Sure, why shouldn't we go camping?

To Multnomah County and the state of Oregon, Karina and I were divorced in June 2014. After a summer of silence and plenty of time to let bygones be bygones, I got an email from her in October. In a three-hour span, we treated email like text messaging.

Karina: “Hi.”

Me: “Hi. Hope all is well.”

She wrote that she had a new favorite place on Earth.

Karina: “Want to go camping?”

Me: “Think that’s a good idea?” 

Karina: “What do we have to lose?”

I had to look up Wallowa Mountains to figure out if I’d been there before. I hadn’t.

The choice was simple: do I go camping with someone who caused so much drama in my life? Sure.

I romanticized the possibilities. We would laugh and laugh. If that couldn’t happen, at least it was a chance to figure out if we could be friends. We could catch up.

Karina seemed genuinely excited to show me her new favorite place, which was in the deep northeastern-most corner of Oregon, near where the Alps of Oregon rose above Hells Canyon and the Snake River. Plenty of sweeping vistas, high altitude, and long stretches to run out of gas, get stranded, and freeze your ass off.

That was the plan.

Because the general area of the campsite was a six-hour car ride from Portland, we decided to stay the night in a hotel in the town of Pendleton so we could drive into the mountains without any hurry. To describe our night in the hotel room as “pleasant” would be an exaggeration. The only thing that salvaged the morning in Pendleton was a mutual priority to check out of the hotel and get on the road to Baker City and then into the wilds outside of Joseph.

The drive toward the mystery-to-me campground seemed to go on forever, but that was probably because we didn’t talk much. I eventually grew tired of getting shot down as mister optimist so I finally figured it was best to stare out the window and think about how the terrain was uninhabitable for all sorts of reasons.

The road twisted and turned—hairpin curves, views from cliffs, lots of trees and then fields, and tiny towns with stories that would probably never get told.

For campsite decisions, I deferred to Karina. She was the subject matter expert. The experienced one. She initiated this adventure so it was easy for me to agree and even commiserate with all the indecision that comes with choices.

Off the main road and into a series of cut backs, we found a gravel road with a cinder-block bunker. It was a campsite with rudimentary features, such as a small bathroom-like facility. We made a loop, settled on a patch of 200 square feet of level space shrouded by trees. It was on the edge of a creek I would call a babbling brook enough times to see Karina roll her eyes. We had the whole site to ourselves. 

“Sure!” I said. “Looks great.” 

If being in the car wasn’t all that much fun, being outside showed great promise. At least we had camp chores to tend to.  

Our conversation could be described as Karina telling me what to do and me saying “ok, sounds good.”

We were civil. We didn’t bicker. I listened. It was like being at work. If I was failing to get it right, she let me know.

I sensed she was working hard at being patient with me, so I was feeling grateful.

The tent got setup without incident.

But there we were in the general vicinity of the Wallowa Mountains, 40 miles from the closest town called Joseph, population 1,000.

I learned the distance to Joseph because once we were set up, we drove to Joseph for a tour of the five-block town, a visit to a distillery, and dinner at a Mexican restaurant.

I felt like we’d turned the corner. It was nice. Dinner was good. We managed a few laughs. I liked Joseph.

Then we drove back. We greeted our tent just where we left it.

I started the campfire fire and Karina set up a mini bar at the picnic table with a pentacle carved into it.

The best way to rehash our evening is to put myself in the third person, so here’s the play-by-play: Karina took sips of her gin tonic with lime. Dan stayed hydrated with water and snacked on jerky. Karina started talking about the last time she camped so close to the Wallowas, which involved a man named Dave only a few months before. Dan asked general questions about weather conditions and wildlife. Karina told Dan that I can’t drop beef jerky crumbs because even the slightest scent will attract wolves, bears and mountain lions. Dan looked down at his jacket for crumbs. It was getting dark. Karina said she was serious. Dan said he’s trying hard not to drop beef jerky crumbs. Karina said he needed to be careful because she meant it. Dan said “ok” and laughed, but shouldn’t have. Karina said to Dan he never takes her seriously. Dan said, of course he took her seriously. Karina said she never felt supported by Dan and never gave her the benefit of the doubt. Dan listened. Karina recapped how Dan abandoned the marriage, gave up and left, which is why Dan was a phony and a fraud. Dan said he loved Karina with all of his heart, in past tense. Karina said he had a horrible way of showing it. Dan said sorry. Karina said Dan messed up every holiday and ruined every Christmas. Dan said he was sorry and that he knows he screwed up. Karina said Dan’s own parents are (or were) hypocrites. Dan thought this was absurd and that he saw no good reason to bring his parents into the conversation. Dan’s dad was now dead. He’d been dead for nearly three months.  

We did a lot of back and forth, but it was mostly one sided. After a while, I could only stare into the fire. I wished I were at home in my warm bed.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Karina said.

“I don’t know what more I can say.”

“Think of something.”

“I’m sorry about all of this.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I’m sorry.”

There was a long enough pause to hope the popping of the fire would lull us and enchant us with its warmth. Then it started to rain. Maybe the rain would work as a distraction.

“Hi, I’m Dan,” Karina said. “I’m retarded.”

“Are you 12?” I said.

This didn’t go over very well.

She’d had too much alcohol. I had to figure out how to get into the tent and into my sleeping bag, which seemed very cold, wet, and complicated. 

Karina was now talking about karma and how I had a debt to be paid. She hoped I’d get eaten by wolves.

“Should we go to bed?” I said, now listening to the rain as drops pelted my scalp and forehead.

“Talk to me,” she said.

“What in the world can I possibly say? There’s nothing I can say right now that would solve anything. You know that. You know I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of the pain I caused.”

