Preparing for Survival

January 7, 2016 — Pat Bertram

I don’t really have anything to say. No insights to impart. No strong emotions to evaluate. No real progress in becoming . . . whatever it is I am supposed to become. I’m becoming older, of course, but since I’m not particularly becoming wiser, I’m not sure that becoming older is any sort of becoming at all.

And yet, I’m still trying. Still surviving. So that’s something.

roadSo far I’m sort of sticking to my sort of New Year’s resolutions. (“Sort of New Year’s resolutions” because the resolutions came first. The New Year was more happenstance than a cause of the resolutions.) To that end, I haven’t been eating sugar and I’m staying away from wheat. Both great successes! I am back to eating a large bowl of raw vegetables with a sprinkling of lettuce almost every day, so that’s good. Rain has kept me from walking much. And lack of something to say (or perhaps simply laziness) has kept me from writing. But mostly, I’m doing good.

I am still preparing for that mythical cross-country road/camping/hiking trip I’ve been planning for so many months. (Mythical because despite all my planning, I continue to be tethered in one place.) Since I’ve already taken care of most of the big items such as tent and sleep system, I’m concentrating more on emergency gear. I do not intend to be one of those people who get written up in Reader’s Digest, having cut off an arm to free myself from a rockslide, or gotten lost during a simple day hike and causing millions of dollars in search and rescue efforts.

To be honest, I think basic survival instincts are more important than emergency supplies. For example, from my wandering in the desert, I’ve learned that if I step off a trail to answer nature’s call, I need to mark the direction I came from. If I will eventually need to backtrack, I mark any fork in the road so I don’t have to guess which way to go. I use trekking poles to help with balance in treacherous areas, and I try to make sure my footing is solid before I move up or downhill. But just in case such basics aren’t enough, I’ve bought a loud survival whistle that includes a compass and a mirror for signaling. I got a Gerber Dime Tool and fifty feet of military grade paracord. Admittedly, I have no idea what to do with the cord since it’s not appropriate for climbing back up if I fall off a cliff (unless perhaps I double up the cord), but paracord must be important because it’s on every hiking gear list I’ve ever read. Add to these few items some waterproof matches (though I would be hesitant to start a fire; I can just see neophyte me accidentally burning down a forest), an emergency blanket, and an emergency medical kit, and I’m as prepared for an emergency as I will ever be. (I will have water and food, of course, and probably even a camping quilt for even the shortest wilderness hike.)

(I’m only a neophyte when it comes to emergencies. I’ve hiked hundreds of miles in various wilderness areas by myself though admittedly, some of the wilderness areas were pretty tame with only an occasional Mojave green rattler or a few coyotes to get the adrenaline going).

We’ve had a couple of days of a very cold deluge, which makes me wonder how I will deal with rain during my travels, but that’s what motels are for. (Supposedly the tents I got come with adequate rainflies, though why a rain cover for a tent is called a fly I don’t know. Perhaps because if you don’t stake it down properly it flies away.)

I have used up my daily quota of parentheses, so I’ll leave you with a quote I recently saw that I’m trying to take to heart, though it goes against my very nature: If you don’t understand, let it go. All part of my survival.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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A Time of Preparation

December 26, 2015 — Pat Bertram

The lazy days are flowing one into the other, and it seems as if my life has come to a standstill, as if the stagnation I fear has already set in, but however I feel, the truth is, this has been a year of unprecedented adventure, change, and awe.

I started out the year in my father’s house, dealing with grief for all my dead while I cleaned out his “effects” and readied the house for sale. I gathered all my friends together for a Pre-Probate Party to celebrate the last days before his will went into probate, the last days I knew for sure I would have a place to live. Since then, I have never been without a place to live, though I stayed on couches, lived in a camper, house-sat a few times, and even rented a room for a couple of months. (Oddly, I am ending the year in this same precarious position as I started because my current room is in a house that’s for sale, and soon I will again be Stepping From The Known Into The Unknown.)

