On hiking with a tent

The curious soul might wonder, what exactly is the appeal of backpacking? I take a large, expensive bag and fill it with a motley assortment of things. A tent for starters, then a bright orange sleeping bag. A sleeping pad. A little stove, lots of food and some tea. Oh! And a book. I then proceed to carry all that stuff up six miles or so to a lake. And I read and take a plunge and sit and talk and eat and sit some more. I wonder if the wind will blow tonight and how much I’ll sleep. But mostly, I gaze towards the mountains–presiding over the big lake and basking in the now waning light. They are aglow. I watch a bee bumble its way around my banged-up feet and legs which bear the wounds of clumsy creek crossings and an overgrown trail. I can feel a bruise forming and my muscles tightening as I write; the beauty astounds me. The lake shifts hues in the sun, lush greenery cloaks the mountain’s face before jagged rocks dominate its stoic surface. Half a dozen waterfalls carry freshly melted snow to the water below. Smoke softly rises from a campsite across the way and I, content as can be, shiver as the last of the light floats behind the ridge.