Tuesday, March 13, 2007
So, the story is we unexpectedly found ourselves among the pines. We dreamed of camping on the desert floor, but the National Forest campground was full. The ranger pointed us up a mountain to a primitive State Forest site. Twelve miles further and 2000 feet higher we pitched our tent at 7000 feet. We saw patches of snow across the dirt road. We brought a light tent and light sleeping bags and no wood. The fuel we picked up for our pocket rocket stove was the wrong size. So we gathered wood and built a fire and froze. We suspect it probably got down in the 20s. Gene left the tent to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and came back shivering uncontrollably. He couldn't stop shaking for about 20 minutes. We slept (sort of) with our bodies cemented together. No, that isn't very poetic, but that's the way it was. Maybe I'll think of a better way to describe it later. The next morning we were happy to find out we were still alive. We climbed down from that mountain and headed for Bisbee. Our taste for more camping this trip had run fairly dry.