Gimme Shelter (One Point Ohhhh)

We started, as most people stupid enough to move onto undeveloped land start, by pitching a two-person tent. Simple enough: it kept us from total waterlog, gave us room enough to breathe (only if we didn’t take DEEP breaths, though) and kept the bugs out (MOSTLY). But, a little-known secret: the ground is HARD, by god. And if you partook in any kind of pony mash before bed, unzipping it to get out for a middle-of-night pee is also HARD. And really keeping things dry? Also HARD.

Which is when I discovered that this is why people stay in little pup tents for a night or two at a time, and don’t live in them as permanent shelter.

So, we upgraded, to nylon parachute hammocks strung beneath a tarp. Which, I know, doesn’t seem like trading up, but think about it: they’re cozier on the back, fold up around you just as easily to keep the bugs out, and the worst thing after a night of homebrew is falling out of it on your way to vomit / piss in the woods / jump inside your mate’s hammock for a quick frolic.

That’s right. Sexy hammock frolic. It’s possible. If you can keep a good rhythm and have a sense of balance. Which, let’s face it, is all dependent on the half-life of your own particular booze window. I lied in the previous paragraph. My booze window is never more than an inch open. No sexy hammock frolic for me. Plus, I might share this with my mother some day, and as we all know, I’m a virgin.

Of course, the Wet Season arrived when we made this move (not to be confused with Black Fly Season, Mud Season, or Winter.) Which meant little time out from beneath the tarp. It also meant the second the sun would deign to rear its head, we’d hang everything out to dry and go play in the woods, only to have to rush back when the skies opened back up. But it gave us plenty of chance to read books. And practice keeping balance (AHEM).

We lived like this for three months, under the hammocks, until the arrival of the Cramper. That’s right. A Cramper. We’ve totally yupped out now. Stay tuned.