Sometime during those last days at my father’s house where I tried to imagine Unimagined Possibilities, I found myself with a new philosophy: Either Things Will Work Out Or They Won’t, which allowed me to stop worrying so much and instead let me enjoy the uncertainties of my new life. If things work out, obviously, I don’t have to worry, and if they don’t work out, there’s nothing I can do about it now because I have no idea in what way they won’t work out. Or things might work out in a way I couldn’t even fathom, which is what usually happens.

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And so I drifted through my days. I continued to take the dance classes, which I love, but I dreamed of . . . more. Something epic. Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail or the as yet unfinished California Coastal Trail. Perhaps stepping foot on the Appalachian Trail (which a friend recently told me is pronounced Apple-atchian. Okay. Got it. Now I know the most important thing about the trail if ever I decided to hike a bit of it.) I also considered a more realistic venture since I do not think I have the ability to carry a heavy backpack for many miles — visiting national parks and day hiking to sample a variety of trails and terrains.

WANDERLUST

A friend, who knew my dreams of adventure, invited me to stay with her and volunteered to drop me off at trail heads and pick me up when I was finished with my hike so that I could experience adventure in a relatively safe manner. And so began two magical months of hiking along the ocean, losing myself in the forest (not getting lost geographically, more like letting the forest take me over), becoming one with . . . myself, perhaps. I am usually of two minds about everything, so I am often beset with doubts, worry, and internal discussions. But not up in the redwoods. Not by the ocean. There, I was simply me. Simply happy.

One of the things I had been of two minds about centered around my ancient VW bug, A Forty-Three-Year-Old Lemon. I considered replacing the iconic car with some sort of van I could turn into a mini-home, considered getting an automobile big enough to sleep in, considered, oh, so many possibilities, but in the end decided to keep the poor old thing a little longer. After all, how many people can say they have only owned one car in their whole life, a vehicle they bought new and kept going through the decades? And the way I figured, if I bought a new car now, in five years, it would be old. If I bought a new car five years from now, five years from now it would be new.

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Still, if I were going on a long trip to visit parks and meet online friends, I would prefer to look like a near-classic lady in a near-classic car rather than a homeless woman in a rattletrap, so I found someone who would do the body work. All I wanted was a couple of holes patched and enough rust gone so it could be painted, and six months later, six months of learning to do without a vehicle, what I found at The Great Reveal!! was a full body restoration. And because the outside looked so beautiful, I had to have the inside reupholstered because it truly looked pathetic in relation to the lovely body. And then, when I took it to my mechanic for a tune-up before my cross-country trip and he expressed concerns about the engine lasting for all those miles, well, now I have a new engine, transmission, and a lot of other new parts, and Oh, My, My Erstwhile Lemon Is a Beauty!

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Despite the awesomeness of this year, it seems to me as if it is . . . was . . . a time of preparation, not just for the coming year, but for a new way of living and thinking. I can’t go on a cross-country trip until I have put 500 miles on the new engine and have all the kinks worked out, but I am ready to meet the changes and challenges of both the trip and the coming year.

At least, I hope I am.

 

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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The Folly of Planning

December 16, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I should know by now that making plans is an act of folly since life — and death — so often overrides those plans. And yet, still I plan.

For the past several months, I’ve been planning and preparing for a cross-country hiking/camping/backpacking trip. I bought whatever gear I thought I’d need, fulfilled my promises, cleared my schedule. In fact, I was just ticking off the last item on my list — an oil change and a tune-up — in preparation for my departure this weekend, when my plans fell apart.

I should have known this would be an ill-fated trip when not one, not two, but three people who had invited me for extended stays more or less disinvited me all within a couple of days of each other. I’d still planned to head out because ultimately this trip was about me and my relationship to the world, but my mechanic put the brakes on the whole thing, at least for now.

