I'd been waiting for this day. A break in the snow and the rain, a day without work or obligations. Even though nobody I knew had been there, even though I wasn't even sure I could make it to the trailhead, I decided to go. First I had to complete a fat bike shuttle for J, and I scurried off before he could return if the conditions were too difficult on his chosen route (he ended up having quite a slog. Sorry! That's what happens when you are a scout, and don't wait for others to tell you every little part of a route.). So it was noon before I got to the Saddle Creek trail. Looking up, I made an executive decision to abandon the snowshoes. It just looked like maybe I could make it. The road had surprisingly been clear of snow, and though I could see white-dusted peaks ahead, I had hope I could at least make it a mile.
Soon, too soon, I was at the saddle. Only a small snowfield crowned the top. I could look way, way down and across to Idaho, and the usual thought: why didn't I bring a tent? I climbed farther, along the rim trail, thinking about hiking all the way to Hat Point. But of course I had no time for that, not today.
|When I camp, I head way down to the flat valley you see far below. Actually it's not all that flat and not really a valley...|
I've lived so many different places, but this August I will have lived here for seven years. I've only lived one place as long as that as an adult. I used to think that it was boring to stay in one place, and I couldn't imagine why people would want to. I am starting to get it.