Snow Camping (minus the snow)

Twice a week in yoga class, my instructor leads us in a few moments of meditation after we're done exercising. She tells us to "release the conscious effort of breathing" while we relax. This is a weird concept to me because I'd never thought of breathing as a conscious effort. And of course, while I'm supposed to be clearing my mind, I can't stop the snowballs of thought from falling freely in my head. It's like a snow globe that someone has shook up, and I can't force the thoughts to settle until they are ready. But after this weekend, I think I finally understand what she's talking about.

As tradition calls for, my friends and I went on our annual snow-camping trip up to the Snoqualmie Falls area. We had a great time even though the weather didn't cooperate and there wasn't snow at our spot. Shortly after arriving on Saturday, after the tents had been set up and the fire was roaring, five out of our group headed up into the hills to go shooting. I stayed behind to hold down the fort with the two remaining guys. After sitting around the fire with the guys for about 15 minutes, they decided to go hack down some trees for fire wood, and I was left alone. I walked out to the river and perched myself against the natural rock ledge by the shore, slid down into the dirt and started writing in my head. An undetermined amount of time passed as I stared at all the nature around me, somehow thinking and feeling everything all at once, but at the same time, nothing at all. My mind was lucid but empty concurrently. I don't know if that makes sense or not; maybe it's something you have to feel for yourself.

I was so lost in vacant thought that I didn't even hear the guys walking up behind me-scaring me unintentionally. Ryan asked what I had been doing out here, and my response was met by strange looks from both after saying that I was writing in my head. Maybe that's weird to some people.

We trooped back to our campsite and the three of us romped around the fire for an eternity until the rest of our group returned at dusk. Upon returning, Trevor proudly displayed an enormous snowball that he had brought down from the top of the mountain for me. Trying to show my appreciation, I promised that "If it snows here, your snowball will be the head of the snowman I plan on making."

But it didn't snow, and the snowball melted in the bed of the truck where I left it waiting. Night fell over camp as we proceeded to plow through 16 hot dogs, about 20 little bags of chips, two cases of Coors Light, a case of Pabst beer, a fifth of Jack Daniels, and a half gallon of vodka. I think a detox diet is in order.

Although everyone physically went to bed around 10pm, the night promised no sleep for most of us. My tent consisted of Trevor, Broncheau, Monica and I. Three out of the four laid shivering while counting down the hours until daylight. I was one of them. At 6:00am I retreated on the idea of getting any sleep and wandered into the dark morning to get the fire started.

I putzed around for awhile, kicked some soaked logs across the frozen ground, and scratched my head a bit, I finally stood dignified in front of a warm, crackling fire. As heads began peaking out of tents and vehicles, I made sure everyone knew that I had made this grand fire all on my own.

The hours passed by and before we knew it, night was almost upon us again. We were now out of food, out of wood, out of alcohol, and sleep-deprived. It was time to pack up and head home, but not before agreeing to come out again this weekend. Hopefully then we'll be greeted by snow.