B and I camped in the rain this past weekend. This is a rare and noteworthy event. Usually we do not venture out to camp unless the weather report estimates the chance of rain as less than the chance we will win the 649 lottery.
So we headed to our favourite spot at Pitt Lake, with assurances of "sun with only a few clouds" from the
Saturday morning we got light showers. But hey, we are intrepid. I stuck it out reading by the camp fire, teaching the sun umbrella what a west coast umbrella is really for.
B retired to the reading room.
By late afternoon it was intermittent rain. We did manage to cook our dinner in only a spitting drizzle. But after we went to bed the downpour began. Sunday morning we gave up, packed up our soaking gear and soaking dogs, and rode down the lake in defeat. Tails between legs. Ours', not the dogs'. They thought the weather rocked.
Two minutes before we pulled into the driveway the rain stopped and the sun came out for the rest of the day. The weather forcasters were having a good chuckle by then. Probably playing poker to see who would get to make up the next weather report. At least it dried the wet camping gear.
If you ask me officially, I will say I am only a fair weather camper. But I have to admit, it was lovely and cozy curled up with my beloved, listening to the raindrops patter on the tent. And there is a peaceful beauty in the mist soaked mountains.
Today's dream travel destination: I don't have one. Where I was, was perfect. Just a little damp.