It took a few seconds after opening my eyes to comprehend the sound was rain hitting the cabin roof. It took longer to figure out what was going on outside. Within the framed view through the front cabin window the world had disappeared into a gray mist, the stunning Tetons and surrounding forest swallowed whole. I decided to get the full view and opened the cabin door (no matter how many times I exited the cabin there was a part of me expecting to see a bear….no such luck) and besides a few trees near the cabin the world was enveloped by floating, gray fog. Checking my phone it was 7:30 and the gray world could wait. Back into my sleeping bag I went.

Not much had changed ninety minutes later. The fog had retreated to the meadow a couple of hundred yards in front of the cabin and the rain had stopped but my visual world was still a very small place. Outside, my leftover stack of wood was now a wet, damp mess of a pile and I cursed myself for not putting it under the cabin porch. I grabbed the few dry sticks in the cabin, loaded them into the wood stove, and started a fire to boil water for breakfast and coffee.

Before starting my morning chores I had a quick flashback to waking in the middle of the night. Laying on the cot on my back I had opened my eyes to complete darkness. I closed and reopened them several times and finding absolutely no difference I experienced a milli-second of panic to the idea that I had lost my eyesight (forget rabid dogs or telekinetic prom queens Mr. King, the thought of waking up in a remote cabin suddenly blind is true fright), before climbing to the window and seeing a slither of light emanating from the moon behind a thick layer of clouds. A sigh of relief was followed by waving my hand in front of my face as I laid in the cot. My definition of darkness had been updated.

After collecting more wood, placing it under the porch, and retrieving water from the creek for the day’s supply, I made oatmeal and coffee with the boiling water. It is an ordinary breakfast that I have had hundreds of times but eating it while standing outside in the fog it tasted different. It tasted perfect. I was having it for the first time while understanding how precious food can be. I thought about Lewis and Clark and their one meal a day while crossing this fierce land and suddenly I was filled with both guilt and gratitude.

At noon, with the ground wet and visibility limited, I re-evaluated my plan to hike up the ridge. Instead I headed towards the meadow in front of the cabin for a closer look. Halfway there I almost stepped on a small pile of bear scat, the only sign of wildlife I’d seen so far. Buoyed by its small size, I continued towards the meadow. Inside my pocket was bear spray, I carried it everywhere while at the cabin, but it felt unnecessary as I reached the meadow.

Forgive the nomenclature, I don’t know if this area was a true meadow. I do know it was one of the most serene areas I have ever visited. The land is sunken between colliding higher grounds and four or five streams flowing from the high ground converge in the low land. Earth tones rejoice! The yellows of the surrounding grassland give way to various shades of gray, purple, and brown with small trees providing dots of green. With the slight elevation changes of the land and various colors and textures of the flora I’m in Bob Ross heaven. The flowing water of the small streams provided an amazing soundtrack.

I did my chants (ok, I don’t chant but if I did chant THAT would be the place to do them) and headed back to the cabin. The rest of the day was spent exploring other areas close to the cabin but the intermittent rain and muddy ground kept exploring activity light. Towards the late afternoon I gave in to the conditions and napped in the cabin.

Early evening was spent collecting more wood and water and watching the sun slowly dip beyond the trees. The fog had given way to a partly cloudy day and although the Tetons were fuzzy in the distance, the sun and shadows on the higher ground to the right were just as beautiful. That’s the amazing thing about nature. I was standing in the exact spot I was twenty-four hours previous and the land and sky are completely different. The day before my focus was on the mountains in the distance, the next day it was on the land closer to me. In the morning the focus was no more than fifty yards. At night, it is the hand in front of my face. As the sun faded wolves began to yip and howl from the ridge line. When the sun set, they stopped.

Dinner was dehydrated red beans and rice with dessert the second half of a chocolate bar. I finished my “Hiking with Grizzlies” book and read the cabin journal which contains experiences and words of previous cabin occupants. With a long, muddy hike awaiting me the next morning I turned in at an early hour.

Before I turned off my headlamp I thought one last time about this way of life. The simplicity yet incredible difficulty. The heartiness it would take to survive winter. How much energy to find food? Collect water and wood every day?  Again more guilt and gratitude and I decided to leave those thoughts for another time. I turned out the light, disappeared into darkness, and waved my hand in front of my face.