In My Element

Day 152: I am becoming one with the lichens, and I don't mean to imply any metaphysical connection but rather a purely physical one. During this fitness challenge, I have put in a couple of hundred miles walking in the rain. Oh, I've been wetter in my career as an outdoors person. My mom and I spent six weeks backpacking in what felt like a continuous downpour, returning from one trip just long enough to swap out sodden clothes for dry ones before launching on another adventure. We were tenting at Blue Glacier in the Olympics on a night when four inches of precipitation fell, the humidity so high that it "rained" inside the tent and left us sleeping in a pool on the tent floor. I've done my time in the rain, and I swore I wasn't going to walk in it for the challenge, but here I am, and lichens, moss and fungi are beginning to sprout on various portions of my anatomy.

Rain is a fact of life in the Pacific Northwest. If you're a native, you accept it and go about your business in Goretex and coated nylon. You grouse and grumble and expect sympathy from people who live in drier climates, but you don't let it keep you from enjoying yourself. The only time rain upsets you is when it stops...stops just as you arrive home from a walk in a drencher.

I missed most (but not all) of the downpour this morning on my trip up to the Big Bridge on the horse trail. It sprinkled, it drizzled, it rained, and only hosed down for about fifteen minutes, but it was never dry, not until I closed the front door behind me, stripped off my dripping jacket and trousers and hung them in the shower. Then it stopped. Then a faint light emerged, not quite strong enough to cast shadows, but sufficient to dispel any rumours of the non-existence of old Sol. The grass took on a yellow cast and mist began rising between the ridges. It was and is tempting to go out for another walk, but I know how this works. In the time it takes to suit up for the inevitable possibility of more rain, it would start falling just as I stepped over the threshold.