Monica and I had gone through our camping gear the week before to make sure it was all in order. I pitched the tent. We rinsed out coolers and aired-out sleeping bags. I picked up some paracord and a knife at the local army surplus store and some fire wood at Safeway. I even bought some carabiners to suspend our food cooler in the trees to thwart bears. We were all set to spend a couple nights camping up in the Wet Mountains along the Greenhorn Road.
A few weeks earlier, we scouted out potential camping spots and found one about 12 miles or so up the road, just off Forest Service Road 298. We found that particular spot to our liking for a couple reasons. First, it was about a half-mile off the beaten path and set back in the trees. Second, the access made it appear that a large camper or recreational vehicle might have a hard time negotiating the first short section of road 298, raising the hope we’d have a fair portion of the San Isabel National Forest to ourselves thus lessening any possible crowding, since the opening of the elk bow hunting season was to coincide with our camping plans.
We made the turn onto road 298 around 4:45 p.m. Friday afternoon and both sighed in relief when we saw our spot unoccupied. We weren’t all that surprised to pass a couple fifth wheel campers and four-wheelers about halfway to our campsite. Bow hunters had beaten us to the punch. By 5:30 or so our camp was set up. As an added bonus, there was a bear pole on-site so I could easily deploy my anti-bear cooler-carabiner system (patent pending).
It was around dinner time when Monica and I began to notice of some deficiencies in the prepping for our trip. We brought one of those long-necked butane lighters to fire up the grill and camp stove but failed to notice it barely had any fuel left in it. So we ran with Plan B: stick matches. About 40 minutes and 25 matches later, we sat down to enjoy our steak and hash brown dinners when Monica realized the only condiment we packed was the creamer for her morning coffee. There was no salt, no pepper, no butter, nor was there ketchup. However, all was not lost. Stashed away was a bottle of Spanish wine and, amid the paper plates and plastic cups, a corkscrew.
Another 10 or so matches and we had our post-meal campfire going. We knew it was going to be cool at night and the fire coupled with the wine made a toasty combination.
There was no salt, no pepper, no butter, nor was there ketchup. However, all was not lost. Stashed away was a bottle of Spanish wine and, amid the paper plates and plastic cups, a corkscrew.
As the fire died down, I took the dogs out for one last bathroom opportunity while Monica got ready for bed. Surprisingly, the four of us fit nicely in the tent. It was probably the only nice thing about sleeping in the tent that night. Neither one of us could get comfortable. Along with forgetting the salt and pepper, we forgot to pack the air mattress. So instead of sleeping on a three-inch cushion of Colorado mountain air, we tossed and turned all night atop half-inch plastic pads. Compounding our torment: overnight temperatures that dipped into the mid-thirties. The dogs didn’t seem to mind the accommodations, but Monica and I were miserable when we got up that morning. The only silver lining I mustered from that night was listening to the bugling elk at dawn.
Monica floated the idea of pulling up stakes and heading back to town over coffee that morning. I hedged and suggested we stick it out. Shoulda listened to the wife.
That day we drove over to the Greenhorn Mountain trailhead and hiked along the base of the mountain. After spending a lazy afternoon at the campsite, including a short siesta in the tent of pain, we made dinner, this time with a reasonable match count. It was an delicious mélange of beans, melted pepper jack cheese, and barbecued bratwurst. Monica made Jiffy Pop popcorn (for the first time!) for dessert.
We hit the rack around 9:30 p.m. Monica had moved some stuff around the tent to better pad our sleep. It suited her to a T, but after five hours or so of nightmarish non-slumber, I did the unthinkable. I announced I was going to sleep in the truck. “OK,” Monica drowsily said, “just leave the dogs with me,” and rolled back over to sleep.
After five hours or so of nightmarish non-slumber, I did the unthinkable. I announced I was going to sleep in the truck.
I did get some sleep that night, but not much. I asked Monica how she slept, and was surprised by her response. “Good. A lot better than last night. I had two dreams.” As we sipped our morning coffee, I waved the white flag and proposed we head home. We were on the road by ten and back at the house by noon.
So, are my tent camping days over? I’d like to think not. I’d do it again as long as I brought something along to ensure a comfortable night’s sleep. That, and some salt and pepper. We’ve got the rest pretty much down pat.
