no moon. In the reflected glow of the stars we listened to coyotes calling around us, though none of the packs came close enough to alert the dogs. A restful night was followed by a cool dawn, and it didn't take me too long to pack up and begin our hike out. Through the whole trip I'd been sure to mark any significant landmarks within eyesight, including an oil pumpjack, a windmill, and a strip of power lines. I followed the landmarks back to the lot where I'd left my car, trailing behind the dogs as they ran circles around me in the soft sand. Upon my return I made sure to check out with the rangers so they knew I was safe and sound, and grateful for the night in the dunes they'd let me have.

What I'm listening to: Show Us The Way by Patrick Doyle

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Forgotten Luxury of Car Camping

I can't believe I'd forgotten how nice it is to car-camp. In my quest to hike as much as possible and sleep under as many different trees as I can, I seem to have dismissed the luxuries of car camping. What do you mean I can overpack and not be punished for it by lugging it miles on my back? I don't have to anticipate how cold I'll be at night, because I can just grab extra blankets? What?? And the food! Let me just say: YUM! Having everythign I need and more available to me by just opening the trunk of my car - what a neat concept! Of course, I car camped one night on my most recent trip out West, then immediately set off backpacking the next night, but oh well. It was nice while it lasted!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever had that "Ah Hah!" moment when you rediscover something you'd forgotten was a luxury. I'll try to remember just how much I enjoyed it!

Desperate to Escape

Frantic. It had been way too long since I'd travelled, and I was desperate. Life had caught me up in its grip, and where I can usually carve out a weekend for myself once in a while, that just hadn't been possible for nearly three months. What with us buying a house, packing, moving, unpacking, and general busy-ness I couldn't even take a break for two days to get the recharge I knew I needed. I become a grumpy, moody bitch when I am stuck in one place too long (ask Jared, I'm sure he'll tell you how bad I can get, and why he practically pushes me out the door when I do have a trip planned) and I had reached that point and far surpassed it sometime in January. It wasn't until the middle of February that I got a chance to run away for a weekend, and I jumped at it.

I had a general plan in mind to hit as many state parks between home and the western border of Texas as possible in two days, and so took off immediately after work on a Friday to put some miles under my tires. Of course, leaving after work meant I hit Dallas in all its Rush Hour Glory. I'm pretty sure I spent as much time at a stand-still on the interstate bisecting the southern part of the city as I did driving from Tyler to Dallas. I'm not the most patient person, especially in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but keeping the fact that I was finally travelling and would be snoozing in a tent sometime that night in mind allowed me to overlook my annoyance and just be happy I was with my adventure pups in a car on my way to somewhere beautiful. I felt my anxieties drain away as the miles between home and I increased. It was good to be back on the road.

The first thing I saw when I got to Abilene State Park was a herd of deer flanking the shoulders of the road, followed immediately by a wild hog running for the cover of nearby bushes. It was well after sunset when I arrived, and I took longer than normal to figure out where the hell I was supposed to pitch my tent on the dark, poorly marked park roads. After I finally figured out where the tent-only area was, set up was a cinch even though it'd been three months too long since I'd last camped. I guess pitching a tent is kinda like riding a bike - muscle memory takes over and you don't need to be retaught how to do it! Callie was just as tired as I was, patiently waiting to climb into my sleeping bag and promptly passing out. Ghost, however, was still wound up, listening to every night noise around us, especially the coyotes. He just wouldn't settle and kept circling the confines of my small tent, looking for reassurance and giving hugs until he finally lay down by my head. Did I mention my tent is small? It's built for two adult humans, and pretty much nothing else. Ghost's body touched both tent walls as he curled up around my head, but at least I was warm and toasty. As I tried to get comfy and use him as I pillow I reflected to myself that teaching Ghost "Hugs" may have been a bad idea... I know most people don't appreciate an 80 pound dog jumping up on them, but I absolutely love his cuddles, and enjoy being able to nearly look him in the eye when he stands up and puts his paws on my shoulders. To each her own, I guess.

Only after we were all snuggled in to the sleeping bag did I realize it was way earlier in the evening than I thought it'd been. That's one of the things about winter camping - it gets dark early. Sure, you can stay up and make yourself a camp fire (if they're allowed where you are), or read, or play cards, or write, or whatever you want, but sleeping has always been my favorite way to pass the evening hours of a winter trip. Where at home I'd be up till ten o'clock or so, when I'm travelling and the sun goes down at six or seven I'm ready to hit the sack. I was doing just that, on cusp of sleep in that lucid state between reality and dreams, when Ghost let out a booming bark and I bolted upright with a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Even Callie let out a muffled growl from the depths of the sleeping bag, though she didn't stir otherwise. More tent campers had arrived, choosing a site across the deserted tent-only area, but still close enough to catch Ghost's attention. It took me telling Ghost to stand down several times before he finally settled again, though a growl rumbled against my ear every time a voice lifted enough to be distinguishable from the activity of unloading their gear. Trusting Ghost would wake me if anybody bothered us, I let myself drift off. I slept like the dead.

