When I got home and started unpacking this evening, one of the first things I did was take off my trail shoes and socks, and put on my 8-year old Chacos. They barely fit. That can mean only one thing: sausage feet!
And I earned ’em. Tuesday at 5pm I left M at Turpin Meadows and headed into the Teton Wilderness. By 11am Wednesday had already had the worst skiing conditions I’d ever been in, and that was before both my bindings broke. Thursday featured schizophrenic weather, spectacular hiking along the Thorofare, and perhaps the best BC campsite I’ve yet seen in the national park.
Burning up a huge pile of wood in the constant 20 mph wind last night, I realized that my busted bindings and consequent inability to sidehill made going over Washburn impossible without walking the road, which I had no interest in doing. So I walked out to the road, and caught the best hitch ever. In exchange for being a tour guide at Old Faithful and Middle Geyser Basin and a good conversationalist I got an RV ride from the fishing bridge gas station all the way to Missoula, BBQ ribs, extensive advice on the correct way to roast a whole pig in the traditional cuban style, and the best mojito I’ve ever had (it had a strawberry in it!).
All of which is to say that even though I cut my trip in half, I still teared up and was unable to finish looking through all my photos.
Spring is here. And with murky water and green shoots comes the desire to assert ourselves emphatically upon the world. Where we often go wrong is mistaking that anyone else is really watching. If you are the world (being metaphysically loose here), then you are only making a mark on yourself. So go, watch yourself, and be happy.
Skurka sure is.
Forrest damn well is.
Even Ryan is, in his retrospective manner.