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?


Going from sleeping on the dirt (no that there's anything wrong with that) to stuffing face with Crater Crawfish and microbrews in a party full of new Park Service friends was quite the manifestation of trail magic.

Ever wondered what those high and tight uniformed Park rangers look like out of uniform? They play beer pong. And they invite me to play beer pong. And together we win the beer pong tournament. This was one awesome night.

Bobcat with the two ladies who foud me on Garfield summit and drew me into their shadowy world of crawfish and beer. Mil gracias to you.

Fighting the good fight, we were.

When in Rome, why not climb to the highest point in the park? Witness Scott Mountain. At nearly 9,000 feet it's a great deal higher than anywhere the PCT even goes after California's high sierra. AND there's a fire lookout tower on top, so I rode with my friend the Chief Ranger in his patrol truck and we muscled up the trail to chek it out. Once some other day hikers had cleared out he whipped a set of keys out of his pack and we got to the business of opening the thing up and poking around. His words: "This is why I wanted to become Chief Ranger ... I get the keys!"


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