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?


Horizontal ice on the trees at higher elevations. Must have been one helluva windy storm. There were hikers up there when it hit too. Since we're all expecting to be hiking in the bone dry desert before the heat becomes unbearable, just about nobody has waterproof footwear and only a few of us have sufficient waterproof gear. It's heavy but when you need it, you NEED it.

"Lil Wrangler" modeling in front of a Limber Pine estimated to be about 1,500 years old I believe. Their wood is so soft that you can reportedly ties their smaller branches into knots without breaking them.

The monument on the summit of Mount Baden-Powell - 9,399 feet. 25 foot visibility maybe? Temperature around 40 degrees at 2pm. It didn't matter that the mountain was named after the founder of the Boy Scout movement, we were not prepared to camp on the ridge in that weather, so we hiked all the way back down to find a safe way around the mountain.

But first, a summit jumping photo.

During the descent I realized that something was seriously wrong with my GI tract. Stomach, intestines, whatever you want to call it - they were in throes of despair. I pulled off to the side of Hwy 2 to camp and stayed there the entire next day and night trying to let the sickness pass. Plenty of people passed me, which is never terribly fun. On the second morning I felt pretty good and did 25+ miles to catch up with some friends, but the morning after that I felt awful again and could only make it about 7 miles before I had to camp. Was walking perhaps 50-100 feet before becoming exhausted and having to lean on my trekking poles gasping for air.


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