It was raining when I arrived at Kenai Fjords National Park. The result. I had to do one of my least favorite camping duties – pitch a tent in the rain. Early in my camping adventures there would be more water inside the tent then in the puddles on the ground when the soggy fabric finally sprung into shape. With practice I am now able to pitch a mostly dry tent during a flood from the skies much more often. If you want to know how just ask.
Last Wednesday the weather forecast looked foul – 100% chance of rain Thursday night, 100% Friday, and 100% Saturday letting up to 80% by Sunday.
After several weeks along the Alaska coast I’ve learned that isolated showers means a pretty good dousing. Scattered showers are certain to provide a total soaking. Rain had me concerned. Three days before I arrived in Seward it had rained – rained over twelve inches. The railroad was closed. The road was closed. The rivers flooded. I was concerned!
I conducted a survey of all vacant campsites. A puddle formed in my campsite after each isolated shower. A lake had no appeal.
Site 11 was nearby and drainage good. I debated what to bring on this trip. I desperately wanted to downsize – have less stuff. I eventually justified nearly all the stuff I had tried to persuade myself was excess. One heavy piece of stuff I’ve been lugging around for nearly two months is my expedition sized, Moss Parawing. Many times I’ve fretted about having this thing along – more stuff. Wednesday I was praising myself for the foresight of justifying its necessity.
Wednesday evening I erected the structure. It covered the entire campsite. I cozied my tent in under a corner and still had room for my office – a folding chair from Goodwill.
I felt pretty smug.
Thursday marked the start of the moisture – scattered showers all afternoon. Thursday night it rained. It rained all day Friday and Saturday. Sunday morning I woke to the dull roar of rain pelting my parawing. Rivers of water were rushing off the tarp. There was nobody else in the campground, but I was still dry. There was still dry ground around my tent. I opened the tent door and lay there. I didn’t want to get up. I couldn’t take any more rain. It was dismal.
Discomfort became pain. Pain transformed to desperation. I had to get up. I had to get wet again.
I had breakfast in the picnic shelter – alone. A welcomed, quiet, breakfast.
I needed a rainy day activity. There was no way I could spend another day sequestered beneath my wing watching mushrooms push leaves aside or lichens swell. At the base of the alder clumps liverworts were mushrooming into great, green leafy masses. By noon I had convinced myself today was ideal for the Alaska Sea Life Center. It is a small aquarium which was built after the Exxon Valdez soiled most of Prince William Sound with crude oil.
The aquarium was the perfect choice for the afternoon. It kept raining. By late evening I was back sitting beneath my tarp, but it wasn’t just mine any more. As it got dark a thrush would come sit under a dry corner. A Wilson’s warbler occasionally stopped on the tent. A squirrel kept me entertained. She was soaked, but constantly busy. She would dig around a little then root about a different spot. Her greatest delight was in finding small a brown-capped mushroom. The mushrooms had bright yellow flesh just beneath the cap.
There was one other bright yellow object nearby. The stake holding my shelter in place. The squirrel would check the stake out and dig around it then go in search of another mushroom. She never ate the mushroom, just scraped the brown cap off, and then was back to my stake. Her teeth were scraping my stake. I thought it quite curious that she kept returning, but never came under the tarp.
Suddenly there was a snap.
The pole crashed to the ground and the tarp settled over my chair and tent. The squirrel sprinted into the forest leaving me in the rain.
A mushroom foraging rodent had taken me down.
