A.M. Scott's Blog, page 13

Two Steps Closer – Cover Reveal!

I’m two steps closer to getting my free novella out. I’ve just received comments from my editor, and I have a lovely cover.

Free for Newsletter Subscribers Only!

I may delay the release a little because Team Rubicon is running six different operations to help clean up after Hurricane Florence. I intend to deploy in October to help out. If you’d like to help, you can still sign up at teamrubiconusa.org. Or you can donate or help spread the word. Check us out on Charity Navigator–we live by the saying ‘Your Mother’s a Donor.’

Donate at their website, or on my Facebook fundraiser: https://www.facebook.com/donate/57820...

Thanks!

Last day for free books from the SFF Mega Giveaway

Click here: https://books.bookfunnel.com/sffmegap...

And there’s still a couple of weeks left for the Out of this World giveaway: https://mybookcave.com/g/58bced60/

Don’t forget–$30 giveaway here too!

Free Books!

I’m involved in two big giveaways for the next two weeks. I’ll post them both today, and probably a couple more times.

This is a great opportunity to find new SF and Fantasy Authors you might enjoy! Just click on the pictures below.

You can win $30 here too!

Proofs Have Arrived!

The proof copies for Lightwave: The Sisters of Cygnus have arrived! Paperbacks will be available for ordering as soon as I verify everything printed correctly.

Aren’t they beautiful?

Hiking Sweathouse Falls

One of the best things about living in the Bitterroot Mountain–a beautiful hike is never far away. Yesterday, the Amazing Sleeping Man and I hiked up to Sweathouse Falls. It’s a fairly easy hike, 2.5 miles with less than a 1,500 ft elevation gain, but it’s lovely.

The biggest challenge of this trail is starting it. To reach the trail, you have to walk through an active quarry, past an explosives bunker. So, if there’s a warning sign up, find another hike! And even if the gate to the quarry is open, don’t park up there. You might get stuck. Park in the designated lot. While we were on the trail, they’d evidently loaded some rocks, but there weren’t any active operations when we left.

The trail starts, like most Bitterroot trails, going west through a stream-carved canyon. Sweathouse is particularly narrow and steep, making it nice and shady most of the time. It stays narrow for the first mile, with a very wide tread. After you cross an irrigation ditch (look up just before the 1-mile point and you’ll see the waterway perched precariously on the cliff) it starts to open up a bit, looking like a more typical Bitterroot canyon with dramatic granite walls.

The first waterfall is the tallest and prettiest. Even after a record-dry August, there is plenty of water to enjoy.

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The second waterfall isn’t as tall, but it’s still beautiful. Notice all the logs? We had record snowfall this year, which probably meant a lot of very fast water over this dropoff, carrying all kinds of things. The logs are pretty heavy, so they stick around.

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It was a perfect summer hike, the day partly cloudy and cool, just one other couple on the trail, and no equipment problems. I even found a couple of lingering wild raspberries. But the signs of fall are appearing–the foliage is starting to turn color. It won’t be long before we’ll need long sleeves, then long underwear, and finally, switch to skiing!

I hope you get to enjoy the rest of your summer!

It’s my book birthday!

Today is the day! Lightwave: The Sisters of Cygnus is out in the wild!

On sale for one week at $1.99! Book 1.0 and 3.0 are on sale too!

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Ebb, Flow and Perseverance

I’ve been blessed to have some really awesome writing days lately. This week, I’ve written almost 10,000 words. Now, some authors write 10k a day, but I don’t. A really good day for me is about 2k.

Saturday was outstanding. Not only did I write 2,500 words on Book 4.0, but I also started a short story.  Then the Amazing Sleeping Man and I went to the River City Roots Festival and listened to a great band called RapidGrass. After we came home I finished the story at 2,500 words. That’s 5k words!

I took Sunday off–went to Church, talked to friends, lazed around and had a nice relaxing day with the ASM.

Today was another awesome writing day. Today, along with Lou Cadle and Eric T. Knight, I wrote 4,154 words on Book 4.0! Will I keep writing this quickly? I don’t know. For me, writing is like a tide. I have great days, where everything flows and my fingers do all the work. Then I have terrible days of tidal ebb, where none of the words want to come. That’s when social media or my e-reader starts calling my name. But I don’t give in to the siren song during writing time. No, I keep writing. Sometimes what I write on those days gets trashed, morphed, or deleted. But sometimes it ends up being critical to the novel.  The moral of the story? Keep pushing even when you’re having a bad day. Persevere. Don’t stop. Because even bad day can end up productive if you just keep going.