What I'm listening to: Song of Mor'du by Patrick Doyle

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Big Spring Overlook

Big Spring State Park is a day-use-only drive around "Scenic Mountain" overlooking the city of Big Spring, Texas. The highest point in the area, the overlooks offer unparalleled views of the Chihuahuan Desert flat lands stretching towards the horizon. The park itself is small and almost completely surrounded by the city, but if you're in the area and looking for a pretty drive it is well worth the time.

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you've heard of this little park in West Texas! I hadn't before I planned a visit!

Just a Learning Experience

Frustrated. After our mulitple nighttime visitors Torrey and I woke up to a cool autumn mountain morning, reluctant to get out of the warmth of our sleeping bags. When nature's call was finally too much to ignore we huddle close to the tent, waiting for sun to crest the ridge above us and warm our bones. I went to make oatmeal, our favorite hot breakfast discovered when we backpacked in the Rockies last summer, and realized I had been a complete idiot in my rush to get away for the weekend. I was dumb and didn't check fuel canister before packing it, leaving us with just enough fuel to heat dinner the night before, but not enough for anything else, including a much-needed hot breakfast. What a stupid, stupid mistake. And it wouldn't be the first one of the day.

We hiked on, somewhat more slowly than the day before as we tried to warm up. It wasn't long, maybe a couple of miles from our campsite, before a brick slid into my stomach as dread took my breath away and a realization hit me that made me stop in my tracks: I'd left my car keys in my purse, which was currently hidden in Torrey's car back at the trailhead where we started. And we were hiking away from it, toward my car parked at the ending trailhead, where we were supposed to get in and drive back to Torrey's car before we parted ways. With no small amount of shame I confessed my mistake to Torrey, and we had a short discussion about how to handle the issue. We were almost exactly half way between the two trailheads. We could turn back and be done with the hike once we got to Torrey's car, drive around and go pick up mine then go home, or we could continue on and hope someone would give us a ride a few miles to go back to Torrey's car and my car keys.

Any surprises about what we chose to do? Sometimes I hate my stubborn streak, where I commit to something and will do just about anything to see it through, including placing a bet on whether someone would be kind enough to pick up two stinky women with giant backpacks and take them back to their car, where one of them was stupid enough to leave essential items behind in the first place. I mean really. The entire trip was accident after mistake after mistake, and most of it was my fault. That's what I get for getting cocky and being desperate to get outside. Many times for the remainder of the seven miles we had to hike I mentally kicked myself, reflecting that it seemed like we should've just stayed home, or called it off after I hit the deer. I refuse to regret it, though. I just try to see it as a learning experience. One lesson after another, and lessons I took to heart. You can bet I'll triple check whether or not I have my car keys from now on!

Not only were we dealing with my stupid mistakes, we ended up taking longer to get out than we'd planned. The miles crawled by while the minutes flew past, and Torrey and I were both mentally done with our hike but still had miles to go before our feet. I didn't enjoy the last two or so miles of the trail, and some day want to go back and have a do-over when I'm in a better mood. All I could think about is how much of an ordeal it would be to get a ride once we reached the end of our hike, and the fear that we wouldn't find someone willing to help us ate at me. In hindsight we should have just turned around when I realized I didn't have my keys, but again, that stubborn streak. My fears were heightened when we finally reached the end of our trail and the first park ranger we came across couldn't give us a ride even after we explained our situation.

We were left with two choices: start walking back along the road, or hitchhike. We opted for the lesser of the two evils and approached two nice older ladies. Once they got a good look at us and I admitted to my mistake, we were piling ourselves and our packs into the back of their Prius and they took us back to Torrey's car chatting the whole way about the river, the mountains, traveling, and whatever else came to mind. For my first time hitchhiking it was definitely not a bad experience, I'm just not keen to do it again. I'm self-reliant and independent to a fault on the best of days, and having to admit to mistakes and ask for help fixing them leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But sometimes even I have to swallow my pride, especially if it means we don't have to walk another fourteen or so miles with already-sore feet. The rest of our adventure was thankfully uneventful. The ladies dropped us off at Torrey's car with a wave and a wish of good luck and a thank you from us. I promptly dug out my car keys, and Torrey took us back to my car and the Buffalo River for our goodbyes. We parted ways, her heading north and me heading south, with the promise of meeting there again someday soon, maybe next fall, and hiking another section of trail or floating part of the river. Next time, I'll remember my car keys.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: High Water Marks

Whenever you hike, camp, or really in general travel, it is always good to observe your surroundings in greater detail than you would were you at home. High water marks are something I always notice when I'm around any body of water, whether it's a stream, a lake, or the ocean. First of all, as a camper it is imperative I pitch my tent above the highest place water can get, so I don't get swept away in the night. Noticing flood debris like logs or boulders wedged in weird places tells me how high I need to climb should I be caught in a rain storm.. The waterlines on lakes, especially dam-controlled lakes, are less dire to notice but I still like to look and imagine the lake at full capacity. No waterlines? It's likely the water is as high as it's ever been!

