Getting lost

When I had to carry all of my possessions up mountains, I quickly learned what was and wasn't worth the weight.  I thought about buying a different hammock -- one that is less bulky, lighter, and easier to set up.  I tried out Owen's hammock with my rain fly, planning to send my Hennessy hammock home at the next town.  I climbed in, glad to be away from the spiders (was that a brown recluse?) and the wooden floors of the shelter.

I woke when I felt water on my face.  Rain pelted the tarp that was whipping in the wind.  Raindrops attacked my sleeping bag from all directions.  I pinched the edge of the hammock to the fly, then realized I had no way to keep them together against the force of the wind.  This wouldn't have happened with my Hennessy.  I drew the hammock more tightly around myself and attempted sleep despite the spattering of droplets partying on my face.  My outside of my bag was wet.  I decided to run for the shelter.

I shoved my sleeping bag inside my shirt, crouched under my tarp, and adjusted my headlamp.  I ran.  Immediately I was soaked.  The rain violently contacted the earth, pelting my neck and roaring in my ears.  I could only see a few feet in front of me through the solid sheets of water.  I didn't see the shelter.  I ran in a different direction and still didn't see it.  Is my bag going to stay dry?  I continued running, occasionally seeing a tree trunk.  They all looked the same.  My light caught the reflective strips on Dan and Jess's trekking poles.  I was going the wrong way.  If worse comes to worse, I thought, I could crouch under their tarp.  Maybe I could ask for help.  Later I would laugh at the thought of knocking on their hammock.  "Hey, umm could you give me directions?"  I decided against it and continued running.

My hair was plastered to my face and I was sure my bag had soaked through.  I tripped over something -- Ian's hammock.  Damn.  Wrong again.  I ran and thought of being out here all night in the cold, lost in an unfamiliar woods.  Could I get hypothermia?  What would happen if my headlamp went out?  When I felt myself panic I stopped.  I was still in the campsite.  That was good.  I walked to where I thought Dan and Jess's hammock was.  I found it.  I faced the direction the shelter should have been in and counted my steps.  One.  Two.  Three.  Before I reached twenty my light caught the wooden beams three feet in front of me.  Thank God.

My feet crunched on the gravel floor and I birthed my sleeping bag onto the wooden platform.  I grabbed my pack from the wall and found the spare outfit I had been ready to send home.  I flung my sodden clothes on the ground as headlamps went on and I shakily got into dry clothes.  When I turned around I found that the boys had unfolded my (dry!) bag out onto a sleeping pad.  That small gesture would have made me emotional had I not had just one thought in my mind: getting in that bag.  I climbed in and pulled on some socks.  Sweet, sweet, glorious dirty smelly warm woolen socks.  I was dry.  No longer lost.  Among friends.
I curled up on my side and put my wet hair outside of my bag.  My shoulder and hip dug into the wooden floor and my full bladder squirmed as I lay there in blissful comfort.  My heart beat furiously against my ribs.  The rain continued, so loudly at points that it masked the sound of thunder that shook the shelter floor.  If I hadn't woken everyone up, this would have.  I was grateful to be there, even among the spiders, mouse turds, and snoring men. 

Maybe my pack was worth its weight after all.