...because I'm going to gripe anyway...
So this weekend is our annual winter camping trip. Myself and three friends usually go up north and spend a couple of nights trying not to freeze, then come back and feel all manly for a few weeks.
My pack is big, and I was going to be pulling a sled, so bringing along the kite seemed like a great idea. Snowshoes wouldn't do very well for sliding around on (as my skiing can best be described,) but at least I could get some flying time in, and perhaps drag myself around a bit on a sled.
Nothing doing. The first day, we slogged for about 5 miles up and along lake Vermillion into a nice, biting, 15mph wind. Lovely. Fly a kite in this and I'd end up on exactly the wrong shore. *Grumble.* Well, there's always tomorrow, I told myself.
Not the next day, either. Dead calm. Beautiful day for ice fishing... I would rather jam fishhooks into random parts of my body than participate. Not that there's anything wrong with catching fish, mind you. I just find the tedium as numbing as the temperatures. Note that they don't call it catching. Just fishing. I.e. waiting. I tend to go out of my way to avoid sports that involve waiting.
Last day? Beautiful wind. Steady 20mph, with occasional gusts. We slogged the 5 miles back. Directly. In. To. The. Wind. Again.
Grumble. Hope everybody got out and enjoyed the weather!
James
Stillwater
Don't even ask
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