The roar of a heavy downpour began early this morning. I woke up to the sound of what sounded like a river flowing under my hammock. I rolled over and looked down and sure enough, there was significant water flow. I looked over and out of my hammock to see a small waterfall coming down the parking lot into our camping area. Yet another time, I was glad to be suspended between two trees safe above the wetness below.
As soon as the rain let up, the roar of lawnmowers and weed whackers began, advancing towards my setup. Five good ol’ boys wearing Costas and Lacoste hats with a big fat dip in began wrecking havoc on our little area. Chunks of sopping wet grass sailed in every direction as they left a wake of destruction. Just saying, aren’t you supposed to wait until after the ground is dry so you don’t leave tire treads in the ground?.. Oh. I guess not. I peaked out of my hammock to see slews of soggy tumbleweeds flopping around the yard. A furby-sized one hit my tarp, and that was it for me.
Finally sick of all of this shit, I flew from my hammock back over to the coffee shop, furious from all of the noise. After getting my brain to wake up again, I was able to crank out a few more posts, not from this god awful breakfast burrito though.
The one down side of hammocking is lacking a proper place to stow your gear (unless you are one of those fancy folks with the secondary little gear hammock underneath the main one). So I, like the true hiker trash I reek to be, just throw my pack down on the ground directly underneath my tarp. 99% of the time this protects my stuff enough so as to not worry about my belongings getting wet. Unfortunately, the 1% happened last night. I picked up my bag, and it felt like I had added about 35 pounds to the max weight. It was unbelievably heavy. The strangest part was my bulky items that are notorious for soaking up water (down sleeping bags and hammocks) were all outside of the bag and deployed. A giant bag of water.
As I was drying my belongings, the owner David came by. Very nice fellow. By the way, running a “free hostel” is certainly not free. You gotta pay for a privy so we can shit. You gotta deal with noise complaints and broken bottles from rowdy tribes. So next time you are staying at a “free” area, please be considerate of the owners there.
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Bumbly ups and downs today. After coming down the mountain, I did a little walking along a riverside area. Ran into a guy who had a youth expedition setup for what appeared to be some inner city kids. Really good guy and the 2 gals working with him, but the kids didn’t seem to be too into it.
“Yeh, we’re just getting them out here for 3-4 days at a time so they can see what living out here in the Great Outdoors is like” he said, slapping his arm and killing 3 mosquitoes simultaneously.
“You might want to consider somewhere else. I’m getting eaten alive here man, good luck.”
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Stopped at a shelter along the river. Still buggy as hell, not to mention the “wash pit” located right next to the shelter. Whatever that is, I don’t know.
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This campsite had my curiosity. I pushed on to this alleged “Silver Hill”, finding an absolutely gorgeous spot. A pavilion ready to go, water pump, and the best part was a SWING. Jesus, I haven’t seen one of these in forever. Not to mention the old patio that is still well and sturdy. This must have been the property of someone’s house back in the day…
Chatted with Catnapper a while, who had been quite heavily involved in the NSF before, informed me that often times grants, especially for international programs, are more concerned with personality rather than being a super genius.
“It’s all politics” he said. Basically, if you’re smart and have the personality of a potato, you aren’t going to be very useful for creating bonds in the scientific community. Our relationship, especially with past enemies, is quite important.
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