By the way, that short story? It’s the story of Saree’s tazan silk dress, which makes an appearance early in Lightwave: Clocker and occasionally in Book 2.0 and 3.0. It’s featured in Book 4.0. Not sure where I’ll publish it yet, but I’ll let you know.

I hope your days are flowing!

Adventures in Wyoming with HistoriCorps—the Anderson Cabin

After nine and a half hours of driving, the last hour on well-maintained gravel roads in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, I finally reach the trailhead. I see a dusty HistoriCorps sign and follow it around to a corral with a Forest Service truck and livestock trailer and a HistoriCorps truck and cargo trailer parked out front. Whew, I really did make all the right turns. The road to Jack Creek Campground is not well marked.

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Walking over to the corral, I’m met by a young woman with a friendly smile and exuberant brown hair, and a young man with an equally friendly, but more intense smile and even more exuberant curly red hair and beard. We exchange names, theirs are Charlotte and John, and confirm I’m 1) the first to arrive, and 2) the only Team Rubicon member coming, except possibly a man named Corey. I’m skeptical because I know my teammate, a female Korey, can’t come because of work requirements. I’m disappointed to find out all the other TR people have backed out as well, but with so many being wildland firefighters, it’s not surprising.

Before too long, the other two volunteers arrive. Marty and Dave are retired engineers, civil and structural respectively, from Colorado. We all kick back in the corral’s bunkhouse with a semi-frosty beverage and discuss the hitch with Forest Service mule packer Harley—and his dog, a blue heeler mix named Granite. We’ll be camping at the trailhead tonight; the trip leaders recommend sleeping in our cars. Which works for me—my Subaru is pretty comfy for a single person. I’m not sure Marty and Dave will be as comfy with two of them in their Outback—theirs is blue versus my green—but that’s their decision.

After a fairly comfortable night, we have a quick breakfast and I eagerly pull my personal gear out of my backpack. The packers have room to bring most of our stuff up; I’m thrilled to have a mule pack my work clothes and camping gear. We spend the next hour mostly watching the packers—there’s now four of them and a lot more mules and horses—divide the gear into equally weighted panniers and piles. If you’ve never seen the process before, it’s interesting; the weights on either side of a mule must be balanced within a pound, or the mule will be too unstable on the trail. There’s a lot of shuffling and repacking before the train is loaded and on their way. Horses move at about three miles per hour, so they’ll arrive well before us, dump our gear and most likely run into us on their way back.

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I’m happy my backpack is light because one of the first things we do is ford the Greybull River on our way into the Washakie Wilderness in the Shoshone National Forest. The river isn’t raging, but it’s still fast, wide and cold. But the day is blistering hot, so starting out with cold feet is not a bad thing. The first half of the hike is fast, with gently rolling trail, trending up, in a really interesting landscape. There are towering, desert-dry cliffs around us, but the riverbed is lush and green enough to support moose. John spots a mama and baby moose—fortunately on the far side of the river since there are few animals as dangerous as moose. I’d rather confront a grizzly bear than a mama moose.

The first four miles pass quickly. Then we turn into an unmarked side canyon trail and head up—way up. The last two and a half miles are much steeper and slower, and I’m not the slowest one for once! But I’m happy to hang back because the canyon is beautiful, there are wild raspberries growing here and there, and I know exactly how it feels to be the slow person in a group. We do indeed meet the mule string on their way down—unfortunately, at the very steepest part of the trail.

We finally reach the Anderson Hired Hands Cabin, our main project. It’s a small, single story cabin, with a brand-new porch built by the last group and a whole lot of stuff inside. We continue to a plateau beyond the cabin where we’ll set up our tents, and on to the Anderson Cabin itself, which is about a quarter of a mile from the Hired Hands Cabin. There we meet another group—this one archeologists exploring the early native American artifacts in the area. Greybull River Sustainable Landscape Ecology (GRSLE) project seeks a deeper understanding of the prehistoric, the historic/contemporary, and the series of possible futures in this landscape. They’re led by Larry Todd, Colorado State University professor emeritus of anthropology, who feeds his band of retirees and students on a carefully planned calorie load of commercial freeze-dried meals and single-slice packages of Spam.

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After hearing this, I’m thrilled to find out Charlotte, our camp cook and co-leader, has no intention of following Larry’s lead. No, our meals throughout this eight-day hitch are fabulous, with fresh vegetables and inventive, delicious combinations. I’m happy to play sous chef for dinner and even happier to eat. Working with hand tools at 7,500 feet gives you a big appetite.

