Inside my tent, I feel grateful. Grateful, because otherwise I’m quite sure that I would be quite hypothermic by now.
In my quest to get warm, I’ve rugged up in everything.
My merino and technical thermals, my outrageous $50 Icebreaker socks, my merino beanie, my blue hoody, my red puffer jacket, my Alpaca slippers, my thermal liner, my sleeping bag, and a survival blanket to top it all off.
But my feet are still blocks of ice. Not since last being in the forest have they been this cold. They ache uncomfortably and I half-heartedly hope that they will defrost, if not tonight, then on the road tomorrow.
Some hot food is just what I need. All day, I’ve been fantasising about using my new lighter to start my burner or make a fire.
But tonight the persistent rain has me under house arrest. So it’s biscuits and cold soup for dinner, washed down with the last of the nice vodka. The Troll languishes outside. She is not locked up, but I’ll suffer paranoia rather than leave my cocoon of dryness.
I put up an internal washing line up and light a candle in my Russian train mug, finally giving it a purpose. The small candle warms my damp hands, and bolsters my flagging morale. I relax by the calm, flickering light and save my precious phone battery for the recording of rainy reflections.