Photo 6. Trail, rocks, trees, mist
Photo 7. Drops of water from mist on Huckleberry leaves
Photo 8. More rocks, trees, mist. I hope you can imagine walking through this and the sense of mystery and the presence of the unknown because of the mist. So that what you do see you notice more acutely and with a sense of what a miracle each thing, its presence and its visibility, really is.
Photo 9. Here is the astonishing view from my tentsite, including the sky playing its game --blue sky promising me the world, dark gray cloud threatening catastrophe, both at the very same time.
Thanks for walking with me. This last little bit should be lovely. Good weather is predicted and a southbound hiker showed me breathtaking photos (taken on his fujifilm 161, which can zoom and do depth of field and all the things my iphone cannot -- though it did weigh a LOT--what an amazing difference in the quality of photos. He knew nothing about camera adjustments when he started and learned as he went on he trail. ) so I know the trail ahead is very beautiful.
Barbara and her sister camped in this same area (near Ridge Lake). Another camper walked by and I called hello from my tent and told her where she could get water (an access point to the lake where there was clear water easily scooped up). We introduced ourselves (she is Susie from Portland camping with her friend Anne) and I described Barbara and Anita and Angel. A little later Susie came back and brought Angel and Barbara with her! Barbara sat in my tent with me and we talked a little, and agreed that she (and maybe Anita too) will visit sometime on Orcas. We talked about the feeling of ending (she had a sense that this beautiful stretch of trail with beautiful weather, and being with her sister Anne, will make a good ending). Barbara lives in Alabama but spends her summers on the west coast living in her van and doing all kinds of outdoors things--bicycling, hiking, climbing--I forget all the things she does. Anyway, even though this hike is coming to an end her west coast adventures and love of the outdoors are "to be continued. "
I can see when I compare myself to Barbara that much as I love the wilderness, I am more timid in it than she is. I am most comfortable when I am moving. It is hard for me to camp and sit still and just be here. I tried to do that tonight but I really got cold. I guess cold isn't necessarily the same as timid but somehow I think my vulnerability to discomfort when I sit still in camp is a kind of anxiety in these big open spaces. So beautiful. So full of distance and possibilities. So indifferent to me, and yet so encompassing of me.
On a lighter note, not only did I lose both my p-style and my trail underwear, but the zipper on my tent is beginning to malfunction ( it comes open after zipping -- so far re-zipping fixes it, but I think it would not have made it through the rest of the planned hike. I will need to get it repaired. And one of the pockets on my backpack came loose from its "moorings" today. I repaired it with gorilla tape and am curious to see if it will hold. But it seems like signs are coming from many directions confirming my sense that it is time, for now, to say goodbye to the trail.
Goodbye. Farewell. Auf weidersehn (so?). Adieu.
It's never been easy for me to let go. (Like the imaginary cartoon I told you about, when I chose the name River, of a river clinging to its banks).
It surely mixes the metaphors but time for this river to look for the next wave to ride.
Happy trails, happy riding on the waves of your life.
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