We set up our gear and organize the cook tent and group area. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted, and I’m asleep by 9:00 p.m. The next day we organize and clean the Hired Hands Cabin (HHC). Cleaning takes longer than expected because there are a lot of mouse droppings, so we wear masks and wet the area down with a bleach solution before sweeping. We also do some daubing, which is filling the cracks between the logs with a mixture of sand, lime and Portland cement, to make the cabin a little more weather-proof. The Forest Service intends to use the HHC as an emergency shelter, so anything we can do to tighten the structure is good.

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That afternoon, we investigate the stability of the Anderson Cabin. Anderson was the first Superintendent of the Forest Service and his cabin is large and very well appointed for a log structure. The native stone fireplace is a thing of beauty. Unfortunately, the rest of the cabin hasn’t fared as well. The entire structure is very oddly constructed and extremely unstable. Dave, who spent most his career in mining and investigating mining accidents, is extremely concerned about safety of the tentative HistoriCorps plan. Jacking and shoring this cabin will not be easy or quick and may not be possible at all, especially with volunteers and hand tools. Marty and I agree wholeheartedly with Dave. It’s not the answer anyone wants to hear, but it’s the right answer. The safe answer.

The next day, we re-hang the very heavy two-piece HHC door and plan out the design of the new threshold. Because of the cabin floor and door, it’s going to be a very high threshold, a potential tripping hazard, but leaving a huge gap isn’t a good solution either. John and I cut a log—okay, John does most of the cutting—and make the initial splits with a huge chisel and felling wedges. We also start taking apart a corner cabinet that’s become a giant mouse house. It’s built out of tongue and groove beadboard and lined with metal mesh to keep mice out, but unfortunately, the mesh became a perfect place for mice to nest between the mesh and logs. It’s a long laborious process because it has to be sprayed with bleach water to prevent any of us contracting hantavirus.

After lunch, I start fitting the two window frames. The packers carefully brought in the glass, which will be installed after the frames can be secured. It takes me most of a day to fit the west window, because one corner needs to be carved off, and the others need shims. It takes another full day to fit the south window, which needs a lot of big shims. These tasks would be relatively simple with power tools but doing it by hand with chisels and hand saws is a much more involved process. It’s also extremely satisfying.

While I’m working on the windows, and Char on the door latch, the guys start discussing how to rework the wood stove pad. The existing concrete is crumbling and too small. After pulling the old boards off the pad, the guys discover the original pad was reinforced with horse shoes and barbed wire. Which is really cool. But it sparks a very long, involved discussion about the relative merits of various concrete mixtures, whether they have enough cement, using more barbed wire as reinforcement and how big and thick the renovated pad should be. Char and I smirk as the discussion winds on and on—a typical engineer debate. Come on guys, it’s a stove pad, not a bridge. They finally decide on size, materials, and design, but it’s too late to start now.

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The next days passed in a similar fashion. John installs the stove pipe on the roof, the concrete gets poured, with fabulous barbed wire reinforcement by Marty, the interior daubing gets done by the guys, the stove gets installed despite bad instructions, and the corner cabinet gets reconstructed as an open cabinet. I get the windows fitted, so Char installs the glass. I try to finish the threshold, but in the end, my poor right wrist can’t take any more pounding of mallet on a chisel, so Char finishes it off too. John and Dave fire up the stove and it draws perfectly, warming the small cabin immediately. Unfortunately, they also discover the stove bottom is cracked! It should be fine for small fires, but the Forest Service will have to replace it sooner rather than later. Hopefully with a slightly smaller model—this one is way too big for the cabin.

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On our fifth day in the wilderness, we have an early dinner and take off on solo hikes. I hike to the rocks above our tents, then over to the next ridgeline. Between my destinations, I get buzzed by a red-shouldered hawk, swooping lower every pass, to about 15 feet from my head. It veers off when I announce my hat isn’t a good snack. Dave, who goes hiking by himself every morning before we work, has seen lots of elk and an antelope. Upstream from us, Larry tells us his chocolate lab Tao warns him of a grizzly sow with two cubs, but the rest of us don’t see any bears, which is just as well.

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On our last full day, we finish all the projects while Dave and Marty install the shutters. John and I clean up around the HHC while Char cleans up the storage in the Anderson cabin, secures everything for the next season’s work and prepares an early dinner, including a side dish of archeologist. They’re happy to have a real meal. We all work together to take down the cook tent and pack everything into bear-proof panniers for transport back out of the wilderness. John and Char seem happy with our progress, since they’ve completed all their contracted work plus some extras, so our final night is lighthearted and fun.

