Wiz's 2020 Fireworks Aversion Excursion

Canoes, too, are unobtrusive; they don't storm the natural world or ride over it, but drift in upon it as a part of its own silence. As you either care about what the land is or not so do you like or dislike quiet things--sailboats, or rainy green mornings in foreign places, or a grazing herd, or the ruins of old monasteries in the mountains... Chances for being quiet nowadays are limited. 

John Graves

With the canoe, dogs, and gear packed for five days, my aunt and I set out in search of the quiet of which Graves writes. That limited quiet that is becoming more and more difficult to find in this world. 

You see, Wisdom, my 12 year old Golden Retriever goes into full blown, upsetting panic attacks from loud noises. So each July 4th, she and I take to the wilderness to walk or paddle away from the noise. Everything we need is on our backs or in our boat, but mostly, it's around us. We eat lunch under the whistling pines, have supper by the lake. The only sounds are those of nature and our dinner plates. This year we shared our annual excursion with my beagle puppy and my aunt, and we were banking on Sparks Lake. 

We arrived at the lake with just about everyone else in Oregon it seemed and launched our boats as quickly as possible. As we paddled away, two Sandhill Cranes worked the reeds by the crowded boat launch oblivious to the torrent of people and different water toys or maybe in spite of it. What other choice do they have, I suppose? Do any of us have? I wish you well, I thought, and returned my focus to my excited puppy bouncing around the bow of the canoe. Swimming wasn't high on my list of things to do at the moment. The lake was busy and we needed to find a spot to call home for a few days. Paddling down a quiet arm, we found it. A place to claim that had everything we were looking for- a sandy beach, flat terrain, a place for the stove, privacy, and a view. These things mean something in the wilderness. 

Wiz settles into camp as the moon rises over Mt. Bachelor in the background. 

We set up camp and ate dinner, but the chilly night and ban on campfires for the duration of this year's wildfire season pushed us into our tents early. I heard the Sandhill Cranes somewhere behind  my tent also preparing for the night ahead just as they had for the last nine million years. Their call, rolling through the trees and the millennia, sang me to sleep.

My beagle took no heed to their ways and abruptly woke me the next morning with a grumble and a paw to the face at six am. Six am! There is no business being up and out of the tent at six am, but try telling that to a beagle pup on only her second camping trip. 

So, on a cold morning with everything covered in frost and the sun barely awake itself, Ruthy and I started our day. Which is to say, we sat cuddled in a camp chair, shivering, waiting for the earth to warm. 

And warm it did. 

We had a beautiful day in camp and on the lake.

 "The mountains are calling," shouts Ruthy from the captain's seat, "Let's go!"

Thanks for paddling us all the way out here to see the mountains, but now we want to go over there! 

Ruthy, making herself useful 

Enough of that. Now I need a rest. (Me too, Ruthy, me too).

And just like that, July 3rd comes to a close. 

Or so I believed. Late into the night, long after I'd fallen asleep, I woke to the sound of boats. Just the soft bump of a canoe coming onto the beach or maybe a paddle knocking the side of a kayak. I couldn't really tell. Wisdom was sleeping with my aunt in her tent and Ruthy was stuffed at the bottom of my sleeping bag in mine. Neither woke and I decided, even though there was no wind, the wind must have blown our boats together creating the little thump that I heard. I don't like to scare myself or let my mind wander when I'm in the woods by myself, so I accepted that and went back to sleep. Sometime later, minutes, an hour? I woke again to something entering our camp. Footsteps. A deer most likely. Both dogs remained quiet and asleep. I listened closely in case it was something bigger than a deer. Shit, I thought. That's not a deer. That's a human.  

I have walked from California to Washington, camped in snow six feet deep by myself, surprised both myself and a black bear on the side of a trail just a couple feet in front of me, gotten lost in a forest that looked deep and the same in every direction, yet never have I felt fear in the backcountry like I did that night laying in my sleeping bag listening to someone walk around our camp. At one point, the footsteps stopped and I didn't know where he was. Was he right outside my tent? My heart beat so fast my chest hurt. Somehow Ruthy, the dog who barks at everything, remained sleeping. I was thankful for this small miracle because I wanted to hear what was happening or what was going to happen. Finally, what I heard, was paddling. Quiet paddling, and this part is important, away. I just lay there breathing. Breathing and listening. Listening and breathing. Ruthy finally woke up and popped out of the sleeping bag emitting the lamest and most belated of growls. I was still scared, but felt whoever was there had left. Had he left with our boats? I didn't hear any more movement or sounds, so I fumbled around for my headlamp, leashed Roo, and left my tent. Camp was quiet. Ruthy, for whatever barometer she was worth, appeared calm and at ease. We walked down to the beach. Both boats were as we left them- turned over with our life jackets and paddles stowed beneath. What the heck?

