From what has your bad luck saved you?

I am rather fond of this photograph from the batch I made this past week, but it has nothing to do with what I'm about to share.

Buddy and I went out for another try at tenting last week. I should mention that we've been backpacking a few times, but the storm/wet-and-muddy-dog-in-tent debacle reported previously was the first time Buddy slept inside a tent. Normally, I just leave him tethered outside the tent, though this also has drawbacks, namely barking at all the creatures stirring in the night. But, my point: tenting, round two, with Buddy inside the tent, rain or no.

I arrived at the dispersed camping area--a few spots with fire rings along a forest service road--and was sole occupant, at least so far. I setup the tent, inflated the sleeping mat, unrolled a pad for Buddy, laid out my sleeping bag and pillow. Sleeping arrangement squared away, I buckled Buddy into his pack and I in mine and headed out for a 12-mile hike on what was a beautiful, blue-sky day.

A good hiking experience all around. Buddy did great and now understands I want him behind me on the trail. His recall isn’t perfect (and may never be), so I keep him on leash. Buddy’s a big dog with a ton of energy, but I've noticed wearing the pack tires him more quickly. So, getting to be a better trail dog all the time.

We returned to camp around 7:30pm, thirsty, tired, and hungry. As the vehicle came into view, I was thinking about the bean taco salad I would have for dinner and the hopefully still ice-cold Coke I was going to drink.

But that's when I saw it. Or, rather, didn't see it.

Where, pray tell, is my tent?

Someone(s) liberated the tent and everything in it. Gone, bye-bye, no mas.

If you aren’t a camping person, you might be thinking, “What did you expect? Why the heck didn’t you leave everything in your vehicle and setup when you returned from the hike?” If you do spend time camping, you’ll know that even if I had done that, I would not do so every time, in subsequent days, I left camp for a hike. Usually, people don’t steal this stuff. I've made it this far in life without that happening, at least not camping or backpacking. But yeah, I hear you, non-camper or more cautious human, and all I can say in my defense is that leaving my stuff unattended is a gamble, and, well, I lost this time.

It’s a bummer for sure. I’m not exactly flush with cash these days, and this is gear I use regularly. I started doing the mental gymnastics required to get some perspective rather than just be all angry: at least they didn’t break into the vehicle, and I really, really am grateful to not be dealing with that headache and expense. They also didn't steal the vehicle, even better! I hope they needed the gear more than I do or the money they’ll get from selling the gear and that it isn’t paying for something like meth, say, but then who am I to dictate what someone does. Not in my control.

As I drove the two and a half hours back home, Buddy conked out in the backseat, happy and contented as ever, lucky mutt. Tenting overnight, take two, another debacle. What will round three bring, I wonder?

I recently leafed through one of my old journals and came across this quotation from Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men:

“All the time you spend tryin to get back what’s been took from you there’s more goin out the door. . .. Anyway, you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.”

Thanks, Cormac. I needed that.

P.S. I hope you, gentle reader, are faring well amid these strange and turbulent times I’m dubbing our "great American circus." If you are feeling blue, find a mirror and genuinely smile at yourself for at least thirty seconds. Feels good. Then smile at someone else, genuinely (but not for thirty seconds because that would be creepy). Case in point: Marjorie Taylor Greene at the RNC. Yikes.