Doorway to the wilderness

The sound of rain on the tent at night is a comfort, and even though it's a wet one, the temperature seems far warmer than some of our more recent nights. Getting up, Buddy gets aroused when he finds a Whitetail doe staring at him from no more than ten feet away. He dashes to catch it, but neglects to stretch. Oh darn! A cramp. He hasn't even come close to catching one despite how freely they walk around Lincoln.

I get some breakfast at Lambkin's (a scrumptious order of biscuits and gravy) while Bud looks on longingly from outside. The cook generously prepares a special box of scraps, however, so his wait is well rewarded.

The wind picks up, and the temperature drops by ten degrees. Hail begins falling and I exclaim, 'Enough of this Bud. Let's head back to Hooper Park.'

Back at camp the walls of our tent are being pounded by the gusts and the tall trees bend and creek. The bitter chill numbs fingers and noses. 'Where in the the world did this come from?' I wonder. 'Guess it's a fitting point to stop and take a day of rest.' Bud certainly doesn't object, as he assumes a fetal position under his pile of blankets.

After hours of howling wind, the night is calm. I step outside the tent at 2200 and am in awe as I stare into a boundless sky of shining stars.