Spineless
One of the backcountry sites we reserved had a solar composting toilet. No idea how the solar part worked and I didn’t bother to investigate. I still preferred the nearby sandbox. Upon coming back late after sunset, we found a squatter at our site. I didn’t realize at first. As I headed towards my tent, my traveling partner and fellow photographer, Jacob Hanson, matter of fact told me that it wasn’t my tent. It was dark, but I know where I parked my tent by golly. And I figured he was just pulling my chain. But low and behold it wasn’t my tent. I’m sure I frightened the mystery man as I was confidently walking towards him and grabbed his zipper. Close call. That night we quietly ate some soup and called it a night.
Never be surprised by what you find. Whatever happens, happens. Let it roll off your back.
Per usual wherever we are, we’re the last to go to sleep and the first to wake. In the wee hours of the morning, a second group of uninvited guests were tucked away near the composter. We could’ve had a dinner party the night before. Instead we could only assume he or she or them came for the toilet. More squatters. With more important tasks at hand we headed out to the dunes for sunrise but first there was the matter of a pretty legit spring creek crossing. The day before, we conveniently used an ice bridge that was located behind my actual tent. However it was thinning out and looking sketchier by the day. With a little less confidence, we still took the same path and made it back into the dunes for another session.
After an incredible morning high atop the dunes, we headed back to our campsite for a little rest and relaxation. The squatters by the toilet were gone. The one that I nearly had a midnight encounter with remained. We sat down to eat. Then he came out of his tent. A solo backpacker. We chatted. After mentioning to us that he couldn’t find a dry crossing into the dunes - where he was planning on camping the previous night - he asked if we knew of one. Now the dunes were literally right behind our campsite so we felt bad for the guy. So close but so far away. Jacob tells him about a couple of options. There is the ice bridge we took this morning. Then there are some logs that we crossed on the way back. Jacob firmly thought the ice bridge was the better option. In my head, I’m not sure what gave him that opinion. I thought the logs were safer. I at least warn the guy that the bridge is melting fast.
You see we elected not to use the ice bridge on the way back. Reason number one: I’m pretty sure we would’ve fallen in. Reason number two: I was itching to slide down the steep side of the dunes one last time. Each time Jacob would talk me out of it until we got closer. My inner child was satisfied once we were nearly peering down onto our campsite. We slid down to where three or four logs were laying across the creek.
Jacob found a good spot and got across first, so I headed over to jump on his log. He was telling me about how he steadied himself with his trekking poles and was trying to hand one to me. I went ahead and ignored him. What’s the worst that can happen? I fall in the water and get a little wet? Camera gear be damned, in retrospect. Apparently Jacob didn’t think it was the best of ideas since he stood at the edge and bear hugged me into the other bank. I suppose the vision of me nearly tumbling off the log as I waddled towards him gave him the idea that the melting ice bridge was a far better option.
Our friend came back from the bridge. He didn’t even bother looking at the logs. He took down his tent. He packed up his gear. He wished us well and left back towards the trailhead. He probably figured asking us for any other recommendations would be useless. As he walked past, I saw what happened to people who don’t put sunscreen on the back of their knees. They looked like a baboon’s bottom. Duly noted.