The word that dares not speak its name. But starts with an R.
I've spent many nights shivering under a tarp, many days plodding through sodden territory, days when water pockmarked the ocean as we kayaked, so much fog and rain that it felt like we were in a bowl of water. Rain is part of the experience, and as we used to say in Southeast Alaska, there is no such thing as bad weather, just inadequate gear. There, we did everything in the rain, because it basically hardly ever stopped.
|Here's Annie in a survival suit and hard hat to ward off the rain, near Dry Pass.|
A little bit of rain in the forecast doesn't deter me. I'm not that much of a wimp. It's the "rain, heavy at times" that I am no longer in love with. As a kayak ranger I camped grimly through gales, torrential rains and fog. I don't need to prove my toughness anymore.
|Our rain-soaked camp on one of the Myriad Islands. Feet wet the first day=feet wet the whole time. We had a tarp just for our gear and tarps over our tents.|
|Even an overcast day can be hauntingly beautiful.|