I wake from the scratch of an oak leaf that landed on my cheek in the night. Eyes crack open and witness the glow of yellow from my tarp above. Light is leaking through the open sides from under the shelter providing the first glimpse of the haze of white beyond. A crow caws in the distance but beyond that the forest continues to slumber.
SNEEZE- The leaf shakes free. I smile. That was much easier than snaking my hands out from inside my sleeping bag. The cool night had me tuck in and seal myself from the chill air of the changing season. Fall, slowly subsiding to winter's frosty breathe.
"Caw, Caw."
I hear the crow once more followed by a flutter of wings that signifies his launch.
"Can't find your mate?" I ask.
That is what my brain intended to say, but it came out a rasp. Four days alone on this solo trip and now I'm talking to the birds? Mouth is dry and I can still taste the lingering smoke from last night's fire. Where is that water bottle? A glint of blue from the Nalgene is spotted in the corner. Don't want to confuse that with the taped one (my urine bottle).
Time to roll over and get this body into motion. I struggle onto my side, always a fun experience in a tight fitting mummy bag and worm my hand to the zipper pull located near the side of my head. Of course it snags on fabric partway down. Doesn't it always do that? Struggle...grunt...The zipper is loosened and I hear that characteristic zzzip zip sound signifying freedom. The frosty air hits my chest as the warmth from my bag evacuates in a flash. Brrrg. I contemplate snuggling back in, but my bladder protests.
I slip my boots on, unlaced, and crawl out from under the shelter.
Fog. A thick carpet.
It flows, an ocean of mist, undulating through soft currents and tendrils of wet smoke. Fingered wisps waft in a rippling westward motion, gently kissing tree trunks and rock. Within the mist, cedar boughs take on a soft palette of pastel green. Silvery beads of condensation dot the top of my tarp like quicksilver, each providing a distorted mirror of their surroundings. The semblance of an insectoid compound eye. The taller white pines surrounding the site have lost their sharpness and fade into the gloom as shadowy cones within the mist. Goliaths of the forest, no doubt already basking in the first rays of sun while the rest of us wait for the fog to subside.
Fog wets my beard as it moves past me. Wearing only wool long underwear and shirt, I decide it best to change into my rain gear. Fortunately, the little bundle of sticks and twigs I cached under my tarp last night is still dry. I gather it up and lite a small twig fire within my folding twig stove. The flames lick my fingers as I replicate Prometheus' gift. Warmth at my front, cold at my back. Such as it is, best to cherish what creature comforts we can when in the wilds.
The lid of my pot rattles as it vents some steam.
"Coffee time", I sing.
"Caw, Caw" Replies the Crow.
"Caffeine for two?" I ask.
No answer.
Silence makes its presence felt again. Steaming coffee mug in hand, I press it to my cheek and feel its heat. Black gold infiltrates my veins as I sip and search the forest for signs of life. The wet of fog fills my nostrils and becomes a part of me.
No sign of sun yet.
Fog Bound.
I decide to wait out the mist before launching my canoe and continuing my route. Fortunately I have the time to do so. In the meantime I snuggle with my coffee and pretend the fog is a moist white blanket insulating me from the rest of the world. My thoughts slow, frantic ideas dancing in the foreground of trip delays and how to make up distance are pushed aside. Rather, I let my mind drift and undulate with the fog.
All is quiet. These moments are so precious.
Author - John, Nov 26, 2014. Note - One of our passions, among many, is the enjoyment of nature and the outdoors. Jess and I frequently go on back-country wilderness trips and on occasion I foray into the forest on my own. Solo trips are always soulful and contemplative periods. The fictional story is inspired by one of those trips.
