A Beautiful Howling-Moon Night

Luckily, my driveway and house face east affording me a free and clear view of all orbs which rise in the east.  Tonight as I arrived in said drive, the full moon was up and had already sailed over the small tree line.  The night sky stretched clear and beautiful before me, a black velvet dress of a sky, an off-the-shoulder affair worn with a brilliant diamond necklace made of stars.  Howling-moon nights like this with a bite in the air, meaning it's about 32 degrees and chilling, are my favorite kind of backpacking weather.  Why you say?  Well, because on a night like this when out in the wild, I know I am fully alive. 

I set my tent in a clearing after hiking a PUD filled trail full of amazing views, cook my dinner over a backpacking stove while reviewing the days events with my hiking buddies, pee for the last time in hopes that I don't have to get out again and freeze my patootie off and then hit the sleeping bag before I can't feel my feet.  I like to put my boots in the bottom of my sleeping bag so that they aren't stiff and frozen in the morning.  As I snuggle into the fluffy softness of my 15 degree bag, I offer up a silent "thank-you" to the gear gods who design and make this lovely, lightweight backpacking gear which allows this cold-weenie to experience nights like this.  As I turn out my headlamp, I start the nightly ritual that we've developed over the years, I say into the darkness, "Good-night Debbie" and in a litany of laughing name-calling the group says good-night to each other until one of us ends saying what we all know ends this ritual, "Good-night John-boy". 

The night creeps in upon me and within minutes soft snoring starts but I remain awake enjoying the sounds which creep up next to my tent and sit there waiting to scare me like imaginary monsters in a closet.  Small scuffling, snuffling and noises of breaking leaves and twigs come from the edges of the clearing.  "What is out there", I think and while imagining what really COULD be out there, I fall asleep.

Later, deep into the full moon-howling night, I rise, exit my tent following the call of the wild, the need for a potty break.  It's about 25 degrees or colder, the frost dusts the tips of the bushes and paints the leaves on the forest floor with fairy dust and the moon makes it all sparkle with the colors of the rainbow, blinding me at times with the brilliance.  My breath floats before me where hot meets cold and everything is bathed in moon glow.  No one else is awake and it's freezing.   My fleece is all that protects me from the deep, clear cold and as I pull down the long underwear the icy air hits my nether parts.   Yikes!!  Oddly, enough pottying in the middle of the night is the best part of winter camping for the stark contrast between beauty and cold is mind-numbing, literally!  At this point, when done and returning my clothing to their proper place on my body, I stand, tilt my head back, stare into space and suck in the cold, cold reality of the immenseness of the universe.  I want to howl for the life within me.

And that is why on nights like this when I enter my safe, comfortable home, my wild side stays outside and sits on its haunches in the yard until the moon rises so high that it no longer reflects the colors of the rainbow off the hair on my head.  That is when I rise and walk, into the woods, into the wild, following the call of my self.