Apparently, although the car runs very well, and the engine could last for a couple of more years just driving around town, I’d need luck to do a cross-country trip, and despite my penchant for planning, luck is something I never plan on. I didn’t intend to push either myself or the ancient VW, so I probably would have been okay, but I bowed to the inevitable and am having the engine rebuilt. And the transmission. Eek.

It’s funny. I had the body work done because the engine and other mechanical parts were fine, but now that they are not good enough for what I have planned, I have no choice but to get the very expensive work done or else I would have wasted the small fortune I spent on the body. By the time it’s all done, I will have paid enough to have bought a new car. I certainly can’t fool myself into thinking that all this work makes the vehicle new — this folly of mine is still forty-four years old. And yet . . . what the heck. Everyone needs a folly at least once in their life, right? Besides, the bug is the only car I have ever owned, and I’m the only owner it has ever had. Such uniqueness should be celebrated, if only by a new engine.

Once the work is done, I still can’t set out. I need to drive it around town for at least five hundred miles to break in the engine and maybe take a short trip or two before I attempt a cross-country trip. So that’s what I’m planning.

Yep. Always planning, folly or not.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

***

Makes me wonder what plans these seabirds had made — or not made — for them to end up in a parking lot in the desert, waiting for a ride back home.

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Bates Motel Anyone?

November 7, 2015 — Pat Bertram

If I disappear for too long, be sure to tell the cops to look in the backyard of this house for my dismembered body parts. Not that I am in danger of anything but being creeped out, but still, the atmosphere here does give rise to such imaginings. I’ve always claimed I don’t have much of an imagination — and I don’t; I can only marvel at the macabre scenarios people come up with — but this is a case of no imagination necessary.

I’d been looking for a place to stay, and there was nothing even remotely appropriate (the best was a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a pit bull roommate — the canine kind). So when a friend (a now erstwhile friend) offered to rent me the master bedroom of her house that will soon be on the market, I jumped at the chance, especially since the deal came with the use of the garage.

I should have known this was not going to be the sinecure it seemed when my ex-friend’s mother (who had been living in the house until recently) came to give me the keys and the garage door opener, and the garage door opener didn’t work without a lot of fiddling and hand banging. Turns out the battery was so old and rusted and leaky, that it must never have been replaced. I cleaned it and replaced the battery, and now the opener works fine.

The room looked nice enough, but still, I kept my socks on the first night since I didn’t want to walk on the floor until I had a chance to clean it. Good thing. The floor turned out to be filthy. Dog hair galore. I had to throw away the socks. After a day spent scrubbing, the room is now clean and livable, with my own sheets, pillows, and comforters on the bed.

Luckily, the door of this master bedroom can be locked because here is where it gets immeasurably creepy. There are molting plants everywhere except my bedroom. Not genteel geraniums or a well-behaved rubber tree, but a forest of weeping plants, folliage drooping and cascading over tables, with tree-like plants by the fireplace and parked in corners, even a partcularly unattractive leaf-dropper in my bathroom.

Moving on to the kitchen. No. Let’s not. I stay away from there, though I am supposed to have kitchen privileges.There is not a single surface, table, chair, counter, shelf in the refrigerator or freezer or cabinet that is not completely packed with food, some of it open, most of it long expired.

Do you see that I am leading to the piece de resistance?

The house comes complete with its own resident ghoul. Actually, I am not being fair. The late-middle-aged fellow, who speaks not a word of English, has mental problems of an undisclosed nature. He talks to himself, has night and day inverted, and is somewhat of a recluse. He had been married, but she walked out on him. His best friend decamped, and after his sister kicked him out, my friend took him in. Supposedly he is harmless, but he is not at all affable, though he did wake me up at 6:00 one morning to offer me a piece of gum. I think that’s a good sign. At least, I hope it is. Besides, the dozens of cloying angels perched on every spare surface will look after me.

His room is on the opposite end of the house, so I don’t see him much. And I take comfort knowing there is a door on the shower rather than a curtain.

