The much-awaited backpacking trip report
Okay, perhaps Silly Misanthrope and I are the only ones who have been much-anticipating it. I have since been felled by the flu (not a result of the trip), so this report has been much delayed.
(All photos by Silly Misanthrope.)
Part 1: The Pie.
We left two Friday mornings ago, loading up the car with our gear and setting out much earlier than I normally start any leisure activity. We were off to Bell Mountain Wilderness outside Potosi, Missouri for a weekend of backpacking.
First there was the pie. We missed our exit and ended up at The Blue Owl in historic Kimmswick, Missouri. For all the frilly lace and printed porcelain and waitresses in what must have been horrible-to-wear "historic" dresses, there was the pie. Peach pie. Fresh, not from a can. I only had one bite, yet I can understand why the Silly Misanthrope has declared his love of the pie.
We made it to the trailhead late in the afternoon on Friday. We hiked in about a half-mile, then set up the tent and unpacked. It was cold and quite windy, and although we wanted a fire, we couldn't get one started. Silly Misanthrope made a delicious dinner of red beans, rice and sausage over the Trangia stove. All the while, I kept scanning the woods for beady eyes. Even though I've done the wilderness thing before, carnivores that are larger and/or more agile than me still freak me out.
The sun set quickly after dinner, so we hung the bear bags and crawled into our sleeping bags. It was cold. I had a 20° bag, but I was still cold. I wore long underwear top and bottoms to bed, as well as fleece pants, a fleece shirt and my down jacket. And gloves. And socks. And a hat.
Silly Misanthrope fell asleep well before I did. I kept poking him to ask: "Did you hear that?" and "What was that?" It was probably just the wind, but I was freaked. I don't think I fell asleep for at least an hour or two.
Part 2: Screw asphixiation, we're cooking in the tent.
When I woke up Saturday morning, I was sure we'd had freezing rain that night. I lived in Missouri for four years. More often than not, winter precipitation was freezing rain. It sounded like freezing rain. There were great globs on the tent fly that looked like ice. But Silly Misanthrope, who had already ventured outsite, declared it snow.
It was still darn cold. Silly Misanthrope's thermometer said it was about 20°, so we decided to take our chances with asphixiation and cook in the tent vestibule. Silly Misanthrope made some crack about how I'd know to vent the tent when I was overcome with the urge to sing: "Joy to the World." (And for the rest of the trip, I was humming: "...to all the boys and girls, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me ...") We had a nice oatmeal breakfast with coffee. Silly Misanthrope introduced me to the wonders of hot Tang, which sounds disgusting but is really yummy. (And which I have subsequently discovered is wonderful when one has the flu.)
We packed up camp, refilled our water containers (Silly Misanthrope had to crack the ice on the pond to do so) and set off. The snow actually made for a beautiful day, as it kept falling all the way up Bell Mountain. The ground was mostly firm due to the freezing temperatures. I'll admit, it was a much harder hike than I had prepared for mentally. But it was enjoyable. I paced myself as best I could, and envied Silly Misanthrope's trekking poles. It was windy, but I was plenty warm while active. We had some amazing views from the summit.
We hiked some more, and eventually I admitted that I was starting to tire out. I felt like I was starting to drag my feet, rather than pick them up properly. It became more and more difficult to avoid fallen trees with agility and grace. So we descended the mountain, crossed the creek and set up camp in a nice valley near some fallen conifer trees.
That evening, having skipped lunch, we had another lovely meal prepared by Silly Misanthrope — penne pasta with garlic sauce and chicken. He's a great trail cook ... and even his chocolate pudding was good, despite his insistence the powdered milk spoiled it.
The most amazing moment of the trip, however, was when Silly Misanthrope encouraged me to come out of the tent and look up. The clouds had finally cleared and we had a view of the night sky. It was gorgeous. I've lived in Chicago for almost eight years, and since then have rarely seen the night sky without the pink glow of city light on the horizon. To be in pitch dark and to see stars upon stars throughout the sky was indescribable. Were it not so cold, I could have stayed there, next to him, looking at the stars for hours.
Again, he fell asleep before I did. Despite having a nice hip-shaped indentation in the ground beneath the tent, I tossed and turned for at least an hour before falling off to sleep. Again, I had visions of hungry carnivores discovering us. Eventually I became so frustrated with my state of general exhaustion and inability to sleep that I found it even harder to drift off.
Part 3: The final day
Sunday morning I woke up early. I tried to go back to sleep, given my restlessness night before, but then gave up and commenced trying to wake Silly Misanthrope. I was anxious for the day, because I knew we had a hike as long (if not as difficult) as the one the day before. And an eight-hour drive home.
