Posted By: Gulo
Sleeping Bags - 03/25/20 09:15 PM
With all the newfound wealth of Americans, is there any such thing as honest camping anymore? I'm not talking about the motor homes and the mega-trailers that folks use these days and call it "camping". I'm talking of throwing a canvas oil-cloth on the ground and throwing an old-fashioned sleeping bag on it. That's your bed. On a normal year, I probably spend 100 or so nights of the year in just such a situation.
Notes from a catfishing trip a week ago...
By 2000 hours, I was comfortably in the fart-sack, but acutely aware that my comfort was probably short-lived. Gusto (my 60-pound cowdog) elected not to share a bedroom with Katie (my 30-pound chukar dog), so he squeezed through the portal in the truck and joined me on the ground. Temperatures continued to plummet, and once the frost began to form, Gusto became rather insistent at becoming my bag partner. Sometime long about midnight, he nosed his way into the bag, burrowed to the nether regions at my feet, and refused any and all attempts by me at dissuasion. Had to be as uncomfortable for him as it was for me, but apparently warmth was more desirable than crowdedness.
Katie luxuriated in the truck cabin 'til almost 4 a.m., at which time she too decided to join in the sardine-esque accommodations on the ground. A modicum of warmth was had by all, but due to the confinement of 260 pounds of dogs and human within the confines of one insufficient sleeping bag (remember blivets?), slumber for all was evasive.
A sleeping bag thrown out on the ground has its own appeal, but I won't argue that it is as comfortable as my home-bed. Couple the sub-freezing air temps with the inevitable misplaced boulder and the occasional (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman)-ants across the face, and I'll vote for my home bed more often than not. Into the equation, insert a couple of shivering dogs, and one finds that the slightly restrictive sleeping arrangement is transformed into a torture chamber that would equal the wildest musings of the Marquis de Sade.
Ahhh, but on the other hand, one must weigh these discomfitures with the positives.....
Notes from a catfishing trip a week ago...
By 2000 hours, I was comfortably in the fart-sack, but acutely aware that my comfort was probably short-lived. Gusto (my 60-pound cowdog) elected not to share a bedroom with Katie (my 30-pound chukar dog), so he squeezed through the portal in the truck and joined me on the ground. Temperatures continued to plummet, and once the frost began to form, Gusto became rather insistent at becoming my bag partner. Sometime long about midnight, he nosed his way into the bag, burrowed to the nether regions at my feet, and refused any and all attempts by me at dissuasion. Had to be as uncomfortable for him as it was for me, but apparently warmth was more desirable than crowdedness.
Katie luxuriated in the truck cabin 'til almost 4 a.m., at which time she too decided to join in the sardine-esque accommodations on the ground. A modicum of warmth was had by all, but due to the confinement of 260 pounds of dogs and human within the confines of one insufficient sleeping bag (remember blivets?), slumber for all was evasive.
A sleeping bag thrown out on the ground has its own appeal, but I won't argue that it is as comfortable as my home-bed. Couple the sub-freezing air temps with the inevitable misplaced boulder and the occasional (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman)-ants across the face, and I'll vote for my home bed more often than not. Into the equation, insert a couple of shivering dogs, and one finds that the slightly restrictive sleeping arrangement is transformed into a torture chamber that would equal the wildest musings of the Marquis de Sade.
Ahhh, but on the other hand, one must weigh these discomfitures with the positives.....