I find a great stealth-camping spot among
some young spruces, well-hidden from the highway.
The only way to find me would be from the air.
And I do see a couple of army helicopters go by,
probably on their way to Gagetown,
but I am unconcerned. I am nobody of concern.
When I pick my camping spot, I stand around for a few minutes
shivering in the rain, unsure about something.
Finally, with numbed fingers, I get moving,
putting up my tent up in double quick time,
throwing all my kit in, preparing my air mattress
and sleeping bag, stripping out of my clothes,
throwing on dry underwear and a t-shirt,
shoveling some food and water into my mouth,
and sliding into my sleeping bag, where I lay
staring at the top of my tent, listening to the rain,
gradually warming up like I am sitting in front of a cozy fire.
But something is wrong. I just don’t what.
I listen intently, wondering if there is an animal nearby,
a bear perhaps, or a mean aggressive domestic dog.
But I hear nothing. Just the rain.
I try to put it out of my mind, but something nags at me.
Finally, I put on my disgustingly clammy clothes
and crawl out of my tent, stand, and look around,
peering into darkness with tired eyes.
How bloody ridiculous, I think, to give up my warm sleeping bag
to stand shivering again in the rain.
Ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous.
Still unsure about what was bothering me,
I decide to be stealthier, drag my tent twenty-five metres or so
deeper into the forest, where the spruce trees
are larger, more mature. There, I am able to finally get to sleep.
In the morning, I pack up my tent and belongings
and head toward the highway. I pass the place
where I had initially camped among the young spruces,
to find that it is a foot deep in water.