Back in the tent, I looked at my watch- 1:15 am. What was someone doing in our camp at one o'clock in the morning? And why did they leave? I was still rattled, but eventually reasoned that some friends got a wild hair late that night and decided to head out to the lake to camp and were looking for a spot. For the second time that night, I accepted a line of thought that kept me calm. I burrowed down into my sleeping bag and tried to go back to sleep.

Two hours later, the world and Wisdom's brain exploded. Kerboom, boom, boom! went the gunpowder and whatever other explosive chemicals go into the fireworks that shake your bones. Poor Wiz lost it- panting, pacing, crying. My aunt had to let her out of the tent or else she would have torn it down trying to escape. All while the frost moved across the tent, the cold crept into your pajamas, the moon shone brightly over Bachelor. It's strange sometimes how so many different things can happen to you at the same time. Eventually Wiz calmed down and we all returned to our tents. I didn't mention anything about our earlier intruder. 

Six thirty and guess who's awake! 

I'm a puppy and I'm so excited for Saturday! 

                                                                             I'm 47 and I'm so excited for this cup of coffee.

 And this one too!  

July 4th passed much the same as July 3rd. I paddled the dogs around the lake, we explored the woods behind our camp, swam, ate, and enjoyed our afternoon. The previous night was behind us and we hadn't heard so much as a sparkler all day long. At one point, a man with a lot of hair and a friendly face came over and apologized for coming into our camp last night. "The GPS my friends gave me brought me to your site. I'm really sorry," he said. I told him he scared the crap out of me and that I appreciated him coming over to say something. "I'm just glad I didn't get shot," he said. "Yeah, me too," I responded with all sincerity. Because that's the world we live in these days. But life is still good and so are most people. 

We all tucked into bed that night feeling hopeful. We hadn't heard a single firework all day or evening. Wiz was going to have a good night, I remember thinking. And mostly, she did. There were some distant fireworks from about 10:15-11, but we got through it pretty well. My Aunt was so kind to Wiz and helped so much.

It was the morning of July 6th that sucked. Our last morning. At 5 am, some fuckers set off fireworks. Yes, at 5 am in the morning, yes on July 6. And yes, you are a fucker if you set fireworks off at 5 am, and then again at 6, in the middle of a National Forest on July 6th during a fire ban. You are not even allowed to smoke out there right now. So fireworks? Yeah, you suck. 

So, out into the cold we trekked again, Wiz in another full blown panic attack. There was nothing to do to calm her down. We just had to wait it out. It was so early and so cold. I would've been surprised if it were warmer than 30 degrees. Pretty quickly, I went back to the tent to get my sleeping bag and Ruthy's dog bed. Someone was happy about that and it wasn't Ruthy. 

Poor Wiz. Next year we're going to Canada, I tell her.  

As it does, time went on. The sun came up and warmed our bodies and our hearts. "Probably just people with nowhere to go and nothing to do," we said. Still jerks, I thought, but with a little less oomph. We're going through a bad time right now, all of us, and who knows how people are handling it. My aunt showed me one way- with kindness and grace. That morning, she gave the dogs some loving words and moved our chairs and them to the sun. I put the coffee on and the four of us sat there, together, ready for the next boom or the call of a Sandhill Crane or even a wayward paddler looking for his friends. Maybe even a little quiet if we can find it. 

The time came to go. It always does. No matter what, I thank you, Sparks Lake. You kept it memorable, and I'm already looking forward to next time. 

Diamond Peak Loop

My dog fears fireworks. Her pacing, panting, crying, and inability to be calmed is difficult to witness and often throws me over the edge too. Because of this, each fourth of July we go to the mountains and celebrate the way of the natural world. We wake with the sun, walk with the clouds, sleep with the stars. My heart is the only thing exploding out there as it bursts with the simple joy of knowing everything I need for the next few days is on my back. Or by my side. We will have a fine Independence Day, Wisdom and I, on the high, snowy grounds of Diamond Peak Wilderness.