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On our last night, we get our first bad weather, a rainstorm. Fortunately, it’s not too bad, the lightning stays out of our valley, and it quits before morning. We’re up extra early the next morning for a fast breakfast of coffee and bagels. We pack up our gear, our wet tents and start down the trail. We have to carry all our gear down, but still, it’s a pretty easy hike since it’s mostly downhill and we’re not carrying food. We’re within a mile of the trailhead when the pack string meets us—they’ve brought four packers and fifteen mules to get the HistoriCorps and archeologist gear out in a single trip.

At the trailhead, we exchange swag—HistoriCorps mugs and Team Rubicon patches and stickers. We all drive into Meeteetse for lunch at a local bar and a trip to the local fine chocolate shop. Yes, there’s a fine chocolate shop in a tiny Wyoming town of fewer than four hundred people. After lunch, we all say our slightly sad goodbyes—I’m headed north, then west. Dave and Marty are headed to Denver but are stopping at the hot springs at Thermopolis on the way, while John and Char head back to the trailhead to get the gear packed up. They’re going to Teton National Park for the next project, one with five sessions extending into October. Maybe I’ll talk the Amazing Sleeping Man into joining me for one of the later sessions—it might be fun, if chilly.

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As with most backcountry trips, leaving all my new friends is sad, but I can hardly wait to see my husband, sleep in my own bed, and take a shower! I’m pretty sure I’ll see some of these people again—I had a great time and look forward to another HistoriCorps trip. The trip leaders are professional, knowledgeable and fun and the work is satisfying.

If this trip sounds intriguing, anyone with an interest in restoring old buildings can volunteer for HistoriCorps. There’s a variety of trips and projects; you can find one to suit your interests. Some allow older children to help with their parents. If you’d like to see the Anderson Cabin, make sure you stop and talk to a Shoshone National Forest ranger, because the turnoff up to the cabin isn’t marked; you’ll need a map.

Oh, and a huge trip bonus? I lost those last few Houston pounds!

Copyright (c) August 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Backpacking the Lee Metcalf Wilderness — Beautiful and Humbling

‘1, 2, 3…’ This hill is so steep, my pack feels like a thousand pounds pressing me towards the earth, and I’m blowing like an ancient racehorse desperately trying to recreate his youth. I’ve been reduced to counting my steps just to keep moving. Maybe counting steps is better than the earworm plaguing me so far–hearing the 80’s pop song “I Ain’t Missing You’ for the billionth time on repeat in my head is downright painful. When I get to 100, I allow myself to pause, take three big breaths, then try to keep up with my companions. Going into this trip, I knew I wasn’t in the best shape of my life, but I’d thought I was better than this. After all, I’d been going out every day on a four-mile trek up and down my dirt road, my pack loaded with 46 pounds of weight plates and gear, but obviously, that wasn’t enough. Yes, the two at the front bounding up the hill are in their twenties, but the other two women are around my age and both dealing with knee problems, so age wasn’t a good excuse either.

No, I had to face facts on day 3–I’d let myself go.

How humbling. No, humiliating. And it wasn’t just my fitness level–it was those ten pounds I’d stress-eaten my way into last fall, helping setup Team Rubicon’s Hurricane Harvey response. I should have ditched those this spring, but I hadn’t, and now I was paying the price.

[image error]Final Packing
[image error]Our Fearless Leaders

But back to day one. I meet my University of Montana Wilderness Institute trip leaders and another ‘citizen science’ volunteer in Missoula. Caitlin, an enthusiastic intern, and the WI Director, Lisa, are leading our trip. I’ve met Lisa on previous occasions, and she came out on a prior trip for a couple of days, so I’m happy I’ll get to know her better. Caitlin is like most of the WI interns, a delight and far deeper than an initial meeting conveys. Beth Anne, our third from Missoula, works as a producer and engineer for a local radio station. We have a four-hour trip to the trailhead, so we get to know each other, telling stories about previous backpacking trips and our lives. After crossing through Ted Turner’s Flying D buffalo ranch to reach the trailhead, we meet Garrett, our fifth. He’s a cheerful young man who’s recently discovered that working in the wilderness is his passion. We’re all happy to hear that since it’s not the easiest way to make a living.

