Packin' it on

To prepare for a backpacking or camping trip requires that I lay out every single piece of gear I own, strewn all across the garage floor. I have to see it all to choose what I’ll need. Camping gear is all about choices. This latest trip to Arkansas was no different. Will I take the Jetboil™ or the Esbit stove? Maybe both, so I have a back-up? Nope, just the Jetboil and some matches, thank you.

Will I take the light sleeping bag and freeze to death, or the heavy one that keeps me warm but takes up too much space and spills out of the bag like a polyester lava flow? If you grew up on a farm, you would know what I mean when I say “prolapsed uterus”. There’s only so much room in my pack, so lightweight one it is, even if I get cold. I'll put on my fleece at night.

My most recent adventure was a solo trip, so the food choices were easy. No one to please but me, which meant K bars and chai tea for breakfast, spaghetti for lunch and spaghetti for dinner. For all five days. With extra spaghetti for snacks. I firmly believe that freeze-dried spaghetti is the super food of backpacking.

Clothing choices are pretty easy- rain gear, one change of wool base layer to offset the lack of deodorant, a warm layer. It’s a solo trip, who needs deodorant? Socks. Done.

Tent. Will I take the ripped-up, duct-taped Eureka two man, or.. or.. or…. The choices are a little limited. Santa, I want a new Kelty Mesa for Christmas. Santa? Santa! Turn off the football game and pay attention!! I need a new tent!

Hiking shoes or boots? Maybe if wear the new boots- the unbroken-in, still smells-like-new- leather boots- the raw blisters will take my mind off the bug bites, thorn scratches and poison ivy. Naw. The old comfy Merrells it is.

Headlamp. Check.

Trail map. Check.

First aid kit. Check.

Water bottles and purifier. Check.

Sunscreen, bug spray, hat. Check, check, check.

Compass. Works great as a coaster. Might make a nice belt buckle. Declination is such an ugly word. Leave compass at home.

Now, cram all that gear into my Osprey pack. The folks over at the local Backwoods store routinely give me a hard time for hauling more than 25 pounds. As in “don’t carry more than 25% of your bodyweight, stupid.” Well, that’s a problem, you see. For me to carry everything I need, (or think I need) my pack is going to weigh 25-30 pounds. Every time. Which is 25 to 30 percent of my body weight.

I could ditch the tent and just use a tarp, but I have a dislike of slithery things sleeping with me. My sleeping bag only weighs a pound and half. It stays. The spaghetti definitely stays. Throw out the first aid kit and one water bottle. Saves me 13 ounces in weight. The bug spray doesn’t keep me from being eaten alive. Toss it. That saved me 6 ounces. Total weight lost- 19 ounces.  Uh, one pound plus.

The other solution is for me to gain more weight, so that my pack would be a smaller percentage of my body weight. That’s my current strategy. Three Gigi’s cupcakes a day to pack on some heft. Give that pack hip belt someplace solid to rest.

Alright, weight problem solved. Buckle on that pack, girl, we’re off to the cupcake shop! More choices, you say? No problem, gimme one of each!

Don't be a bully!

Although it's nice to watch wildlife, it's even better when the wildlife is doing something. When I was in Arkansas elk viewing, the rut had just began. That meant there was a lot of pawing, snorting, stomping, chasing, challenging, bugling, and herding going on.

I watched this big guy go cut a cow from a neighboring herd and run her back into his harem.

"Back in the kitchen, woman!"  She does not look pleased about the current state of affairs...

While he was busy stealing the cow, these two bulls got into a little tussle. I figure they had to do it to preserve their manhood, seeing as how the other guy was a lot bigger, older, and meaner.

"Hey-let's pretend like we're fighting, so we don't notice him stealing our cow and have to do something about it."

But then one of them wandered too close to Big Bubba's gal pals, and the big boy re-directed the young'un back to his own side of the meadow. Watch the intensity (and I apologize for the shaky videography!)

The Big Guy really, really wanted to fight someone. Anyone. Please, any takers? He also wanted an up close and personal encounter with some of the cows, but they weren't having any part of it, so he took his frustration out on the brush.

Listen to this calf and cow calling to one another, when they got separated and she was trying to get the calf to cross the road and find her. I kinda know how the little guy feels. I spent a good part of one afternoon circling the top of Cave Mountain before I figured out it was loop trail.

Man, from this angle it would be easy to mistake this fella for a bear!

"You girls stay put. I'm gonna go find some punks to intimidate,"

              Happy Trails, and may adventure always be in view!

Bugle Boy of 'Campany' B

Last weekend I ran away from home. Philoboy has a standing offer to run away with me, but he mumbled something about being too busy to go camping.

Please. If I ever say I am too busy to go camping, someone shake me till I come to my senses. He's messing with the moiety of this relationship.

The upside of a solo trip is that I pack food that only I like. I eat spaghetti for breakfast. There's not a lot of meat in the food cache. Philo might shrivel up if he doesn't have meat.

My destination was the Boxley Valley in Arkansas, where elk have been reintroduced after dying out several dacades ago. In fact, they've been reintroduced twice. The second time it stuck and the herd has grown and thrived.

The first day I was there it was raining and chilly, but that meant the elk stayed out in the open for most of the day, instead of retreating to the trees after sunup.

The bugling was amazing. From mountaintop to mountaintop, from one meadow to the next, I've never heard so many bulls at once. The mist and drizzle just added to the eeriness and wonder.

Bulls challenged and bluffed and charged and pawed, and...

"Hey. I'm not taking this lying down. Oh wait, maybe I am."

The town of Ponca is located at the north end of the Boxley Valley. People line the road to take photos of the elk. There's a one-pump gas station. There are no restaurants. Elk tourism has not made an inroad into the local economy yet. Take snacks. Fill up the tank before you get there, it's a long ways to civilization.


"Hey there, gorgeous. Want to come over to my meadow?"

"Oh good grief!  You bulls are all the same! Can't you see I'm busy?!"

If you like hunting with a camera, this is the place to be.

Happy Trails, and may your adventures introduce you to something wonderful!