Best of all, this is good preparation for when I take off next month, heading into the inhospitable winter.

If I survive.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

My newly restored beetle has nothing to do with this post, but I am using the image anyway because it is one of the few things that currently makes me smile.

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End of Internet Service

November 5, 2015 — Pat Bertram

This will be my last day of wireless service, at least of the guaranteed/secured variety. I will have access to wireless at public locations, of course (assuming I want to bring my computer to such places) and I will have my phone. But easy access will be gone until I again stay at a house with wireless.

I have rented a room in a house where I will be able to also house my car. Wireless? Garage? It would have been a hard decision to make, but in truth, it was the only viable place I could find. I spent one appallingly depressing day checking out various places, and oh, my. One house was basically a warehouse for old, used up men, one of whom was a stroke victim who had not fully recovered, and another who was slowly being consumed by Alzheimer’s. Another place was okay, but the person renting the room was using it at the moment, so basically it would have been a bed in the middle of chaos. And the third place. Eeek. I am not a neatnik by any means, but the place was littered with trash and stunk. Oh, my.

But, with a bit of effort and luck, things did work out. If the only drawbacks are no internet, a long commute, and a morose roommate who keeps to his side of the house, then I came out ahead, especially since the mastewindr bedroom I will be renting comes with a lock and a key. And anyway, no internet means no distractions, so perhaps it would lead to working on my book.

The place I’ve been staying the past couple of nights has no heat, and I’ve been freezing, which has made me wonder about my sanity in attempting a cross country trip in winter, even if only along the lower edge of the country. But I am getting restless and need an adventure. Besides, the whole point of an unsettled life is to take what comes, and winter is definitely coming. And I am going.

I will still have my phone to keep in touch. Will let you know what is going on as I find out. Meantime, keep warm!

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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At Home No Matter Where I Am

October 25, 2015 — Pat Bertram

When one moves to a new house or apartment, it seems to take forever to get settled in, but when one lives more of a nomadic life, it takes almost no time to become entrenched.

I’ve been housesitting for about seven weeks now. The owners will be returning in a few days, so I spent yesterday morning clearing out the bulk of what I’ve had here with me and settling the items in my cleanstorage unit. Admittedly, many of the things I stored were purchases for my upcoming camping trip, such as my tent and camping lounge chair rather than items I’d removed from storage for personal use. (BTW, that folding lounge chair is huge!! It folds up way bigger than the specs said, and barely fits in my car but will be a great camp cot.)

It feels funny buying things. I don’t like shopping, don’t like “things” and yet, my upcoming road/camping/hiking trip is so far out of my normal lifestyle that I have very little that translates from a sedentary life to a mobile one.

I’ve been getting most of the stuff I need online. Whenever I go to a sporting goods store, I can’t find what I want and can’t find anyone to help me. But I can research online without trudging down huge aisles of stuff that I don’t want and that wouldn’t fit even if I did want. Besides, some of my gear comes from specialty companies, such as Pacerpoles and Solo Stove, a camping stove that uses bits of twigs for fuel. Not that I plan on cooking (I don’t cook now, at least not much), but it will be nice to be able to have a warm drink on a cold night and to have a hot water bottle to warm the bed. (I’m chilled at night now, and it’s a torrid 72° in the house. But then, I’m adapted to the heat, and — fingers crossed — I’ll adapt to the cold.)

I’ve been spending so much time preparing for my trip that it didn’t really hit me until last night that I’m planning on camping in the winter. Winter? I must be out of my mind, especially since this will be my first attempt at such an escapade, and most especially since this will be an El Nino year. Even along the southernmost border, the weather could get very cold and very wet. Eek.

And yet, why not? I will be staying with friends along the way, and in between, if it’s too wet for camping, I can get a motel. Besides, it’s all about the adventure. Seeing what I can do with what life throws at me and seeing what I can throw back at it.

