Tonight B and I drove down the peninsula to meet Brain and Doughnut for dumplings. Mmmm, dumplings. On the way home, the moon was sitting low and big on the horizon. Even though it was the thinnest of new moons, it looked close and near. I immediately wanted to be out camping, so we could see it in the darkness of wilderness, and really know how thin and giant it was.
But then I remembered how on moonless nights I always trip on the tent ropes when I get up to go pee.
The sad part is, I miss that agonizing shot of pain to the toe or ankle when I pitch head first into the bushes, shaking the whole tent and maybe pulling out one of the pegs, and B grunts from inside something like, “Whuz tha? you k?” This means it has been way too long since I have been camping. Problem is, camping down here is really just overnight picnicking. You can always hear other people, and your camp site is so tidily set up that there is no mistaking it for wilderness. It passes for wilderness down here, and helps manage the vast number of people, and prevent forest fires, but it doesn’t let you be alone in the woods. When I camp down here, the noises I hear at night don’t make me think, “Oh! Bear!” instead I think, “Oh! Serial Killer!”
Other than tripping over the tent ropes, the new moon tonight has made me long for the slightly uncomfortable position you wake up in, with wild hair and a cold nose, when you burrow down into your sleeping bag even though the whole tent is lit up with pre-dawn light, and you try to pretend that your hip doesn’t ache from sleeping on a rock or pinecone all night.
I think I will have to get my sleeping bag out and put it on the bed tonight, and buy plane tickets to Alaska.