I eventually roused him, and went to get the bear bags for breakfast. The sun was out, but it was still cold. My boots were frozen solid by the time I put them on (so were Silly Misanthrope's), and I spent a good deal of time clomping around camp trying to thaw them.
The morning's hike, after following bobcat and wild turkey tracks, almost immediately involved crossing a stream. Thankfully, Silly Misanthrope crossed first, then tossed his trekking poles back over the stream to me so I'd have some stability when I crossed. I would have had very wet feet (and possibly frostbite or hypothermia) otherwise.
Then we had quite an incline to hike up. I was still exhausted from the day before, and the incline almost did me in. But I kept at it, much more slowly than Silly Misanthrope. But he was patient and waited for me to catch up.
The reward was a beautiful day, full of sunshine, and a relatively flat hike back to the trail leading to the car. It was a longer hike out than I'd remembered, especially as we passed the landmarks I remembered from the hike in. I was tired. I'd pushed my upper threshold of physical stamina twice in two days., but Silly Misanthrope checked in with me regularly to make sure I was hydrated and otherwise okay.
I felt both relief and accomplishment when we reached the trailhead, where we'd left the car. We'd done a 10-mile hike in two days. (Silly Misanthrope will say we did it in three, since we hiked in a half-mile that first night. But this is my blog, and it felt like two to me.) It was my first serious wilderness outing in years. And I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then there was the drive home. We embarked on a never-ending search for an authentic locally-owned family restaurant (including one stop somewhere off a Missouri highway at a white clapboard restaurant whose neon sign declared "Open" but whose parking lot was empty and windows a bit too dark for our taste.) We ended up settling for a Cracker Barrel.
Silly Misanthrope had grown bored of the music on my iPod, so we scanned the radio stations, delighting in some classic country hits and this great Springfield (Ill.)-area alternative station that played Lucinda Williams' Righteously, a song I'd never heard but which Silly Misanthrope loves (rightfully so) and Erasure's Chains of Love.
We also passed a Hooters with an unfortunate burned out "s" — which just ruins the innuendo, really. (Not quite up to par with Kella's "Algreen's" however.)
Must sleep now. I'm sure I'm missing plenty, but I'm also sure Silly Misanthrope will comment about what I've missed!
(All photos by Silly Misanthrope.)
Part 1: The Pie.
We left two Friday mornings ago, loading up the car with our gear and setting out much earlier than I normally start any leisure activity. We were off to Bell Mountain Wilderness outside Potosi, Missouri for a weekend of backpacking.
First there was the pie. We missed our exit and ended up at The Blue Owl in historic Kimmswick, Missouri. For all the frilly lace and printed porcelain and waitresses in what must have been horrible-to-wear "historic" dresses, there was the pie. Peach pie. Fresh, not from a can. I only had one bite, yet I can understand why the Silly Misanthrope has declared his love of the pie.
We made it to the trailhead late in the afternoon on Friday. We hiked in about a half-mile, then set up the tent and unpacked. It was cold and quite windy, and although we wanted a fire, we couldn't get one started. Silly Misanthrope made a delicious dinner of red beans, rice and sausage over the Trangia stove. All the while, I kept scanning the woods for beady eyes. Even though I've done the wilderness thing before, carnivores that are larger and/or more agile than me still freak me out.
The sun set quickly after dinner, so we hung the bear bags and crawled into our sleeping bags. It was cold. I had a 20° bag, but I was still cold. I wore long underwear top and bottoms to bed, as well as fleece pants, a fleece shirt and my down jacket. And gloves. And socks. And a hat.
Silly Misanthrope fell asleep well before I did. I kept poking him to ask: "Did you hear that?" and "What was that?" It was probably just the wind, but I was freaked. I don't think I fell asleep for at least an hour or two.
Part 2: Screw asphixiation, we're cooking in the tent.When I woke up Saturday morning, I was sure we'd had freezing rain that night. I lived in Missouri for four years. More often than not, winter precipitation was freezing rain. It sounded like freezing rain. There were great globs on the tent fly that looked like ice. But Silly Misanthrope, who had already ventured outsite, declared it snow.
It was still darn cold. Silly Misanthrope's thermometer said it was about 20°, so we decided to take our chances with asphixiation and cook in the tent vestibule. Silly Misanthrope made some crack about how I'd know to vent the tent when I was overcome with the urge to sing: "Joy to the World." (And for the rest of the trip, I was humming: "...to all the boys and girls, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me ...") We had a nice oatmeal breakfast with coffee. Silly Misanthrope introduced me to the wonders of hot Tang, which sounds disgusting but is really yummy. (And which I have subsequently discovered is wonderful when one has the flu.)