Still, I will be prepared for emergencies, if not mentally, then physically, with a carload of warm clothing and survival gear. And, of course, I’ll have my phone, along with a solar charger (assuming there will be some sun somewhere) and an external battery. With a phone, I should be able to keep track of the weather, even if only sporadically, and make plans accordingly. Adventure is one thing. Danger is something entirely different, and it’s not on my agenda.

I seem to be getting far from my original premise of this blog about how quickly I manage to get settled in now that I’m sort of nomadic, but perhaps I’m still on target. After all, no matter where I am, there my home will be, and it will be nice to feel at home wherever I am.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Building a New World for Myself

October 20, 2015 — Pat Bertram

When a writer builds a world for her novel, she can either begin with the known earthly world and add details to make it her own, or she can create a world from scratch, building the world from the outside in. First, the broad view of how the world looks, smells, feels. Second how the inhabitants make this world their own with cities, farms, and designated wild areas. Third, the infrastructure of this world — the basic divisions of society including cultural, racial and governmental . Fourth, the creatures of the world and how they relate to their environment and each other. Finally, the minutiae of life in this special world — how and what the inhabitants eat and drink; how they deal with bodily waste, move around, survive, find comfort.

heavenI  frequently think about a writer’s need for worldbuilding now that I am carving my own world out of the known world. I’ll be leaving in a couple of months for a road/camping/hiking trip, and though the first three steps of worldbuilding are already in place (I am going adventuring to see what is there, not creating the environment itself), I hope to find new ways of relating to the world and its creatures. To this end, all the minutia of life in this new world has to be thought out.

For example, when some people take off on such a trip, they acquire a recreational vehicle, a home away from home that is larger and more luxurious than the places most of the world’s population live. Other people go minimal — taking just what they can carry on their backs.

Me? I’m far from wanting the conspicuous consumption of the monster RVs, or even the convenience/inconvenience of a camper, but I’m also not yet ready for a minimalist adventure. I will have a car (though my automobile is rather minimalist, now that I think about it. An ancient VW Beetle is about as minimal as you can get and still be driving an enclosed vehicle). I will stay with friends occasionally or in motels when inclement weather so dictates. But for the rest of it, I have to create my own world. What sort of shelter will I use? How will I stay warm? What will I sleep on? How will I deal with body functions in the middle of a frigid night? What will I wear? What will I eat? How will I cook? How can I create a modicum of comfort?

So many details!

I’m not going off on an expedition to a remote corner of the galaxy, where I need to bring everything for survival. I probably will never be more than an hour or two drive from civilization, where I can rectify any oversight or under buying, but still, the point is to be as self-sufficient as possible. Or maybe not. Maybe the point is to prepare as best as I can and see happens.

One of the things I want to seek on this expedition is darkness, places that are far from the light pollution of cities, where stars are so numerous you feel as if you are falling up into the sky. Last night I had a vision of myself in a lounge chair, lying under the stars, and letting myself fall into the infinite sky. Romantic, I know. The truth is probably more dangerous and uncomfortable — frigid temperatures, no protection from the small creatures of the night, and none from the large bidepal ones. But still, I’ve been searching for a strong and comfortable folding lounge chair to make my vision a reality.

Other details I still haven’t worked out, such as disposal of body waste. I had planned on getting a portable camp toilet since I’m not sure I have the muscle tone to squat for as long as I would need to do to my “duty,”  but so far I haven’t found one I like. Maybe plastic bags and kitty litter would work. And maybe I am stronger than I think.

Some people find my preparations amusing, and to be honest, sometimes I do too. But I also find the mental exercise a challenge — rethinking every part of life to see what the alternatives are.

In this, too, my preparations reflect the way a writer builds her world, because isn’t writing about rethinking life as we know it to see what the alternatives are?