I'm blaming it on being the first backpacking trip of the season and me being out of practice, but it took a few false leads and wrong turns before I finally found the trail we wanted, the one to Yoran Lake. As we walked along, I tried not to think how in four miles we'd be leaving the trail all together and relying strictly on map and compass for awhile. Having a good sense of direction isn't a strength of mine - I once got lost five feet from the trail for over an hour - but I did review my map and compass book before leaving home and knew I'd have to face the challenge of traveling cross country if I wanted to complete this loop. But that was still four miles and a couple hours away. At the moment, we were climbing gradually through the forest and the pre-hike jitters I always get when preparing for a solo, multi-day trip in the wilderness were slipping away. With each step, each tree, I felt more connected to the world around me. I was on the trail again, traveling, walking home.  

Three alpine lakes and Wisdom swam in all of them,

     

but soon it was time to bid the comforts of the trail farewell and break out the map and compass. I estimated where on the map we were, where we wanted to go, and took a bearing. Not to mention a deep breath! Then we stepped off the trail into this.

And this

And this

 Somewhere out there lay the Pacific Crest Trail and I hoped we'd find it. 

Forty five minutes and a few moments of, "It all looks the same!" later, Wiz and I spilled out onto the PCT, my old friend. It was a time for jubilation, hydration, and salutation to be sure! 

In 2016, my cousin and I hiked the Oregon section of the PCT and it felt good to be on familiar ground. Although really, this was new trail under my feet. There are many alternate routes along the Pacific Crest Trail that hikers take for different reasons, and my cousin and I took two of them. One was the Eagle Creek Alternate through the Columbia River Gorge that almost everyone takes for the waterfalls and gorgeous scenery. The other was the Oregon Skyline Trail Alternate (OST) at Windigo Pass for resupply purposes. The OST alternate was a tough decision because it meant we would not hike the long contour across the view-packed meadows and rocky slopes of Diamond Peak, a "very special section" of the PCT as one thru-hiker told us in 2016. Ultimately, my cousin and I chose the OST alternate because it fit our needs and goals, but here I was about to hike that "very special section" we missed. And I really didn't put it together until that moment! 

As Wisdom and I walked along, I wished my cousin were with me. And then I found she was, as I relived our hike and memories from that long, wonderful month on the trail. They were all right there- our campsites and funny mishaps, our long lunch breaks and silly conversations that helped pass the miles, our fellow hikers and all their trail names - they were all right there, walking along the Pacific Crest Trail with me once again. I guess these things are as much a part of the mountains and time as the trail itself, and when you know this, you know you need never be alone. 

Later that night at Divide Lake, we found the mosquitos and the mosquitos found us. I guess they liked us, too, because they never left us alone for the next three days! 

Divide Lake

My new look! 

I didn't know it yet, but I would be living in this thing. 

The next morning we returned to the Pacific Crest Trail and continued south. This was my favorite part of the trip as the trail stretched across the east shoulder of Diamond Peak. It was very scenic and very high. Snowfields covered the trail in places and streams just coming out of hibernation trickled downhill. Wildflowers bloomed and early thru-hikers, who began their hike in Mexico, were already halfway through Oregon. Diamond Peak was waking up and Wiz and I could feel it. We were waking up too. I saw it in Wisdom and sensed it in myself- this reawakening to a wildness and a freedom that is almost forgotten in modern day life. And through it all, Diamond Peak, with its stretched out ridge and jumbled mass of peaks and plugs, dominated the scene and that was just fine with me. 

Camping that night at Marie Lake, the mosquitos forced Wisdom into the tent at 630 and I wasn't far behind at 7. They sounded like rain pelting the sides of the tent and we didn't come out from the safety of those four walls until morning. However, as ferocious as those bloodsucking parasites were, I was excited for the day. Hopefully, it was going to yield the main reason we were in this mosquito mecca - the reflected view of Diamond Peak in Mountain View Lake. You can only get the reflection this time of year when the water level is high and the mountain still has snow. Later in the summer when the bugs are gone, unfortunately, so is the view. 

