Camping

Five days ago I lived in a tent, which I had stayed in for three weeks. While working. It was damp and cold and muddy, and I barely got to shower during that entire time.  It was both a trying and spectacular experience and so much has happened since I last posted that my thoughts are in a constant cluster-fuck. I'm only going to mention some of the important events though and I can post about the others later.

Living in my tent was nothing like camping. For one thing, it was not optional and there was no retreat from bad weather. When we got torrential downpours everything got drenched and it never dried out. We would go to our blocks, and then proceed to spend the next 10 hours slipping and sliding on logs, smothered in dirt and mud, boots filled with water, and freezing our very little butts off only to come home to be wet for the rest of the night. Collectively we would join around fires attempting to dry out our boots, socks, and feet, smoking and drinking beer to help sleep reach us. When we entered our rarely dry tents we would bring in the constant moisture that carved its way into our bones. Every day was a repetition of this.

But, despite all the wet, the not showering, the being cramped into a small tent with your gear, it was a wonderful experience. I bonded with more people during those weeks than I did for the month and a half I did in res., simply because there are no doors as barriers.  During our time there we had wicked evening bonfire parties, and we ate constantly; stuffing our faces with trail mix, deep fried potatoes, and whatever else that can be consumed. We were secure in knowing that not showering despite smelling worse than a putrid garbage pit was not anomalous. Bush camp was an experience that I can sum up as being both amazing and horrid, and I'm fairly sure I would do it again. I may, however, be a sadist.