Trekking
poles, hiking boots, water bottle, backpack, snacks, protein bars, rain gear,
rain hat, layers for warmth, blister pads, TP, duct tape, plastic bags, ground
pad, first aid kit… AND WHAT ELSE SHALL I BRING?
My husband, Jim,
and I are going out to take pictures today.
Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, until I realize that we’ve got
to hike in… it might rain… there’s always the danger of hypothermia… we might
get hungry… what if I fall… and what might the temperature be?
Jim is one of
those “be prepared” kinds of guys. In
his younger years, he was manager of the original REI store, and it seems
that’s when he developed his passion for having a coat for every two degrees of
temperature change. He’s always had more
clothes than I do, but his coat closet is very nearly a store in its variety
and choices, so he’s always prepared.
This trip
involves hiking to a remote beach, and some pretty steep slopes. Now I’m pretty adventurous, and usually
willing to try most anything, but I draw the line at jumars, ice axes, and
pitons. Jim’s past involved guiding on
Mt. Rainier, so nothing scares him.
Consequently, it never seems to occur to him that a slope that looks
easy to him might be totally daunting to me.
And let’s not forget that I’ll be expected to carry the tripod.
We begin the
first part of our trek with a medium-weight jacket. This place is so beautiful, with huge Douglas
Fir and Western Red Cedars, carpets of moss, silver ferns, and many tiny wild
flowers everywhere I look. Jim’s frequent
stops to take shots hardly interrupt my reverie as I allow myself to imagine
living in such a quiet, lovely setting. We’re
gradually gaining in altitude, but it’s pretty benign as slopes go.
It’s all
within my comfort zone until we come to the edge of a drop-off which looks to
me like the Wickersham Wall of Denali.
It occurs to me that Jim might be able to use this tripod and a rope to
lower me down, but no – he says he believes in me and I can do it. I hate it when he pulls the “competent” card
on me. It’s not so much that the
backpack is heavy and pulls me slightly off balance, or that my hiking boots
are rubbing a small blister on my heel, or that carrying two trekking poles and
one tripod is a bit awkward, or that my Medium Jacket is getting a bit warm, but
that I have a fear of falling headlong down a steep slope while screaming all
the way like the little girl I used to be.
Now my
husband isn’t one to be unsympathetic, so he offers to take the tripod off my
hands so I can use both poles, and slowly, unsurely, step by tiny step, I make
my way down this Everest to the bottom.
When I realize I’ve survived, I have time to take only one large breath and
realize that I’m sweating like a pig, before my intrepid spouse spots the
perfect site to set up the ubiquitous tripod, pull out the extra camera with
the slightly longer lens, and hand it to me so I’m ready to respond when he
needs it.
First things
first, and I strip down to my shirt and stuff it into my backpack. It never occurs to me that I might actually
get chilled when I cool down or that there’s a breeze blowing that threatens to
turn into a gale.
Suddenly, and
from out of nowhere, my ever-prepared camera-toting spouse appears with a
slightly heavier than medium jacket, with wind stopping properties. As he snuggles me into its warmth, I realize
that carrying the tripod has its rewards.
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