   

Donning bug repellent and headgear, we trudged uphill for a few miles to Mountain View Lake. And guess what? We soon came to a mountain, a view, and a lake. Trifecta! However, the wind was blowing causing ripples across the water's surface. Not ideal for reflections. Would I really have to wait another year for this?!? I decided to break out the whiskey and toast the trip and Diamond Peak anyway. I said the simple prayer I say everyday on the trail and ended it the way I always end it, with the words Thank you for everything. I have no complaint whatsoever. Then I pulled out some crackers for a snack and as I was giving one to Wisdom, I felt the wind subside. I looked up and smiled in some combination of belief and disbelief. There it was - the reason we braved the mosquitos, the reason we hiked an already 18 miles, including some without even a trail, the reason we were there at exactly that moment. 

There are many beautiful places in the world; I'm lucky I can walk to some of them.

The mosquitos at Mountain View Lake are especially hellacious, so camping is not recommended. And if "especially hellacious" means anything more than what we'd already experienced, we were definitely taking that advice. Diamond View Lake lay a few more miles down the trail, so on we went. 

We arrived around 130, and found a great camp hidden from the trail, but still with a partial view of the lake and Diamond Peak. Yet something felt absent. And more relaxing. The mosquitos! They were gone. Time to rejoice and throw my headnet to the wind! After three days of eating, drinking, and brushing my teeth in that thing, it was nothing short of liberation to finally shed it. 

Freedom! 

Wisdom had some luck too. A bowl was left on the trail near the lake. With no one around to claim it, I brought it back to camp and boom! Just like that Wisdom was glamping- with separate bowls for food and water!  

We spent two glorious, relatively mosquito-free nights at Diamond View Lake hanging out and listening to the song of the wild. Our hike ended at Shelter Cove after five days in the wilderness. My cousin and I, in 2016, stopped at Shelter Cove to resupply, shower, and do laundry. We signed the guest book with our trail names. This trip, the only thing I did was stop at the hiker box and drop off two meals in honor of Bee Keeper and Sky Shadow, two spirits who still walk the Pacific Crest Trail together.

For food and hike logistics, read on:

In 2013, I began dehydrating most of my meals for my hikes. I found I felt better with my own food, likely because I cut out all the processed stuff and loaded each meal with fruits and vegetables. 

On this trip, of the 11 meals I ate on the trail, 8 were ones I dehydrated and assembled myself. Highlights included Dungeness crab with eggs, polenta, and veggies (my new favorite trail breakfast!), Curry chicken and rice with veggies, Chili, and Hummus. This was the first time I tried dehydrating hummus myself and it was delicious. I'll never buy the already dehydrated stuff again. This was way better! I can't express how much my morale and strength is improved by having healthy and yummy meals to look forward to each day. I highly recommend giving it a try. 

Wisdom and I were out from July 3 - 7 and completed a total of 34 miles, including a 6 mile day trip to Saddle Lake. We gained a total of 3900 ft of elevation with 2100 of that coming on Day 1. Yes, with a full pack! Of course! We camped at Divide Lake, Marie Lake, and Diamond View Lake for two nights. They were all excellent.

This was a great trip and I'm already looking forward to doing it again next year - as I'm sure the thousands of mosquitos are too. Happy hiking everyone! 

New Faces, New Places

Earlier this spring, my 71 year old Aunt and I set out to paddle 

more than 100 miles from Loreto to La Paz.  

Here's what happened.

March 27, Loreto y Agua Verde, Baja California Sur, Mexico, 0 miles paddled 

It's Go Day! I just took my last shower until April 6. Count them- that's ten days until my next bout with soap and water. Ten days! My Aunt, fiddling with gear and last minute details, stood by her bed. Her hair still dripped from her own last shower and I wondered if she was thinking what I was: Thank goodness for my own tent. Ten days with no showers times two people in a 4x7 space would quickly make for rough living. If any doubts existed about refusing to share a tent, those showers promptly cured them.

As we packed to check out, nerves and excitement fluttered about our stomachs. That afternoon we were scheduled to meet the kayaking group at a cafe for introductions and orientation. Naturally, we hoped for fun, friendly people, but we also hoped for average folks, like us. Please, no world class, long-distance paddlers that we'd worry about holding back... or keeping up with! As the meeting time neared, my Aunt and I hauled our bags of gear to the hotel lobby hoping we had everything packed correctly. "Town clothes," passports, and most of our money were in one bag that would remain in Loreto until we returned; "paddle clothes," a few pesos, snorkel gear, and provisions were stuffed in other bags to go with us. We also carried our travel insurance documents. Travel insurance was mandatory for this trip because of the emergency evacuation piece. If you were to be evacuated, you were to be evacuated by someone else. Once we were underway, there would be no way out except by power boat or by helicopter. A kayak, I guess, wasn't going to cut it. 

