We base our decisions on past experiences. ( I.E. A child quickly learns the harsh lesson of a hot stove top. )
So after a decade’s worth of visits to Death Valley National Park in the months of February and March, I deemed it warm enough for a month long layover from true winter. Alas, Ma Nature has a way of monkey wrenching the best of game plans. In that time frame Death Valley had below average temperatures and above average winds, dank clouds and precipitation. Bummer for me.
While there, I was able to recruit Greg L. ( a former firefighter colleague ) to backpack the Cottonwood/Marble Canyons Loop with me. Of course, it was cooler than normal. Ice formed overnight on nearby puddles. I froze my tuchas off the two nights we camped. Of course I whined about it. ( The 28th Amendment guarantees me the right to complain. If everyday citizens can possess a weapon of mass destruction, I should have the Right to whine. )
After a while, Greg had enough. I can’t blame him. I can become the Wandering Wondering Whiner pretty easily. He said, “Jeff! You need to get over this cold weather obsession.”
I replied, “Greg, I envy people like you. I wish I could handle all the seasons. My life would be so much simpler.”
As we started hiking ( me wearing two layers of fleece while Greg wore a cotton T-shirt ), I thought about what he said.
Then it dawned on me, I come from a long line of Cold Weenies. It’s in my DNA.
Mike and Robin ( the best brother and sister-in-law in the World ) split their time between Palm Beach, FL and Queens, NY.
My Dad, Sid spent the entire year in South Florida. No Snowbird action for him. Sid rarely flipped on his AC even in the muggiest most sultry of Delray Beach summers. He might have been a Cold Weenie, but he was no Heat Weenie.
Recently, Israel sent 10 competitors to the Winter Olympics in South Korea. Let’s just say the results were no “Miracle on Ice.”
Go way back to Biblical times. Read about Moses leading his manna munching Tribes for 40 years through the Empty Quarter of the Mideast. Hebrews are the People of the Desert. No one calls the Jews the “Frozen Chosen.”
Being a Cold Weenie is in my blood. I’m unable to click my flip-flops together three times ( with eyes closed ) and say out loud, “I’m going to live in a Igloo. I’ll bide my time making Snow Angels while naked.” It’s not going to happen.
So...one day I’ll probably settle down half the year in Colorado. The other half in Snobsdale, Arizona. This might happen sooner than later.
From cold ( of course ) and windy Bishop, CA.
A chilly Cheers,
PS. All the photos are from the Cottonwood/Marble Canyons Hike. That’s Greg who now knows I’m a Cold Weenie.
Final photo. There are alligators in Death Valley NP.