Sometimes at camp you find yourself in some surprising and almost unseasonal weather. December my ass, who needs a tent? The whiskey lubes up the tales and the chili cans get rotated out to cool. The stars shine intensely in the center of nowhere, opening the truck door and dome light blindness sobers the magic for an instant. The day was typical chukar, a few thousand hard fought vertical feet bring us to post-chili-dog-coma syndrome and the whiskey is starting to go mute. Bed rolls produced and it's a summer affair - Warm, no tent to hide the stars, and dry. An hour later we were too stunned to set up our tents when the monsoon arrived, so we scrambled to the unexplored mine shaft 100 yards below the truck. It was wide enough to sleep shoulder to shoulder with our heads at the entrance; the interior being occupied by several large fecal producing rodents and the entrance being the most level, but not quite level. The dog jumping off of us every 5 minutes to get the rodents, to keep us awake. Rain stops, I leave Jesse in the cave and try my luck outside. Finally start to doze off. Monsoon returns, it was just the eye sucka!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!! Pissed. Tired. Still not setting up my tent. Passenger seat of the truck with Moby Dick for entertainment and Jimmy Breeze to knock the sleep in to me. The outcome was predictable: I watched the sun come up and nearly polished a bottle of Beam and read about 100 pages of outdated whaling.
Sometimes it's always worth it.