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We split up the group gear and dinners, the twenty-somethings taking the heaviest items, and head up the trail. It’s hot and rather dusty; this is a popular trailhead for horse folks, their mule trains pound the trails into wide, dusty boulevards until they settle down into a string. We immediately run into a couple of groups coming out–one group carrying skis and snowboards. There’s a strip of snow called The Blaze–a popular ride for crazy-enthusiastic winter sports lovers. I love skiing, but not enough to pack my gear for miles and miles up a ten-thousand-foot high mountain. They’re still happy, so I guess it’s worth it to them.

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A big part of our mission on this trip is social monitoring for the Forest Service, so we note the number in each party, how many nights they stayed, and what trailheads they used. Most backpackers are happy to pause and chat about these subjects, so it’s not a difficult chore. We continue up, a gentle slope along a rushing stream, abundant undergrowth and lots of pines and spruce shading us. The pace is fast but doable, and we quickly reach our destination, just a fork in the trail. We pitch tents a little short way from the intersection and take food down to the riverside to prepare dinner. It’s important in the wilderness to cook far from where you are sleeping–you don’t want to attract bears or other predators to your sleeping bag.

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Over a good dinner of pesto pasta (the WI supplies vegetarian dinners, volunteers pack their own breakfast and lunch) we get to know each other better and talk about our route and the details of social monitoring. The next morning, we pack up and start up the trail to Mirror Lake, which is a bit steeper, but not difficult. I find myself constantly pushing to keep up, though, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of the trip.

Mirror Lake is beautiful and mostly quiet. There are other backpackers, some who just want to be left alone, others happy to talk. We set up camp and take our newly-lightened packs for a trip up to Summit Lake. It’s steep, stiff hike and I find myself struggling. Lisa suggests the Beth Anne and I stay with her, while Garrett and Caitlin go ahead, mapping the social trails around Summit Lake.

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I reluctantly agree, knowing there’s a big, tough hike the next day and I’m already having a hard time. But it’s certainly pleasant to sit and contemplate the beauty around us.

The next day’s hike is downright brutal. We go back down fourteen hundred feet then up eighteen hundred, all in five miles. The trail up is rough and loose, with lots of rolling rocks, and very few switchbacks. Those extra ten pounds are killing me. At times, I think it’s literally. I’m happy to be in the back, where I can take those extra breaths every hundred steps.

[image error]Pika – At the Bottom of the Big Rock

When we arrive at the Spanish Lakes, it’s mostly worth it. It’s a truly beautiful place, with stunning mountains, fish jumping, wildflowers blooming–but way too many people for me. There are people camped everywhere–and the only site available for a group our size is right by the end of the trail. I’m not complaining, though, because I can’t carry that pack any further. I’m exhausted and dehydrated. I gratefully set up my tent and collapse until dinner, thrilled we’re staying here two nights.

After dinner, the Forest Service Wilderness Ranger assigned to the area appears. Lulu is the only Wilderness Ranger in the entire Lee Metcalf Wilderness, so it’s fortunate we run into her and fellow FS employee Andrea. Lulu tells us our plan to spend the last night at Jerome Lakes might not be a good one. The trail to Solitude, and then Jerome, is worse than the one we just took. It’s steeper, rougher and rockier. Not only that, but we don’t have to go there–Lulu has already done the required social monitoring and trail mapping for the area, and she’d rather have our help in the Spanish Lakes area. After some discussion, we all agree to the new plan. I don’t want to agree, I want to see Jerome Lakes, but I know this is the smart thing to do.

The next day, we all help Lulu and Andrea with campsite cleanup. This is a messy, dirty job, digging all the ash out of every fire ring, searching for bits of unburned trash to pack out and dispersing the ashes around the area. We also deconstruct some of the fire rings, making them a more reasonable size for the amount of wood available. After lunch, we watch some semi-crazy folks jump off the high rocks at the far side of the main Lake, splashing down after an incredibly long drop, whooping with joy as they climb out.

[image error]Crazy? Or Brave?

Then we head to the upper Spanish Lakes. Again, Lisa, Beth Anne and I do more campsite cleanups while our rangers and younger members head up to Beehive Lake to map the trails. I want to go, but know it’s a scramble, and I’m better off with a semi-rest day.

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By the way, if you’re ever in the wilderness and tempted to burn something other than paper–don’t! Please. Cleaning up campfires is no fun at all, nor is packing out all that scorched trash. Also, use the proper method to dispose of your own waste–our most unpleasant discovery was a pile of human waste and toilet paper, left in a stack of rocks on a rock ledge above one of the upper Spanish Lakes. Lulu and Andrea had to figure out a way to transport and properly dispose of that waste–without a shovel. To the idiots who left that disgusting mess, I hope karma bites you in the ass very soon.

