“Damnit! It feels like my f@*king fingers are going to fall off!” I curse at Daria as we start to reassemble our tent.
"We need to get this tent set up. That storm is coming right at us”
“I’m cold and hungry … and I really think my fingers might fall off”
As the sun goes down, the temperature inside our tent drops to about -8; the matching sleeping bags we bought withstand about-7. Cocooned in our individual bags, cinched at the hood, we giggle at our predicament. Only a few more hours until the sun comes up we repeat to ourselves. This was our first night in the desert.
We’re parked at a campsite just off the highway in Huntington, Utah and the wind is blowing hard. Out across the eerily turquoise lake lies a thick black cloud creeping ever closer to our pitiful shelter. Even with the car acting as a wind block, the stakes in the hard ground don’t give us much confidence in the tent’s ability to stay grounded. We decide the only thing to do is to act as weights and try to get comfortable inside our woven walls. The wind howls around us, as the temperature starts to drop. Our bottle of wine and re-hydrated beans and rice are the only comforts we’ll have tonight.
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