I am not an outdoorsy kind of guy. I love and respect nature, but I’d rather curl up with a book and a bourbon-and-soda at home.
Not that I lack direct experience of the outdoors. My folks took their boys in Volkswagen vans and tents to Alaska and Mexico, and across the U.S. into Morocco and up through Europe. My brother Ken and I pitched a two-man tent in Norway, in Brittany, in Greece, and along the Dalmatian coast of what was then known as Yugoslavia … all before I was 15.
Not that I lack direct experience of the outdoors. My folks took their boys in Volkswagen vans and tents to Alaska and Mexico, and across the U.S. into Morocco and up through Europe. My brother Ken and I pitched a two-man tent in Norway, in Brittany, in Greece, and along the Dalmatian coast of what was then known as Yugoslavia … all before I was 15.
So when I met Carole more than two decades later, I still owned a goose-down mummy sleeping bag from U.S. Army surplus in Germany. She may have gotten the mistaken impression that I was an inveterate hiker and camper.
I did drag her up Mount Storm King in the Olympics for the view of Lake Crescent and the Strait of Juan de Fuca the fall of our first year together. We also went on an overnight camping hike up the Eagle Creek Trail (the one ravaged by wildfire last summer) with another couple, and climbed Saddle Mountain in the Coast Range east of Seaside.
We had been seeing each other for two years (more accurately, I had moved into her condo early in that window of time) when she suggested a kayaking expedition in Glacier Bay, Alaska.