Monday, August 22, 2016

Hitting The Trail

At the packing station
On the first night we stayed in a lodge before hitting the trail. Apart from the fishhook imbedded in the rough carpet of the bunkhouse I stepped on--it was a pleasant stay.

About four in the morning I carefully treaded down the stairs. Stepping into the humidity free air I started up a road surrounded by darkness unpolluted by unnatural light.


By all accounts it was to be the zenith of a month-long shower of meteors streaking across the August sky. Picking my way along the pavement, with the sound of a tumbling stream drowning out all other sounds, I came upon Felix, our cook. He too, had resisted the lure of Mr. Sandman forfeiting sleep to see the celestial fireworks. Not far up the trail two bodies lay sprawled out on the road--it was Justin (like father like son) and Rudy, gazing up at millions of pinpoints perforating the black of the night sky.

"How many have you seen?" I asked.

"Fifty-five." Justin responded.

"I've seen 15-20 on my walk here." I said.

We stayed awhile longer, but the rising sun began chasing away the darkness, so we all headed back to the lodge.

Around 7:30 in the morning we loaded our gear and headed up to Rock Creek where our journey into the fabled John Muir Wilderness would begin....

Phil, The Legend

Hitting The Trail

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