Cozy in Camp

When pleasure can be found, it is fit to catch it.

Samuel Johnson

When i first started backpacking alone in my early twenties, for the occasions when I would need extra warmth, I carried a pair of long johns, wool pants in a bright red plaid, and a Cowichan sweater my parents had found buried in sand on a beach in British Columbia. These clothes did the trick by keeping me warm in the cold mountain air, but they were quite heavy and bulky to pack. I always added the sweater last to my pack, and it stretched out under the top flap, so that it would be quickly available should I need it, and it stuck out on both ends, catching debris every time I stopped and leaned my pack against the hillside to rest.

One day I happened to be looking at the cover of a John Denver album. My older readers will remember it, Rocky Mountain High, on which the singer is wandering along a river bottom wearing a down vest. They were a new thing in those days, lighter and less expensive than a down jacket. I saved my money and bought one. I reasoned that by wearing my rain jacket over the vest, it would keep the heat in. I was right.

That vest became a dependable addition to my pack. I carried it for well over forty years, and though it lost some down in that time, it continued to keep me warm, and I have happy memories of sitting by a campfire, cozy and comforted.

In the late nineties one year I braved heavy snow and cooler temperatures to go on a backpacking trip into the high country of the Olympics in May, about two months earlier than I would usually have set forth on such an adventure. I wanted to follow the river to Elwha Basin, high on the eastern slope of the Bailey Range, a cross country route that takes energetic hikers across the mountains to the west side, eventually joining a trail at the High Divide. I had no intention of making the long traverse in May but instead planned to pitch my tent in the Elwha Basin and explore as much as I could from a safe starting point.

The Elwha River Trail is one of my favorites, following the river through old growth forest, steep in a few places but mostly maintaining a gentle ascent until it changes course at Chicago Camp and crosses the river, leaving it behind to ascend to the meadowlands of the Low Divide. My course on that trip was to depart there from the main trail and follow an unmaintained route that would continue to follow the river and take me to its headwaters at Elwha Basin, where the cross country route begins. It would have been a challenging route in mid-summer, much of it obscured by massive blow downs where the river had changed course during spring floods. As I continued to climb, the air became increasingly cold, and patches of snow began to appear until I reached a crossing of the river, which at that point was only about six feet wide. On the other side I spotted a comfortable looking campsite, downed logs providing some shelter from the wind that swept down from the high peaks. I managed to leap across the river, and there I was, alone and cold but satisfied with myself. I had not seen any other hikers in several days. This was my kind of place.

After setting up my tent I did the only sensible thing: I fixed myself a pot of tea, hoping it would warm me from the inside out. I put on the down vest and heated the water in a tea kettle I used to carry, the only cooking pot I used in those days, for it boiled water quickly and served as a teapot after I added the teabags and let them steep.

The first cup of tea was scalding hot, just what I needed as I wrapped my hands around the green teacup and sipped slowly. The second cup was lukewarm. . . disappointing. And the third cup was stone cold. I poured it out.

How to keep my tea warm? I was wearing my solution. I heated water for another pot, and after removing it from the stove, I took off my down vest and wrapped it around the teapot. From that moment on the vest became a tea cozy. I wrapped my sleeping bag around my shoulders to keep my upper body warm. I sipped and read and savored. These are the moments I cherish when I remember and relive my various hiking adventures, the moments when I was still, warm, and comfortable despite the chill of the mountain air.

I am rarely nostalgic about old gear, usually discarding it when I no longer use it. The old stove was replaced with a lighter one that was more efficient and had its own cook pot. For the first year after making that transition I carried the old teapot, but as I got serious about decreasing my pack weight I had to leave it behind, along with the down vest. The old vest, with its soot stains from campfires, is still hanging in a closet. Like any treasured item I take it out from time to time, savoring again the memories of warm campfires, a good book, and a hot cup of tea.

At seventy-three I am no longer making rugged treks into the high country in the spring and leaping across rivers to reach the perfect campsite. I am okay with that. But I sit here with a cup of tea. . .and remember. . .and I am warm.