More silence unless you count the fire hissing at the raindrops. I didn’t have a hood.

“You’re hopeless,” Karina said. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. And I’ve never known a more selfish family.”

“I know, I know. You’ve told me this.”

“Talk to me!” This time she yelled it.  

“I told you I’m sorry,” I said. “I totally failed you. What more can I say?”

We somehow got out of the rain and into our separate sleeping bags. Karina was completely sad and distraught. I tried to comfort her but she pulled away from me with tears and anger.

Because of the way tents are so confined, the rain was loud and every exaggerated movement inside was amplified.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. Do I seem okay?”

“I’m sorry, Karina. I really am.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“I know. I wish I knew what to say.”

I rolled over onto my good ear, which meant there would be no way for me to tell if she had anything more to say. That’s when I must’ve fallen asleep.

I awoke at dawn to a full bladder. The tent was crusted in ice but the sun was working its way through the trees. I enjoyed getting the morning fire going.

There really is something about the peace and quiet of the great outdoors.  

Karina eventually made it out of the tent. She didn’t look well. Her eyes were red, circled in swollen brown shadows.

“Good morning,” I said. “I heated up some water. Want some coffee?”

She didn’t say anything. 

“You doing ok?” I asked.

“No. I’m not okay,” she said.

I watched her.

“I’m not okay,” she said again, louder. “Thanks for ruining my weekend.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But look! It’s a new day.” I looked skyward. “No reason to be a grump-a-lump. Let’s have a fresh start.”

She glared at me. Her eyes were daggers.

And then things started right where we left off.

“Why, Dan?” she screamed. “Why, why why?”

I listened mostly because I still had no idea what I could say to absolve my wrongs and bring peace. It didn’t help that I found her grievances to be vague, isolated, and all over the place. The drama wasn’t because I was incapable of heartfelt remorse and accountability. I’m quick to admit fault, take blame, and move on. Spite’s not my thing either, so when things turned vengeful, I felt one big disconnect.   

“I think it’s simply because you have no respect for me. That’s all it is. Zero respect. I hate your parents. You’ve made me feel that way. You weren’t there for me, yet I was there for you.” She was shouting this at me.  

I suspected she was still a little bit lit up from the gin because she started talking about how ungrateful I was for all those times she listened to my mom’s repetition. Her rant turned into something about how she always showed kindness to her.

“I loved that about you,” I said, which was the truth.

“But to you, that meant nothing,” she said, which not true at all.

“If I didn’t thank you then, I’m thanking you now,” I said.

“Thanks for taking me for granted.”

I said nothing.

“As always, you’ve checked out and have nothing to say.”

“You were good to my parents. I’ve never said otherwise, and I sure never meant to imply anything different.”

“I drove back to the house when we were at the hospital to get your dad’s goddam teeth and glasses. And then we spent the whole weekend with them. But your life seemed to only revolve around you and your parents. And not only did you fail your wife—me!—but you made it clear I wasn’t important. I have every reason to be pissed.”

I nodded. A big late-model pickup truck pulled onto the top of the gravel road, at least a football field away. He parked near the restroom and water spigot.

“Your family is mean and unwelcoming, but you’ll never see what I’m talking about. Sorry you’re too stupid to understand.”

“It sucks, I know.”

“I hate you. I can’t stand you and I don’t know how you’re getting home. You’re not getting a ride from me.”

She was fishing for a reaction, I figured.

“Good luck. I’m not kidding.”

“Karina,” I said, poking at the fire. I figured she was still letting off steam.

“I’m serious. Fuck you. I hope I never see you again.”

That’s when I double-checked my pockets to make sure I had my necessities: house keys, phone, Chapstick.

I headed toward the bathroom and pickup truck, and Karina started again, but louder this time.

The man in the pickup was a hunter. I could tell because his jacket was all camo.

“Good morning,” I said as his window slid open. We were about the same age, but he probably outweighed me by 75 pounds. “We’re having a little domestic,” I said. “Any chance you’re heading into LaGrande or whatever the closest town is?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. She just told me I might not have a ride home, so I need to start looking at my options.”

“I’m just getting starting, about to do some hunting.”

“For sure. I’ll figure it out.” I shook my head as if to say there was no reason to worry.

“I can circle back here in two or three hours.”

“That’d be great! I appreciate it.”

“Joseph is going to be your best bet. Everything else is a long way off.”

“Ok, thanks.”

“You bet.” He smiled. “Good luck.”

I walked back down the hill to get my book out of the car, but the doors were locked.

“I want to get my book,” I said, looking toward Karina. “Can you unlock the car?”

“No,” Karina said.

“Come on. I’m going to read so I can stay out of your way.”

She laughed. “If I were you, I would start thinking about how you’re getting home.”

“This guy is going to give me a lift after he takes out some bears.”

“You’re so clueless. I hate you.”

“He said he would come back this way after he goes hunting. I can read while I’m waiting.”

She ignored me.

“Come on. This is absurd.”

“There is no way in the world he’s giving you a ride. Ha. You are so out of your element.”

“Let me just get my book. Come on. This is silly. Let’s do this.”

“I hope you get eaten by a mountain lion.”

“Yeah, well.” I stood on top of a rock near the car.

“I don’t want to look at you any more. You realize you’re not getting a ride home from me, right?”

“This is stupid.”

She made one of those snarky laughs. 

“You’re on your own. Leave.”

That’s when I walked up the hill to meet the main road. I looked back as she yelled at me. Both of her hands were held up with her middle finger, something I haven’t really seen from anyone unless it was for endearment. I was already focused on getting home—hoping I’d see enough of passers-by to hitch a ride. And be home in time for 60 Minutes.