From May 8, week 3 of hiking:
After the first few days, we realized/accepted that the weather would be hot as shit. Water is heavy but essential, and sources can be far apart or run dry. Jean-François possesses a camel-like metabolism and determination, but, of course, a human form. I explained the concept of drinking games, with the aim of injecting some fun into the imperative to hydrate. Perhaps fifty times a day, we round a bend or climb some rocks and a view of the sea is revealed. "THE SEA!" cries the first to notice, as though we have been searching for it for months. And we drink.
Another recurring game is saving turtles that insist upon crossing the road. Hesitant little hemispheres -- they seem to sense the rumbling of trucks winding up the mountain roads and grow increasingly indecisive. We've also spotted a few of their sea turtle cousins, floating tranquilly in the pellucid aquamarine.
I'm currently writing in the tent, perched above the sea. This is our third night camping. The first started well but was interrupted around midnight by hot, violent air. 50mph winds bellowed angrily, trying to rip apart the tent. Finally at 5am I decided we might be blown away, and we packed up, found a sort of hippie-hobbit-bungalow, and waited out the storm.
The second time camping was great, except the increasing chill as the night went on (we were up at about 3,000ft). I had thought we could get away without taking sleeping bags on this trip, but, sadly, no. We shivered even as I arranged raincoats and travel towels over our huddled limbs.
Tonight, I hope, the third time's the charm. A level spot, low wind, low altitude, layered up, and (fingers crossed) no animals will come to steal our trash.
*Note: It was indeed the perfect night of camping.
No comments:
Post a Comment