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Pitching a Tent Without Pitching a Fit

October 11, 2015 — Pat Bertram

A while back, I ordered a backpacking tent, but since my first camping trip will be more of a car camping expedition, I searched for a second tent. It didn’t need to be big, but I wanted more than just a waterproof coffin to sleep in. I liked the idea of being able to stand up and maybe move around a bit, and I didn’t want to have to scramble out of a miniscule door when I was half-asleep to answer nature’s call. (To be honest, I wanted room so I could set up a camp potty so I wouldn’t have to go scrambling outside in the middle of the night.)

I found what I thought was a tent taller than it was wide (which is how the picture looked) but it turns out the tent is hexagonal and the angle of the photo was deceptive. It turns out the tent was about 10 feet wide and six and a half feet tall.

Still, despite incredulous questions as to why I would want such a large tent (this from people who own humongous RVs), I ordered the tent. Because it was a discontinued model, it was cheap, so if it doesn’t work out, I don’t lose much. In fact, all I have to do is sleep in the tent three or four nights instead of at a motel those nights, and the thing will have paid for itself.

I was worried about setting up the tent — most 6-person tents have more than one person to help with set up, and all I have is me — but the tent it
self was easy. The rainfly was a different matter. I think anyone would have had a problem getting that rainfly up and over the top of the six-and-a-half-foot-tall tent without it sliding off, so I don’t feel bad that my first two attempts didn’t work out. It will be easier in the future because now I know how to toss it over the top of the tent, what the fly actually looks like, and what side faces out.

I’d be sitting in the tent enjoying my accomplishmet if it weren’t so hot in there at the moment. (Almost 100 degrees outside and not a hint of a breeze. Eek.) One good thing about the height of the tent
— if it’s too hot to sit inside, I can always enjoy the shade it provides. (I’m wondering if I slip a space blanket between the rainfly and the tent if it will deflect some of the sun’s heat. Or not use the rainfly, but attach a tarp on the sun side for clear days.) But the tent is mostly for nights. And mostly to keep me from thinking about bugs and small animals pestering me — and festering me — while I sleep.

The tent will fun for a while at least, like the playhouse I never had, and it will give me an idea of what — if anything — I can handle when it comes to intermittent nomadic living. (As much as I can plan anything, at the moment, I am planning a couple of months on the road, then coming back here for a couple of months if I can find a place to live, and then . . . who knows.)

I’ll air the tent out for a bit, then fold it up and pack it away. I have a hunch putting it away is the real challenge! (If the tent looks amateurish, all loose and wobbly, it’s because I didn’t staked it out. It’s hard to pound a stake into concrete.)

It might not seem like much of a step toward adventure, but by such small steps, a new adventure begins.

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(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Mini Adventure

October 10, 2015 — Pat Bertram

Note to self: Do not take empty backpack to grocery store.

I needed a bit of adventure today. Since I don’t seem to see the sense in driving somewhere to walk, I decided to do a sort of hiking tryout starting from the house I am currently sitting. I donned my new hiking socks, new hiking shoes, grabbed my new pacerpoles. At the last minute, I decided to take another campingpair of shoes in case I happened to encounter issues with the stiffly new shoes, so I stuffed the old ones in my backpack (not a daypack) and headed out. The only unpaved area to walk around here is a vast field with paths leading to a shopping center, so I figured while I was there, I would pick up a couple of things at the grocery store. Those “couple of things” turned out to be an assortment of oranges and apples, eggs, a couple of canned goods, a few protein and fruit bars, and various other things my hungry/thirsty self seemed to think it needed. All fit in the pack, but eek. It weighed at least fifteen pounds.

The 2 1/4 mile hike to the store was downhill, and with an empty pack and my new pacer poles, I just skimmed along the pathway. The way back, obviously, was uphill, and with all that weight on my back and hips, I did more plodding than skimming, though I can’t blame it all on the weight of the pack. By the time I headed back, the moderate temperatures had blazed into the high nineties. (I don’t often finish a bottle of water on such a short hike, but I’d drained the whole thing before I got back.)

