On the Trail with Teacup

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

Edward Abbey

For weeks I had been putting off this trip. We had abundant rain that continued most of the spring, and three days without precipitation in the forecast seemed like an impossibility. In my younger, healthier, stronger years rain would never have been cause for cancellation. Growing up in western Washington, I would not have canceled plans because of rain, or I would never have gone anywhere, least of all backpacking. But now that I am retired and have some flexibility in my schedule, it seems silly to hike and camp in the rain when I can reschedule the trip to be taken under sunnier skies.

So it was when I looked at the forecast last week: three days with highs in the upper seventies and clear skies above. My pack was ready to go. It was time at last to see how I would do on the trail with a fractured shoulder and a winter of “taking it easy” behind me.

I am fortunate to live in a place where mountain trailheads are only a short distance from my home. I left the house on a Monday morning with my pack in the car and, after a short stop in town to buy a scone, I headed for my first overnight trail adventure in almost two years. So excited was I about the adventure that lay ahead of me that I failed to notice the darkening sky as I drove into the mountains towards the trailhead. Just as I was removing my pack from the back of the car the raindrops started to fall, lightly at first, then increasing with a fury. By the time I had my pack on my back and was headed up the trail, the rain had become a downpour, and then it started to hail. It is funny how I trick myself into thinking that a forecast for sunny skies represents some kind of guarantee, as if it gives me control over the weather and its capricious nature.

I began to think about turning back. I was only about a half mile from my waiting vehicle and an hour’s drive from my home. Of course it made no sense to camp in the rain if I did not have to. I even turned around at one point and started back down the trail, retracing my steps, but almost without thinking I was again headed back up the trail. I do not even remember making the decision, only that I was again headed uphill towards my next adventure.

As I ascended in elevation patches of blue began to appear in the sky, small at first and then widening. The rain stopped, and I ate some lunch seated on a rock, which radiated heat in the warmth of the sun. Thundershowers rarely last very long, this one about two hours, and by the time I arrived at my planned campsite, most of the clouds had parted. An occasional rumble of thunder persisted in the east, where the clouds were piled up like a bag of marshmallows, but no more rain fell that day. I set up my tent in a nicely sheltered spot, and then fixed a pot of tea. All was well, rain or shine. I had dependable shelter, a cup of tea, and a good book.

The rain persisted in the same manner for the next three days, oblivious to the forecast that had promised sunny skies. On the second day I began a hike to the south towards White Mountain but hastily returned to my cozy campsite just as the rain was starting to come down and spent another afternoon with tea and book, listening to the rain on my tent, a sound I have always found comforting. This is not so bad. This is, in fact, how I would like to spend the rest of my life: walking, eating, reading, drinking tea, and sleeping. Why is it so complicated back there in the day to day world where I spend most of my time?

This is a question I have been asking myself since my early days of backpacking in my twenties. It has become less urgent as I age and have left behind the many demands of working and child rearing, but still it is there. It becomes more urgent during stressful times, and certainly we all live in stressful times. The answer is there, even before I ask the question: “Get out of the rain. Sit down. Have a cup of tea.”