Before it grew completely dark on the floor of the African-looking Grand Canyon, we had to get out of the cold creek water, put our boots on, and setup camp. I wasn't much help. Donna worked at setting up the tent until she felt a hump in the floor. Peeking under with a flashlight she discovered an anthill. We had to move. As if on cue, a man came out of nowhere, helped her tear down the tent, move it, set it up, drag the bare bed springs from the creek to our camp and shove them inside. We thanked him. He disappeared.
All the topside planning we’d done for nourishing trail meals went out the window, or tent door. Too tired to light Sterno, we ate a bit of jerky. Donna hung our sealed packs as high as she could reach in the scrub brush to keep varmints out. Deer probably wouldn’t care, but ringtail cats and squirrels might want to shop.
The night air was growing cold. I’d left my sleeping bag at the Rim since it was a warm day, and now I regretted it. The thinsulate pad on the bare springs was too short. Cold and wearing all our clothes, we snuggled under Donna’s sleeping bag until she caught her hair and me a toe. As my sister-in-law was known to say, "If you want all the conveniences of home, stay there." But that wouldn’t be any fun. Making the only noises in the night, we giggled through untangling, until sleep stepped in and took over.
(more later - after we rest)
Copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series