Monday, 05 July 2004 | Tent

[For the last few months, I've needed a break from this city: from bodies clustered in tiny spaces, from restaurants and subway cars full of imposing elbows and knees, and from sidewalks packed with slow, erratic walkers. A break from the constant push of forward movement and productivity; a break from concrete and skylines and trash; a break from sirens and car alarms and ice cream truck jingles. As much as I like this place, lately I've been craving its antithesis.]

...

Martin agreed to go camping with me, but the steps between the decision and the arrival are not easy for either of us. How does one go about planning around unknown variables? I'd much rather just leave and improvise.

All of the official campsites within two hours' radius were completely full for the holiday weekend by the time I called last week. In fact, to camp in Montauk right now, you have to reserve a camping spot for an entire week. Who wants to camp for a week?

Through the tip of a coworker, I decided to head to the Delaware Water Gap on the PA/NJ border, since reservations weren't necessary and camping was free, and, perhaps even more important, we could find an isolated campsite, away from the screaming children (etc.) that we might encounter at a proper campground. Oh, and another necessary feature: the Delaware Water Gap is accessible by public transportation.

We shopped and borrowed on Friday evening, and hurriedly packed early Saturday. Too much food, insufficient bedding, not enough water, no maps. Martin's tent didn't move with him to New York, so we had to pack my heavier and bulkier one. We were laden like mules, and had little idea where we were going.

While sitting at the terminal killing time (after we'd missed the bus we wanted), we discovered that we'd forgotten much of the food we'd planned to take for both lunch and dinner, so Martin ran around the neighborhood collecting replacements while I guarded our stuff. He returned just in time to board the bus.

Once we arrived in the tiny town of Stroudsburg, PA, we took a taxi to look for a trail head. Despite the Appalachian Trail's relative fame, the driver didn't seem to know where to find it, but she was patient while we guessed at where to go. She was chatty, had long, greasy gray hair, and wheezed when she breathed. She had an odd spurt of a laugh that sounded like the cranking of a wind-up toy. We leaned out the window to ask a few strangers directions before being deposited on the curb.

It got easier. We hiked for an hour-and-a-half, stopping to take pictures, talk to hikers (everyone says hello on the AT, apparently), and to put down our packs and rest. At the top of the mountain, we found a grassy clearing that overlooked the Delaware River and we set up the tent. We explored the mountain, cooked dinner, drank wine, played cards, listened to random stations on the radio, and watched the sun set. We could see about 150 degrees of horizon from our site; after the sun fell, we watched premature 4th of July firework shows spurting out of six different towns like bombs and geysers.

Except for the fireworks and the hum of a highway far below, there was no evidence of any other humans in the area. Sore muscles, blisters, and mosquito bites, but I'm really glad all the proper campgrounds were full.

I'll post some pictures soon.