Backpacking Windmill

Undaunted. "Can I take a picture of you and your dog?" There was nobody else on the trail, so she couldn't have been talking to anyone beside me. Also, there was the small detail of Callie slung across my shoulders between the back of my head and the top of my pack, where I had put her at the beginning of the hike. We were on our way to the Windmill backcountry camping area, and just minutes before Callie had gotten into a fight with a cactus, and lost. She had been trying to avoid walking on the rocky trail, prefering to walk right along the edge in the softer grass. Unfortunately for her, a prickly pear cactus lay in her way, and instead of going around it she tried to go through it. Doing so didn't work out too well for her. There was no place for me to sit down to pull the tiny spines out of her legs without getting stuck myself, so I pulled what I could and threw her over my shoulders until we hit camp, about a mile later.

As I was unable to turn my head due to the dog against my neck and the heavy pack strapped to my back, I turned my whole body to see who was talking to me. A girl, probably just beginning her college years, was standing a few feet from me, her phone raised hopefully and a smile on her face. I acquiesced, with the condition that she took a picture of Callie and I with my camera as well. I had to get proof that I was carrying the little white dog so people back at home would believe me! After the photo-op was over, I took my leave, the girl trailing behind me further and further. I was headed to a backcountry campsite, yes, but I knew it would be "crowded." All of the campsites, both established and backcountry, were reserved, and I'd had a difficult time securing one for myself.

I should have known that everybody would be out on a gorgeous weekend, and that a state park so close to two major Texas cities would be booked up. I had stopped at the ranger station first thing when I arrived at the park that morning, hoping to get a backpacking permit near the river. At 10am, though, the ranger informed me that everything was full. I left disappointed, resolving to hike all day then head out of the park to find somewhere close by to camp. I checked back in at the ranger station just before leaving the park on the off chance that someone had cancelled their reservation and totally lucked out, there was a backcountry permit open!

I don't usually like using the word "luck", especially not when it comes to something I've worked to achieve. I am not lucky to have a great job working with animals, I've worked since the age of eleven through volunteering and getting jobs in animal-related fields to reach where I am. I dislike people dismissing years of hard work and ambition as "luck". I am also not lucky to get to travel to the places I go, or do the things I do. I intentionally save my money, negotiate more vacation time, and plan my travels to get the most out of them. Nothing I do comes easy, and certainly not with luck. There are, however, a few rare instances where something happens purely with luck, and I'm not above admitting that. It was straight up lucky that someone had cancelled their backcountry camping permit for the night that I needed one, when I had not had the foresight to reserve a permit myself.

We finally reached the backcountry camping area after what felt like miles, though it was only just over one full mile. I walked through the tents spread out across the top of the hill, looking for a secluded spot where I didn't have to look out of my tent door and see someone else's. The first thing I did was sit down on a clear spot and pluck cactus spines out of my dog. When I had her squared away and resting I set my tent up, rain fly off, and made dinner. We ate as the sun sank below the horizon, and crawled into the tent shortly after. Callie curled up and fell asleep immediately, and I journaled while the stars bloomed overhead and the coyotes yipped across the hills.

Of course, I didn't think about the humidity. Sleeping with the fly off in a tent that is mostly mesh is amazing when it's a clear night and the stars and moon are bright. Unfortunately, though, forgetting about the Texas humidity was a huge mistake. I woke up around 4am to what felt like a spotlight in my eyes, though it was really only the nearly full moon, and when I reached up to pull the hood of my bag over my eyes my had came back soaked. That woke me up properly, and I realized that everything I touched was covered in a fine layer of dew. As there was absolutely nothing I could do about it then, and the inside of my sleeping bag was still dry, I zipped my bag up higher and went back to sleep, resigning to being wet when we headed back to the car.

I was up with the sun, opening my eyes to a clear and still morning in which everything shimmered with dew. There were a few clouds on the horizon, but I didn't pay them any attention as I slowly gathered my gear and started packing. Suddenly, though, a wind blew up out of nowhere, blowing in a fog so dense I couldn't see the trail not even thirty feet away. As it got darker and darker, the early morning seeming to change it's mind and roll back to night, I began to worry about being caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter and started frantically packing my tent and belongings while Callie paced and shivered nearby. Just as quickly as it blew in, though, the wind blew the fog away and by the time I had cleared the ground of my belongings and leashed Callie up to hike out, the sun had broken through and everything sparkled in the dawn. With one last glance around, we hiked out in sunshine.

What I'm listening to: Take Me by Obsidia Feat. CoMa