Leave me a comment and let me know if I'm the only one to notice high water marks. Anyone else?

An Ozarks Adventure

Determined. My adventure began before even arriving at Buffalo National River in northern Arkansas, deep within the Ozark Mountains, where I was going to meet up with Torrey and backpack a section of the National River Trail. I was making my way closer to our meeting place, winding around curves on mountain roads and actually going under the speed limit (unusual for me to be going under, given how much I love mountain roads) when I came around a curve and was faced with a small deer, looking right at me. I didn't even have time to gasp, let alone hit the brakes. In the blink of an eye the deer was flung, dead, into the ditch and my car screeched to a halt, fortunately on the shoulder where I wouldn't be in what little traffic there was. I'd never hit anything bigger than a rabbit before, and took several minutes to calm my racing heart before I got out of the car to figure out how much damage was done. I'd hit the deer head on, and it hadn't come up over the windshield, so the damage was relatively minor compared to what could have happened, and the car was still drivable. I made the necessary phone calls, and decided to continue on my way. I mean, I was already almost there, and the car was functional. I figured I'd get it looked at when I got back home. So, onward.

Torrey and I met in a tiny little town about halfway between our homes called Ponca, Arkansas. I'm pretty sure the only draw in the area is the Buffalo River and all the recreation opportunites it entails, along with one of the few elk herds native to Arkansas. Torrey and I were slow start, we hadn't even met up till noon, and it was another hour and a half before we were ready to begin, but neither of us were in a rush, knowing how many miles we needed to cover before we headed home the next day. We intened to hike point-to-point instead of a loop, so parked one car at each end of the trail for ease; I've never had the chance to hike point-to-point before, as whenever I travel with someone we're usually in only one car and that makes hiking in loops much more practical, so I was eager to push the distance we could cover as far as possible, prefering to see as much of the trail as time would allow.

Once we finally started, the Buffalo River Trail didn't disappoint. We'd missed peak leaf-peeping season by a week but it was still a gorgeous autumn weekend, filling the forested mountains with soft golden light that lit the leaf litter and canopy with the same rusty-pink color above us and under our feet. We began smelling wood smoke as we crested a ridge and entered a deep valley, soon passing by a beautiful campsite where someone else clearly hadn't properly extinguished their campfire. We weren't interested in trying to survive a forest fire, not with the blowing leaves and dry conditions we found ourselves in, so we put the fire out properly with what water we could spare. We seriously debated staying there for the night, though we were only a few miles in to our hike and that would mean more distance to cover in the morning, so instead we passed it up, choosing to make a few more miles before we called it a night.

Once the light began to dim and the evening closed in around us we chose a flat spot in the trees off the trail a ways and settled in for the night. We hadn't seen anybody on the trail all day, and we didn't see anybody else as we made our dinner and it grew dark. We did, however, hear something walking right near our site after we crawled into the tent and closed the flaps on the night. Twice. There are black bears in the Ozarks, and the occasional mountain lion, but what we heard was definitely hooves, though your mind doesn't tell you that when it is too dark to see your hand in front of your face. Also, given the last time Torrey and I camped together we came face to face with a bear, both of our overactive imaginations took us right to the worst case senario. Then, of course, being me I yelled at it to go away and whatever it was actually listened. Between our first hoofed visitor and our second, somewhere to the left of our tent the loudest mouse or forest rat on the planet decided to serenade us with the song of its people, by peeping at regular intervals for minutes on end. No amount of noise we made, shuffling, or blinking lights could get it to cut it out, and I had resorted to stuffing my head under a pile of close to try to block out the annoyance. Finally, on its own, it quit, and I was able to get some sleep.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Deserted Swim Beaches

Have you ever been to a swim beach in the off-season? Usually in the winter, when it's too cold to lounge around in swim suits, or otherwise everyone is in school or at work and nobody has time to play. As someone who immensely enjoys traveling during the off-season I've seen my share of near-empty places that are "supposed" to be full of people. Usually this doesn't bother me (yay quiet and solitude) but there is just something about empty swim beaches that is disconcerting. I can't put my finger on why this bothers me so much, but I know I don't like to linger in these places.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you know the feeling I'm talking about. Are you uncomfortable in similar situations?