Go To Guate: Climb Acate
Examining my sleeping bag as I unravel it, I am relieved to see it is a proper sub-minus piece of kit. Not that I’m some sort of born-again Edmund Hillary-type, but you never know with these “adventure tour” outfits — some of them may as well send you off with a handkerchief and a glass egg cup for all the credibility of their equipment.
But nope, not this time. Be gone nature, we have Thinsulate!
I sink back into the legitimacy of down and allow my eyes to close.
BOOM.
Eyes snap open. Bolt upright, I scramble towards the entrance of the tent. Fumbling with the zip, the air fills with whoops and cheers of our fellow campers. Their glee echoes fragile and human above the rumble of earth belly beneath us.
Parting the canvas flaps — and there is no way not to make that sound gross — I gasp. Audibly. Like a cartoon character. Or, perhaps more aptly given the flap-parting, a porn-star.
What. A. Sight.
The moon is rising to the east…
Categories: The Expeditioner