Chronicles of the Wayward Moot

WELCOME TO THE MOOT, oh world-wanderers and word-whisperers. After two years of Peace Corps. After 2,200 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. What. Comes. Next?


Cowboy camping after the day of road and trail walking, the temps got down to at least 26 degrees. My fellow campers and I awoke to find a thick layer of frost on everything. Here you can see where the shoulder strap of my pack lay over the back padding.

That day I realized I was still quite ill and couldn't make it a short 12 miles to the ranger station to get water. I did manage to climb up Mt. Pacifico seeking a campsite that might have water. When I arrived here at more than 7,000 feet there was no liquid water, so I set about melting some snow in a pot and trying to stay hydrated. Not easy when one is so sick he can barely stand up, let alone shoulder a pack and hike in the glaring sun. Here's a view from camp towards the northwest.

And roughly the same view as the lights of civilization below began to twinkle.

Sunrise the following morning.

check out the ridiculously vicious-looking spikes on these Jeffrey pine cones. I can't help wondering what the evolutionary advantage is to growing cones with these wooden swords on them. Can anyone make a suggestion?


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