It turned out I didn’t need the extra pair of shoes. The socks did what they promised and kept me blister free. The pacerpoles also did what they were supposed to, kept me upright, shoulders relaxed and back, and distributed the weight more evenly. The only problem is, now my whole body aches, not just my feet!

I don’t suppose this is much as adventures go, but it satisfied something in me, smoothing out my sorrows, giving me a chance to use the hiking gear I’ve been assembling. I hadn’t planned on starting out walking with a fifteen pound pack — I’d thought eight pounds was more of a beginning weight — but I managed to get back all in once piece and uninjured. Always a good thing!

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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Keep On Trekking On

September 27, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I’ve been following a few women’s hiking groups on Facebook, one each for the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the John Muir Trail. I joined these groups when I thought there was a chance I would be thru-hiking one of the trails, but I really don’t think I have the strength, stamina, or will to attempt such a massive project. (The food planning alone is staggering, considering that you have to plan for six months, and in some cases, have to send the food on ahead and hope you get to it before desperation sets in.)

WANDERLUSTThough I’ve set my sights on a smorgasbord of shorter trails, working up to multi-day backpacking trips, I’ve kept up with the groups, because you never know where life might take you. (At least I don’t where life is taking me. You might have a better concept of your path than I do of mine.)

I’ve paid particular attention to discussions about gear. The trouble is, the advice is so conflicting, it’s almost impossible to sort out what would be best for me as opposed to what is suitable for younger, fitter, thinner women. Most of the gear I have purchased I found on my own, though I still don’t know if it will work for me. The tent I got is a backpacker’s dream, lightweight and easy to set up, but a bit claustrophobic for general use, so now I’m looking for something a bit larger for car camping, where perhaps I would have room for some sort of folding lounge chair. Conversely, since the sleeping pad I got is a bit heavy for backpacking, (though that’s what it was intended for), I’m looking for a lighter pad. And a warmer sleep system.

Recently I’ve been researching trekking poles since I need new ones. (I only have one that’s about worn out, and my hikes in the Redwood Forest proved the necessity for two). I’d just about decided to get a couple of the one I am now using when I noticed a brief mention of Pacerpoles in one of the groups. I immediately went to the Pacerpole site, watched the videos, read the theory, and was sold. Oh, my. These poles are completely different from regular hiking poles — they work to keep you upright, better balanced, and better posture, as well as allowing for a normal arm swing. Although the poles are not ultralight, apparently, the way they work, they don’t demand extra strength or energy. But they are only available from Britain.

No problem. They ship anywhere, and shipping costs are included in the price. And PayPal so kindly sent the euros to the Pacerpole folk so I didn’t have to worry about currency exchange. A few minutes ago, the Pacerpole folk emailed me. The poles are coming via Royal Mail. How cool! My first international mail! Well, my first overseas mail — I have had Christmas cards from a friend in Canada.

What cracked me up is the Pacerpole people sent me homework to do while I’m waiting. Videos to watch, information to read, proper body form to practice. Now I just have to wait a couple of weeks until they get here.

Meantime, I’m preparing for my road trip across the southernmost part of the country. I’d hoped to be more spontaneous, just stopping upon whim, but I know me — if I didn’t make plans to stop, I’d get into the car and drive until the car needed to be filled with fuel and my bladder needed to be unfilled. And then I’d just keep driving to the next pitstop. Since that is not what I want on this trip, I am researching various National Parks and Monuments with campgrounds and hiking trails along the way. I might not visit any of those places, but at least I’d have shorter driving goals, with a hike to look forward to if whim doesn’t stop me anywhere else along the way. (For those of you who like to plan, you’d be so proud of me — I have a notebook with maps, camping information, hiking trails, and any other information that would be helpful, such as food storage tips to keep from attracting mountain lions. Eek.)

I’m hoping by the end of the trip, I’ll be a seasoned camper, maybe even backpacker, and then . . . who knows. Probably back to dance class for a while to unkink and restore myself, while I replenish my supplies and get my car tuned up for whatever comes next.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)

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