Who pooped in the van? ​

Never ever is that a question you want to have to ask.

Do you remember that Dane Cook skit when someone sh*ts on the coats? It’s from a little while back. Okay, a ways back. Whatever. Just Google it. “I think someone may have sh*t on or around the coat area.” Remembered forever.

We were in a rental adventure van, bouncing along on a dusty washboarded road just east of the Sierra Nevadas. We had been scurrying about a field of granite boulders in search of arches. Which we found. But they are not highlight of this story. The poop isn’t the highlight of the story either. Well, maybe it is. It was, at the very least, a somewhat pivotal moment.

Herc hadn’t pooped in two and a half  days. He has not-pooped on an adventure before, but usually just for a day. There I was in the middle of day three, exploring out beyond the popular areas, circling and circling and mumbling about poop. “C’mon Hercy, time to do some pooping. How about this bush? It looks perfect for backing your little booty into! No? What about this one? Yes, I know we passed it three times already and you peed on it twice, but I just need you to poop. I’ve seen you eat all of your kibbs, so I know you have stuff to deposit!” After an eternity -- rough estimate -- I aimed us for the van and wondered if there were any vets in Lone Pine. The leash caught on something. Ugh, what now?! I spun around to see Herc leaving a giant number two. Finally! I’ve never been so excited to see poop! “Herc you are such a good fella! I am so proud of you! Good boy! Good boy!!” We pranced back to the van and started our bumpy journey to basecamp.

Sniff sniff.
No.
Someone must have farted.
Sniff sniff.
More farts?
Sniff.
Damn.

Really hounds? It’s only Friday and we’re in this van until Wednesday.

Cool Whip had the most smug look on her face. For once, she was the innocent one. Herc just looked out the window.

Back at basecamp I shook out the bedding, sprayed disinfectant everywhere, and aired out the van. Thankfully an easy clean up; I knew it could have been worse. Much, much worse. I cracked open a beer and settled into my camp chair. We were “home” and that made everything okay.

I was surprised how quickly I felt at home in our rental rig and location. One night for each was all it took to feel that cozy sense of belonging. Skipping down the sandy road to see our vibrant van seemingly pop out of nowhere amongst the rocks brought on an internal hug.

The locations I’d originally pinned on a map as potential basecamps were all occupied when we arrived. I, of course, panicked a bit. Had I not prepared properly? Had I grossly misjudged our options? What if I couldn’t find any parking spots? Unnecessary worrying. The more I explored, the better options I found. More seclusion. Better views. Nicer roads. Patience is key, Kris. This is what I must remember.

Our camp was tucked well into the boulders with a circular entryway so I’d never have to back in awkwardly. By parking in just the right spot, we could settle around the campfire with a bit of privacy. Which really meant the dogs would not get worked up by any vehicles that wandered through. Peaceful, calm, and undisturbed.

And surrounded by these magical, wonderful boulders bubbling out of the earth with rounded corners and gently creased folds. Surfaces textured just enough to grip your feet without roughing them up. An epic geological playground. Each day we scrambled over and meandered around these boulders, weaving in and out of the granite hallways. Never the same route twice; though we did find a few favorite destinations for the rising and setting of the sun. A welcoming coziness in this jumble of rocks. 

Valley of the Gods was beckoning. The red desert. The open sky. A call I cannot resist.

I made plans. Rearranged them. Then altered them once more. There is always a detour somewhere, so I knew these plans were in no way solidified.

​I used to get thrown off by changes and alterations, but at some point, after finding myself exhausted, stressed, and overwhelmed for the umpteenth time, I learned to let it go. Embrace it. Run with it. Use it as a launching point for the next moment of adventure. I was, after all, out and about with my hounds, which is ultimately my end goal in every situation.

​Thus I found myself on the road a day ahead of schedule, making my way north to VOTG

After six hours and one million dog hairs floating around my car, we arrived. Seventeen miles of dusty red dirt. Camping pull-offs every half-mile or so. The valley was our oyster.

The red dirt greeted us with a dusty coating. The sun welcomed our faces with warm, outstretched rays. The hounds immediately took to sniffing out the best spots...to pee. Everyone has their own priorities, I guess.

Our home base was tucked away down a side road -- a dirt road off another dirt road. There wasn’t much traffic on the main road, but this gave us an extra layer of privacy and seclusion. Keeps the hounds at a medium level of overexcitement.

