Here are a couple of my short stories for your enjoyment. The first, entitled "The Life of a Backpack" is one that I originally posted sometime ago. The second is called "A Night in a Little Yellow Tent.
The Life of a Backpack
Thinking back now, it all began for me many years ago while hanging on a rack in a camping supply store. I was new, a bright red color and with plenty of pockets and straps I had a full 60 liter capacity.
In the evenings after the store had closed, my fellow strap hangers and I would imagine a life ahead full of adventure and travel to exotic places. Occasionally though, we would muse about our secret fear of a miserable existence confined to a life of little use in a dark closet. Or worse yet, a life of abuse as a book bag! Oh! the horror of those thoughts!
Now decades later, I sit here comfortably perched in a chair just a few feet from my owner and dear friend. At the moment, he is busy at the computer writing another one of his silly stories. Having just returned from Istanbul, we are between adventures so I have time to reminisce a little.
As it turned out, my time in that camping store was short. Good thing too because over several weeks I was forced to endure being pulled off the rack and inspected by a long line of characters who were too well dressed to be taken seriously as outdoor people. Gosh, you should have heard some of the questions they posed to the store clerk about me. Things like, "Do you think this pack would be suitable for day excursions from our RV?" I still don't know what the hell an RV is but I also know that I'm glad I never had to find out! One day though, a young man came in and gently dislodged me from the rack. After filling me with some weighty material, he tried me on, tugged at my straps and together we wandered around the store to see how well we would work together. At the end of that first visit however, he had to leave without me promising the clerk that he'd be back after he could raise a little more cash. Lucky for me, he came back that very day mumbling something about owing his parents big time as he paid the clerk and I left the store on his back. At that moment, something told me that I was destined for a life happily attached to him at the hip.
Since that day so long ago our time together has been filled with discovery and adventure. I've taken quite a beating over the years and have the bruises, scars, and stains to prove it. Duct tape marks the places on my interior pierced by crampon points. Once, something called Nutella got mixed up with some red wine at a hut in the Alps. My friend has never been able to get the stain off me. My color has long faded, my straps are worn and frayed, and I have scars from stove burns. I've been dragged over rocks, frozen into ice, submerged in mud, bleached by the sun, and ravaged in a sandstorm. At various times, I've been strapped to mules, lamas, and camels. Once I crossed an Egyptian desert tied to the roof of a Landrover. I've been dumped in a river and hauled up many a steep pitch by rope.
I've been to Death Valley and to 7,000 meters. I've been securely attached to my friend in the Rockies, Sierras, Alps, Andes, and Himalaya. I've wandered the street of Paris, got doused with beer in Munich, walked parts of the Great Wall, hiked in the Appalachians, and rode the night train to Warsaw. I've crossed more bodies of water than I can ever name. I've been east of Suez and south of Argentina.
I've spent many a night in a tiny tent or under the stars. I've carried anything and everything needed to support my friend. My small pocket has held Pesos, Dinars, Lire, Rupees, Euros, Pounds, Dollars, and currencies gone now but not forgotten. I've been used as a pillow, mattress, chair, and once even as a sleeping bag.
Now in what surely must be the twilight of my life, I sit in the place of honor reserved for me by my friend in his study. We are surrounded by walls covered with pictures of the two of us. Even now, the wheels are turning in his mind as he thinks of our next adventure.
I think I heard something about Pakistan!
A Night In A Little Yellow Tent
It is late in the afternoon and after many hours of strenuous climbing, we have reached a place that looks suitable for a campsite. We are high on a ridgeline just above and to the right of a wide couloir that extends several hundred feet above and below us. Our position on the ridge shields us from the threat of avalanche and rockfall down the couloir. The site we have selected is about twenty feet wide and reasonably level. We are on hard packed, snow covered rock.
The angle of the sun in the western sky reminds us that we have no more than a few hours of daylight remaining. It is cold and a lenticular cloud, signaling an approaching storm, is forming near the summit several thousand feet above. The wind is slowly picking up.
My tent mate and I select a spot and, using a small shovel he works on moving enough snow and stone to prepare a nearly flat piece of ground for our tent. At the same time, I’m busy gathering enough larger rocks to build the three foot wall which will surround the tent and provide a buffer from the wind. At the end of three hours, we have pitched our tent and erected the rock wall. A light snow is beginning to fall.
Our temporary home on this ridge is a two person, four season mountaineering tent designed to withstand heavy snow and high winds. Inside, the two of us will share 31 square feet of floor space with our backpacks and other gear. As a point of reference, 31 sq. feet is only slightly more space than the surface of a normal queen size bed. The interior space available is further compromised by the tent walls which angle inward as they rise toward the roof. Once the tent is up and fully secured, we go about the task of settling in before preparing hot drinks and supper. Each of our sleeping bags is laid out on a one inch thick self inflating therma-rest air mattress as insulation against the cold floor. Our packs are shoved into a small space at our feet and we plan to use our down jackets as pillows. We leave our ice axes and hiking poles just outside the tent. Sharp pointed crampons must be secured in the tiny “vestibule” just inside the entrance. Little things that may be needed quickly during the night are placed just inside our bags. These include a headlamp and a pee bottle.
We have used all the daylight available to establish our camp and we are exhausted after the effort and a long day of climbing. Darkness is now upon us and, at last we are ready for something to drink and eat. I remove the fuel canister from my jacket pocket where I have been keeping it warm to ensure that it will function properly. I attach the canister to our little stove and very quickly begin melting potfulls of snow for water and hot tea. Our stove, including fuel canister and pot is only a little larger than a one litre water bottle. For supper we eat beef stroganoff, which is prepared by adding hot water to the freeze dried food package, and we each consume an energy bar together with a handful of trail mix. The cooking is done in the vestibule with the tent door and all vents open to prevent carbon monoxide poisoning. The process is slow and methodical to avoid any possibility of the tent being ignited by the flame from the stove.
Space in the tent is at a premium and privacy is non-existent. When combined with the stress created by the climb and weather, this can make for easily frayed nerves. It is not uncommon for tentmates to over react to the smallest irritants. Little things like coughing, snoring, too much talking, questions as to whose turn it is to cook or melt snow, taking too long to get dressed, and any perceived incursion into the other person’s tent space sometimes result in an unpleasant exchange of words. These situations tend to arise most often when the climbers are “marooned” for days at a time by a storm which prohibits climbing and restricts activity outside the tent to a minimum. Fortunately, in most cases, these disagreeable moments are quickly forgotten by both parties.
It is about 8PM and as I crawl into my sleeping bag for the night, I’m wearing a knit hat, light gloves, thick socks, and winter weight polypro long underwear. If warranted by the temperature, I may add a fleece jacket as well. I put my inner boot liners and socks for the next day in the bag with me so my feet will start off warm in the morning. Many times during the night, I am awakened by sleep apnea, a condition common at altitude which results in momentary lapses in breathing that shake the body from sleep as normal breathing resumes. During these waking moments, I can hear and feel the tent walls being shaken by the wind. On one occasion, I noticed that the snow line has risen several more inches up the side of the tent.
Before sunrise, my climbing partner is up brewing hot tea and preparing our morning meal of oatmeal and breakfast bars. Getting dressed is done one person at a time so I suit up while he’s busy at the stove.
The combination of weather, altitude, and limited space means that every task takes a lot of time compared to that which would be required to do the same thing at home. The good news is that, after a stormy night, we have awakened to what promises to be a cold but clear day for our summit attempt. After two hours, we are standing outside all packed and ready to move up the mountain. As we set off, I turn to see the little yellow tent waiting for our return from the summit.
