Cocoposts

Winter Camp Mid-December 2025

I’m fortunate there wasn’t much wind. Setting up the new tent was no more difficult than it had been in my yard. It wasn’t much easier either. I had the poles in and was deciding which of the multiple openings was intended to be the entrance. I was rotating the unstaked tent this way and that when I heard a clucking and tsking. I looked around half expecting to see someone and briefly imagining the spirit of my sister criticizing the present alignment. As I scanned the cliff face, a brief gust lifted the tent up and rolled it back down, the main door facing east. I staked it where it settled.

A raven flew over a couple of times. A pair of them flew in and out of the dark holes in the sandstone that look like so many black eyes. They fly right into the holes and disappear. They watch everything.

My father would have been 106 and it was with him that I last visited the canyon. The entrance was different and the road wasn’t as good. It was winter then too but I don’t recall seeing so many elk. Or any elk at all.  

 It’s a long way to drive for just a day visit. But most people do so it’s very quiet in the mornings before they arrive.

Alone? You’re going to be alone? 

Not really. Have you seen Gallo Campground?

I can’t stand outhouses.

It has flush toilets in a heated building.

What if something happened?

I’d say “help.” I wouldn’t even have to yell. I could whisper it. That’s how close the spaces are. 

The Chaco trip I’d planned for warmer October was cancelled by the government shut down. On reopening I reserved a site in the campground and began amassing equipment including a selection of “hot” tents. Several people told me that my new tent obsession puts me on a slippery slope to RVing. My response is to get another tent.

I only have four now, not including those I’ve donated to make room in the shed for more. It’s sort of like Goldilocks trying beds. The first one would fit a small circus. It’s canvas and weighs over 50 pounds, I decided it’s more suitable for a two week glamping trip. The next is a “pop-up.” I was sent two of them. The first contained a used tent that I struggled to set up before noticing duct tape on a part. I pictured a desperate repair during a storm and decided not to chance using the new one. 

The third tent I got solely because they called it “Coco Nest.” It is inexplicably weird and difficult. Enough said. 

I settled on a version of a “Nature Hike” tent and drove to Chaco in the trusty Crosstrek with a tiny stove and enough wood for several Ancient Pueblo signal fires. A park ranger came around on the second morning and smiled at the huge pile of wood. “Staying warm?” 

I also brought enough food for about a week and planned to cook and grill everything. I spent a lot of time looking for things I’d forgotten and struggling to do things in the dark. 

The first night I didn’t sleep. At. All. The ground is a lot harder than I remember from camping thirty years ago.This was confirmed the next night. Sleep deprived and tired after hiking around ruins all day, I tripped and fell flat on my face. I remained there with my chin buried in the cold very hard ground for awhile assessing all my life choices. Especially that last one of not turning on my headlamp. Blood and bruises, nothing broken or chipped. No one in the campground saw this, though they might have heard a thump and groan. 

Chaco’s campground is three hours from “civilization” but the spaces are about thirty feet apart. You can hear everything. Zippers, voices, coughing, rustling nylon. And it’s against a canyon wall that doubles percussive noises like car doors and amplifies whispers. Thankfully few people camp in December. But that night after nursing my wounds and finally getting to sleep, I woke to arrival of campers right next to me at 10PM. I listened to them struggling to set up their tent in the dark and almost felt sorry for them. They stayed in their tent all morning as I packed up. I tried not to make a lot of noise. But not too hard.