But evacuation was far from thought. We wanted to meet the group and start paddling. It was time to go. After introductions and a bit of small talk, Ryan, our guide, presented us with our first decision. Do we set off for our planned location, Ligui Beach, or do we bus further down the coast to Agua Verde and try to beat the wind? El Norte was still raging. Whitecaps bounced across the water's surface and we could imagine our kayaks doing the same. Forecasts called for better conditions, but not for a couple of days yet. Our dilemma was this: if we went to Ligui, our originally planned spot, we would have to paddle around two major headlands the following day and with El Norte blowing like it was, we might not make it. In other words, we would be stuck on the beach using our "rest day" on day one. And we still had a hundred miles of paddling and 10+ days of camping staring us in the face. A rest day further into the trip might be nice. Necessary, even. We had no idea what lay ahead. We opted to bus further. 

Were we disappointed? Of course, everyone was. We just cut 20 miles off our trip. But we understood it was the best decision, not only for practical purposes, but pleasurable ones too. Choosing to bus further down the coast today meant a rest day in the future. A rest day to recuperate and explore. It also meant the potential for normal, 4-6 hour paddling days instead of longer ones because we wouldn't be starting out behind schedule, and as our guide pointed out, "This trip wasn't just about paddling." 

As we pulled into Agua Verde hours later, I began to understand what he meant. 

Would we get off the beach and into our kayaks in the morning? Would El Norte ever stop blowing? And would the question be asked: Do you need to be evacuated? Stay tuned! Loreto to La Paz is just getting started. 

Livin' Loreto

Earlier this spring, my 71 year old Aunt and I set out to paddle 

more than 100 miles from Loreto to La Paz.  

Here's what happened.

March 26, Loreto, Baja California Sur, Mexico, 0 miles paddled

We arrived in Loreto, Mexico on March 23rd to the Posada de las Flores, a charming hotel right on the town plaza. The Posada, as we liked to call it, felt authentic and warm with its sun-burnt pink walls stretching from roof to floor and its gorgeous Mexican architecture. Brightly colored tiles, glazed ceramics, and tables, well-worn and made of iron, welcomed us home each night after a day of exploring. The Posada was the perfect place to land, and we felt lucky that we booked it all those months ago without really having any idea about it, Loreto, or even Mexico! 

It also made for a good practice spot to set up one's tent.

(By the way, when you can set a tent up in the hallway of a boutique hotel, consider it a sign you've got a very small tent!)

But the tent could wait. We had almost four days to prepare for our kayak trip and explore Loreto, and explore we did. Each day we walked the laid-back town to fetch bottled water, scout the two grocery stores, visit the local shops, find the lavenderia, check conditions on the Sea of Cortez, and find yummy restaurants. Vacation already seemed to mean something different this trip, and we embraced it all.

Checking the conditions on the water became a fun and important task. El Norte was blowing and had us checking the wind's direction and strength on the sea throughout the day. These gusty winds from the north can blow in the 30 knot range for days at a time. 

Checking conditions.

El Norte was on our minds, but out of our hands. Ha, no. We didn't believe that. Not for a second. We were about to hold a paddle hours at a time for days. The wind would totally be in our hands. But somehow, we still smiled!

Conditions look good at 5:50 in the morning!

We loved practicing "Spanish" at local restaurants and shops like this one. All I can say is how kind Mexicans are. Also, how good-humored. 

On our last night in Loreto before the paddle south, I lay in bed going over our menu for like the 100th time. Patty and I were responsible for one breakfast, two lunches, and a dinner for our group of 14 people. I approached it from a backpacking perspective (focusing on ease and weight) and came up with a hot couscous dish for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chips and veggies for one lunch and curry tuna on tortillas with veggies and fruit for the other, and gnocchi with pesto for our dinner. I felt pretty good about the menu and hoped everyone would like what we chose. I also hoped we'd have enough water to boil couscous and gnocchi for 14 people. I mean, we were about to paddle into the backcountry of the Baja Desert, an area of the world that receives less than 10 inches of rain per year. Would we be using dowsing sticks to find water out among the cacti and desert shrubs?