[image error]On the way to Solitude Lake
[image error]Looking at Big Sky Resort

On our fourth day, we take a day hike up to Solitude Lake. The trail is steep and rough, and I’m glad I’m not carrying my full pack. Would I have made it? Sure. But I’d have been really, really slow. At the top, we can see Big Sky ski resort, and I can’t resist sending a text to the Amazing Sleeping Man with a picture. I get a picture in return of the Forest Service airplane he’s currently working on, the incredibly ugly Sherpa, and a picture of an increasingly rare WWII-era P-51 fighter plane, rolling down the Missoula taxiway towards takeoff. Both make me smile, and I’m torn between the desire to stay in the wilderness and go home. I also get a text from my Team Rubicon boss; it’s a selfie with a copy of my book! Jonas is the best boss ever!

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[image error]On the way down to Solitude Lake

We hike down to Solitude Lake, an even steeper and more difficult trail, with lots of loose, rolling rock. At the bottom, the crew starts on another fire pit while I look for a lunch spot. Along the way, I talk to a couple about their trip so far. They’ll be joining us at Spanish Lakes. They have a dog with them. ‘Oh, don’t worry, he’s friendly!’ they say as she barks and growls, hackles raised, and they struggle to keep her back. No collar or leash to be seen. By the way, this is a very bad idea in the wilderness. There are bears, cougars, and lots of critters dogs love to chase. I smile, without teeth, and back away slowly.

We eat lunch, and again, Caitlin and Garett map the social trails around the Lake, while Beth Anne and I struggle upwards, Lisa encouraging us. I am truly grateful for Beth Anne’s presence on this trip–she is determined and cheerful despite her slightly wonky knee. I have no such excuse, I just keep gasping as I follow her inexorable path up. We talk to a group of teenage girls at the top–they’re one of three YMCA groups from Minnesota on ten-day backpacking trips in the area. We ask how they like Montana and get universally enthusiastic replies, which isn’t surprising. What’s not to like?

We return to the Spanish Lakes for our last night, plunging into the cold water for a refreshing dip. We have vegan mac and sauce with tuna for dinner and dark chocolate with almonds and sea salt for dessert. It’s delicious and filling–everything tastes better in the wilderness. After dinner, we build a small campfire in one our newly cleaned and reduced fire rings. We congratulate each other and our fabulous trip leaders give us ‘rock awards’ for various traits we’ve displayed over the trip. I feel a little guilty–I’ve slowed us and not been terribly useful on this trip–but I will gladly display my pretty olivine rock on my writing bookcase where I can look at it and remember the lovely scenery and great company. And maybe the weight of that rock will remind me I don’t need that extra piece of chocolate!

Heading for bed early, I’m startled awake by gunfire. Oh, wait, not gunfire. Whew. No, it’s ten at night, and some inconsiderate person is smacking sticks against rocks, undoubtedly to break them up for firewood. Really? Your fire is more important than everyone else’s sleep? Wow. The noise continues late into the night.

We meet a little earlier the next morning, all of us a little bleary-eyed. While we wait the for water to boil, a pair of gorgeous mule deer bucks visit.

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It’s the perfect end to our stay, a reminder of why protecting wilderness is important, and how critical wilderness is to our health as human beings. If some don’t use the wilderness appropriately, it’s good to know there are organizations like the Wilderness Institute, and Forest Service Wilderness Rangers, all doing their best to keep the wilderness wild, if not pristine.

At the trailhead, we say goodbye to Garrett and take a final quick plunge in the river to cool off after the fast seven and a half mile hike out. The drive to Missoula is livened by podcasts and talk, and Caitlin’s slightly nervous driving. At our cars, we promise to share photos and other information and go back to our lives. I’m happy to be back home with the ASM, a hot shower, and flush toilet, but sad to leave the wilderness behind.

Oh, but I’m not! I’ll be doing another trip, this one with History Corps and Team Rubicon, later in August. Maybe I’ll ditch the last of those ten pounds, too.

Besides, I always keep a little wilderness in my heart. Even when I’m ancient and bedridden, I’ll be able to remember these trips and the joy of being in the middle of nowhere brought there by my own two feet. I recommend visiting your own wilderness, even if it’s just one in your mind.

[image error]The Author

Weirdness Ensues…

I just moved my site from one host to another, so things may look strange for a while – sorry, please be patient.