We packed up camp, refilled our water containers (Silly Misanthrope had to crack the ice on the pond to do so) and set off. The snow actually made for a beautiful day, as it kept falling all the way up Bell Mountain. The ground was mostly firm due to the freezing temperatures. I'll admit, it was a much harder hike than I had prepared for mentally. But it was enjoyable. I paced myself as best I could, and envied Silly Misanthrope's trekking poles. It was windy, but I was plenty warm while active. We had some amazing views from the summit.
We hiked some more, and eventually I admitted that I was starting to tire out. I felt like I was starting to drag my feet, rather than pick them up properly. It became more and more difficult to avoid fallen trees with agility and grace. So we descended the mountain, crossed the creek and set up camp in a nice valley near some fallen conifer trees.
That evening, having skipped lunch, we had another lovely meal prepared by Silly Misanthrope — penne pasta with garlic sauce and chicken. He's a great trail cook ... and even his chocolate pudding was good, despite his insistence the powdered milk spoiled it.
The most amazing moment of the trip, however, was when Silly Misanthrope encouraged me to come out of the tent and look up. The clouds had finally cleared and we had a view of the night sky. It was gorgeous. I've lived in Chicago for almost eight years, and since then have rarely seen the night sky without the pink glow of city light on the horizon. To be in pitch dark and to see stars upon stars throughout the sky was indescribable. Were it not so cold, I could have stayed there, next to him, looking at the stars for hours.
Again, he fell asleep before I did. Despite having a nice hip-shaped indentation in the ground beneath the tent, I tossed and turned for at least an hour before falling off to sleep. Again, I had visions of hungry carnivores discovering us. Eventually I became so frustrated with my state of general exhaustion and inability to sleep that I found it even harder to drift off.
Part 3: The final daySunday morning I woke up early. I tried to go back to sleep, given my restlessness night before, but then gave up and commenced trying to wake Silly Misanthrope. I was anxious for the day, because I knew we had a hike as long (if not as difficult) as the one the day before. And an eight-hour drive home.
I eventually roused him, and went to get the bear bags for breakfast. The sun was out, but it was still cold. My boots were frozen solid by the time I put them on (so were Silly Misanthrope's), and I spent a good deal of time clomping around camp trying to thaw them.
The morning's hike, after following bobcat and wild turkey tracks, almost immediately involved crossing a stream. Thankfully, Silly Misanthrope crossed first, then tossed his trekking poles back over the stream to me so I'd have some stability when I crossed. I would have had very wet feet (and possibly frostbite or hypothermia) otherwise.
Then we had quite an incline to hike up. I was still exhausted from the day before, and the incline almost did me in. But I kept at it, much more slowly than Silly Misanthrope. But he was patient and waited for me to catch up.
The reward was a beautiful day, full of sunshine, and a relatively flat hike back to the trail leading to the car. It was a longer hike out than I'd remembered, especially as we passed the landmarks I remembered from the hike in. I was tired. I'd pushed my upper threshold of physical stamina twice in two days., but Silly Misanthrope checked in with me regularly to make sure I was hydrated and otherwise okay.
I felt both relief and accomplishment when we reached the trailhead, where we'd left the car. We'd done a 10-mile hike in two days. (Silly Misanthrope will say we did it in three, since we hiked in a half-mile that first night. But this is my blog, and it felt like two to me.) It was my first serious wilderness outing in years. And I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then there was the drive home. We embarked on a never-ending search for an authentic locally-owned family restaurant (including one stop somewhere off a Missouri highway at a white clapboard restaurant whose neon sign declared "Open" but whose parking lot was empty and windows a bit too dark for our taste.) We ended up settling for a Cracker Barrel.
Silly Misanthrope had grown bored of the music on my iPod, so we scanned the radio stations, delighting in some classic country hits and this great Springfield (Ill.)-area alternative station that played Lucinda Williams' Righteously, a song I'd never heard but which Silly Misanthrope loves (rightfully so) and Erasure's Chains of Love.
We also passed a Hooters with an unfortunate burned out "s" — which just ruins the innuendo, really. (Not quite up to par with Kella's "Algreen's" however.)
Must sleep now. I'm sure I'm missing plenty, but I'm also sure Silly Misanthrope will comment about what I've missed!
Labels: backpacking, silly misanthrope, wildlife