Dowsing stick or not, I fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow. Loreto was a ton of fun, but I found myself stare more and more to the south, where the mountains and the sea were calling....

Did we find water? Did El Norte continue to blow? 

Did anybody like our PBJs? Stay tuned for the next installment of Loreto to La Paz! 

Last Paddle of the Season

Two adult eagles, two juveniles, two herons, a kingfisher, 42 degrees, and one snow-capped volcano all to myself. Worth it. 

Why Do I Hike?

Normally it's to return to nature, to recalibrate, decompress. But this August, I will hike for a different reason. This August, I will hike 450 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail in support of Cascade Beagle Rescue, a Portland-based animal rescue with a nationwide reach. Please follow my adventure or join the team by checking out my blog Follow Your Nose- A Hike for Cascade Beagle Rescue at www.followyourbeaglenose.blogspot.com. If you like what you see, share it with your friends. Together we can do great things! Thanks so much and happy trails to you! 

FeVeR!

West Yellowstone, Montana, a small mountain town that consists of less than one square mile and sits at almost 7000 feet above sea level, had me at its edge last week. Suddenly, and without warning, I was overtaken by a funk of sufficient size. Was it boredom? West Yellowstone's version of Island Fever? Mountain Fever perhaps? An apt name for the big sky blues, I thought, as vast mountain ranges loomed in every direction. Never thought I'd tire of the mountains though.

Yet, I found myself dreaming of Bora Bora and yearning for open water. My kayak, hibernating in the garage, depressed me. I was sick of bundling up every time I wanted to take the dogs for a walk and I missed my sneakers. Thai food too. Even the snow covered meadows, my winter playground, became tiresome. The mountains drew close. My mood was as heavy as my boots, and something had to be done. Something would be done. Years ago, probably by accident, I learned the way to break through a funk and return to a happier place is to take action. Get moving. By taking positive action, I know I'm also taking control of my emotions, and that feels good. Really good.

The first thing I did was write to my uncle, explained to him my circumstances. He lives in a small town in Northern Vermont and has for decades. I figured he should have some insight. "Cabin fever," he wrote back later that night. "You've got a case of it." His cabin fever, he said, sets in after five days; I'd been in this less-than-one-square-mile-town for a month. My fever was high. 

"Go," he wrote. "Go to Bozeman, go to the coffee shop, take a drive with a good CD. Just go." A drive with a good CD sounded wonderful. I hadn't listened to music in weeks, I realized. "Go", he said again at the end of his email. "Going is the cure-all for cabin fever." 

Cabin Fever, a condition not found in the DSM-5, but one psychologists agree exists is, as explained by Dr. Josh Klapow, a psychologist at the University of Alabama, "Your mind's way of telling you that the environment you're in is less than optimal for normal functioning." Hmm. Dr. Klapow continued, "It's when you're in a space of restricted freedom for a period of time that you can no longer tolerate." Right. Time to go. 

So, that's what I did. I went. I snapped into my cross country skis and popped in my earbuds. I put P!nk on shuffle and repeat. I took the first left onto a black diamond trail I knew would challenge my ability. I wiped out almost immediately. I found myself smiling. On the next downhill turn, I narrowly avoided a tree. I tacked on a second five mile loop on a day I lacked almost all motivation. I came home with a black and blue toenail. I wrote my Yellostone/Birthday blog. The words, as if locked in cement, came hard at first, but I made myself push through and ended up with a fun post that people liked. My mood improved. All the while, P!nk played in the background.
                   Where there is desire

                   There is gonna be a flame

                   Where there is a flame

                   Someone's bound to get burned

                   But just because it burns

                   Doesn't mean you're gonna die

                   You've gotta get up and try try try

                   Gotta get up and try try try

                   You gotta get up and try try try

There's a saying in snowmobiling, something I've been doing a lot of out here: When in doubt, throttle out. Lay on the gas. Propel yourself forward. Take action. Go. And watch yourself break through. Because you will. You absolutely, undoubtedly will.  

2/25/16 Update: Interestingly, this post generated zero buzz on my Facebook page, but on email, it went crazy! I enjoyed reading everyone's own experiences with Cabin Fever from how long it takes to get it (2 days to almost never) and the steps they take to cure it (the most popular being GO!). If you get a chance and are interested, please share your experience, ideas, and/or solutions in the comments below. I'm curious! Thanks, Lisa