Maiden voyage of the wool pants

[tylik]

So some months ago, about the begining of last quarter, actually, I finally got around to finding some wool pants for hiking. (This is when I still maintained illusions that the schedule would allow regular hiking through last quarter.) We're talking $16 army surplus wool pants, though oddly spiffy ones with cargo pockets and ankle straps and stuff. They fit okay through the hips and thighs, I could do low stances in them, and if they were too loose in the waist, hey, I could take them in. Or wear a belt.

So a quarter of a lot more wushu classes has passed, and tshar and I decided to head up to Deception Pass and tromp around. (I hesitate to call it anything as organized as a hike, especially since mostly it was a race against sunset.) So I grabbed all my spiffy cold weather gear, including my wool pants.

I probably would have been better with just my more standard spiffy cold weather gear. My waist is smaller, and maybe the waistband was bigger than I remembered it. It needs to be taken in five inches or so. Damn things tried to shimmy off while we were climbing rocks. And I don't actually own a real belt (all my pants are either spandex, or have drawstring waists) but I'd grabbed a yoga strap, and after a lot of tucking and cinching got them kind of in place. Except my quads are also bigger than they used to be, so it was binding on my knees if I pushed things. (I *hate* that!)

They are warm, and largely water and thorn proof. I'll give them that much. Sheesh. I might yet try to salvage them, but I think I'll look and see if I can find some more promising ones to start with first, before I take on a big alteration project. I'm not sure if I can make up for the tightness around the knees. I really hate pants, sometimes. (Oh, and to finish the day, I brought the more comfortable but lousy for climbing backpack, even though I knew we'd be climbing. I can be so dumb.)

Otherwise, it was a lovely tromp. I used to go camping down by the ocean over winter break a lot. I miss it. There were more people than I expected, but it was still fairly empty. We walked along the beach and over the rocks until we ran out of beach and light, and headed back, and watched the last light of the setting sun fade until a ranger showed up and we headed back to be told the park closed an hour ago. (Oh, well.)

The coast is so neat. I love the rocks, that are so jagged on the top, and rounded and water worn below, and how you can walk from cove to cove when the tide is out (and scramble back overland when it comes in). And how sometimes the rock bits that extend into the sea hide caves, or partial caves. I love the strangely hemispherical islands that poke out about the sea, and the wild roses that grow along the hillsides. (Okay, they were mostly thorny brambles with a few rose hips, and I love them anyway.) And how, as it gets dark, you can see the lights of houses nestled into the countours of the hills. (Generally I'd prefer things to look less inhabited, but there was something very appealling about those warm yellow lights, as if you could go there, and would be welcomed in and given hot spiced cider.)

I also want to go sailing again -- skiff sailing -- someday.

After dinner, we came out to find ice all over the roads, and fog freezing in the air, sparkles slowly falling down like a fine dustin of glitter.