Herc likes to gets huffy and puffy when other folks pass by: Hey! Hey you! Who are you?! What are you doing so close my mom? Why are you somewhere close enough that I can see you?! Move along! Scram! Skedaddle! Aroooo!

Cool Whip, on the other hand, just wants to know if they brought snacks to share: Hellooo! I see you are a human. Humans have snacks. What snacks do you have to share with me?! Hey, you get back here and give me your snacks!!

I set up camp facing my favorite group of monuments. A perfect view from the tent and the big rock I intended to use as the kitchen area. With evening fast approaching, we spent the last bits of daylight exploring our road and the local ravine.

The subtle hustle and bustle of the valley dropped to almost imperceptible hum. The breeze slowed. No other vehicles passed by. Essentially all I could hear when listening hard with the blood rushing through my ears. I imagined everyone else in the area was in a similar situation: silently staring up into the sparkling night sky. Heaven.

As dawn began sprawling across the land, the hounds started rustling about in the mess of blankets and sleeping pads. The usual start to our morning routines. I layered on everything I can find and we bustled out into the brisk morning air. Our breath puffs floated around us. Herc snorted about, checking for any traces of midnight visitors. Cool Whip sought out the closest bathroom bush, knowing that breakfast preparations start as soon as all potty pit-stops are complete.

Coffee is delicious. Coffee in the outdoors is a little extra delicious. Coffee in the outdoors on a crisp morning is the most delicious. The coffee that morning did not disappoint. In a classic Kris-type move, I had stopped at REI less than 24 hours before departure to gather the remaining “necessities.” This particular cache contained a new drip filter for my morning brew. Easy, lightweight, and small -- win!

Filled with adventure fuel, we set out to explore. We roamed and rambled. Stopping anywhere that called to us.

And that became our routine: Adventure and explore, soak it all in, refuel, adventure and explore more.

​Hiking a trail with a specific route and checkpoints to reach has its appeal for sure. There is a definite point of completion and success. But there is something equally enticing about having the freedom to roam. Success is obtained by simply being there.

Enjoy these sunset views of Mt Rundle from Vermillion Lake #2 while I share one of my favorite stories from our Banff adventure.

FFWD to 3:50AM that night: Us three amigos are deep in slumber in our tent. 

3:51AM: <insert very loud adult man scream/> AHHH! AAAAHHHH!! 
<insert man still screaming/> AAAAHHHHHH!!! 

Cowabunga dude! Wide awake! Bear in camp! 

High alert mode activated: Herc's ears are up and he's sending out aggressive woof signals (deep growl, with a low woof under his breath).

Man stops screaming finally.

CW lifts her head, looking mildly annoyed: What? Is something going on?

Herc belts out his most fierce killer howl!

Yeah, that's right, my thug dogs haven't made a peep the whole week even while the yippy dogs barked all day...until the time comes to protect, then bam! Bring it on bear! 

I mean, we're gonna stay 'hiding' in our tent, but if that ferocious furball comes to see us, we're ready. 

I know, I know... The princess may not have been quick to rise but I know she'd have teamed up with Herc for a bear beat down. She's my #1 draft pick for bear wrestle-mania.

​Mom, we got this tent life down. Seriously. We have our own camp beds, lots of blankets, AND your fuzzy feet to sleep on – what could be better than this?!

​WAY better situation going into this campground than the prior night! No rainstorm, plenty of daylight left, and our site even had a nice grassy area off to the side. Felt pretty luxurious. Add in that the dogs behaved like angels and I started feeling quite confident the week ahead. 

I had all these grand ideas about waking up early each morning to either catch the sunrise or at least be up early enough to leisurely enjoy a cup of coffee and oatmeal cooked over my little butane stove. I naturally wake up at 5am at home, so this shouldn't be a problem, right?

Wrong. While I thought I might sleep in until 6am, or maybe even 7am at the absolute latest if the dogs let me, in reality it was really more like 8am or even 9am one day! Gasp!!

The tent was so cozy that we just enjoyed the slow mornings. The puppies were so content being snuggled in their blankets that I couldn't bring myself to wake them right away. And even then, some morning Cool Whip was like a classic teenage girl: No mom, just 10 more minutes. Just rub my belly a little longer. 
​<3

The evenings were a little different story. Winding down from a day of hiking and lounging before we went to enjoy sunset, a last bout of antics often surfaced. Herc would go snorting and sniffing about to find out how many chipmunks had strolled through camp while we were away, while Cool Whip sprawled out to soak up the last bits of warm sunshine... Of course it's all fun and games until your brother sits on your snout. ;)