In my hammock having a hot girl summer, or a wet girl summer. A hot, wet girl summer just sounds dirty.

Camping in the Rain

My phone buzzed as soon as I entered the park. “Special Weather Statement” Apparently, the hurricane that tore apart the Caribbean and southern US was coming to rain on my parade. Dammit, couldn’t it wait a week? Or couldn’t they have put out the alert before I left home with a duffel full of tanks, skirts and sandals. I was just planning to swing in my hammock and watch the trees sway so I didn’t even bring my hiking boots. In fact, I didn’t bring any closed toe footwear or did I pack those quick dry travel pants I considered? Nope. I had exactly one pair of thin leggings just in case it got colder than was forecasted and no fleece.

Normally I overpack for camping, lots of merino wool and quick dry pants, wool socks I never end up wearing. This time I decided I was going to bring the things I actually wear and no more. I looked at the weather and temperature predictions and packed. Changing things after I arrived wasn’t fair.

I managed to load in quickly, and get a nice fire going. Being surrounded by trees under a hot sun regulates all my systems and makes me feel like everything will be alright. The firefly pixies were dancing in numbers I hadn’t seen in years and the bullfrogs, owls and zombie loons made a spooky relaxing soundtrack.

The next day was hot and deliciously sticky with a small downpour in the afternoon. I set up my hammock and enjoyed some swaying time. I noticed that the clear window in my tent rear vestibule had torn along the top and become an open sunroof. I took care of that with some tape from the local convenience store and crossed my fingers it would hold.

Every time I looked at the weather report, the timeframe for the rain and thunderstorm got longer. I had to decide. In the words of the Clash, “should I stay or should I go?” I already knew the answer; I’m a stayer. Everyone else packed up and left and I was alone on the ridge.

Before bed I needed a shower. I was a hot soup of bug cream, sunscreen and sweat and I didn’t want to take that to bed with me. I drove to the comfort station, showered, decided not to bother putting my bra back on just to drive to the campsite, and was on my way back to my ridge when an official looking truck following me turned its flashers on. I assumed it was on its way somewhere and pulled over to let it pass. It didn’t. We both sat there like dummies until I pulled out again and started on my way. It followed me again with the lights flashing. I pulled over in a wider spot, turned on my 4-ways, threw my shawl over me and waited for them to do something. Eventually, a young lad in a park marshal uniform got out and approached the car. 

“Ma’am, you drove the wrong way on a one-way road.” 

“I didn’t see any signs.”

“There aren’t any.”

“Then how do you know it’s one-way?”

“I just know, and there’s a sign at the bottom facing oncoming traffic.”

“So how was I supposed to know it’s one-way coming from the top?”

“Uh, Right. I guess there’s no way for you to know since there’s no sign, so uh, I guess I won’t give you a ticket.”

I stared silently at him while his last sentence settled into his brain. It looked uncomfortable for him. Mosquitoes were entering through the open window while he tried to sort out an ending. 

“So, uh, now you know and I guess we should put up a sign and I won’t be giving you a ticket. Have a nice evening.”

The next morning I made sure all the non-essentials were in the car and moved the coolers to my back vestibule as a snack room. The rain began an hour early and was as hard as predicted. I read, illustrated a story about bugs who wandered into my camp stove, and lounged. Honestly, the sound of rain on the tent was pretty relaxing. I watched the radar and ran to pee between the more violent outbursts, trying to dodge the mosquitoes who like to get under my hood. 

As the temperature dropped, I started craving something hot to eat. I could have used the cookstove to heat pot noodles, but with no rain pants I would get my one pair of cheap Indian leggings soaked and have nothing to cover my legs. As it was, those leggings seemed to be a buffet signal to mosquitoes. As soon as I stepped out of the tent, they covered them like a carpet. Yikes.

So I looked online for 5 best restaurants in Sharbot Lake. You know it’s not promising when the top 2 are fine dining and the rest are Subway, the food bank and a gas station. I had 2 long sleeve camping shirts with me - one from the 80s and one from the 90s. I picked the one from the 80s with slightly fewer holes in case fine dining was my only option. I checked in with the lads at the front office who recommended the gas station corner store, a chip truck and a fancy café. I started with the fancy café and decided I am not the kind of person who spends $20 for an egg on a croissant. The other fine dining place was closed. The chip truck would be as wet as my screen house so I opted for the corner store next. They could make me the most expensive and disappointing looking pizza ever, or I could have an eggplant curry or chick pea curry plate with basmati and naan to go. Clear winner!

I spent the rest of the day and evening chilling in the tent (literally, as it was chilly and damp) and going out in the moments where the rain stopped to do a quick walkabout. I saw someone arrive and set up camp in the rain with their dog and thought, finally, someone more boneheaded than I. Mind you, they may have packed their rain pants and some boots. Honestly, I don’t mind hunkering down in a tent for a bit so I was fine left to my own devices and then the next day opened up with hammock opportunities.

All in all, the rain wasn’t ideal, but being out in nature was still soothing to the soul, if not the mosquito bites.