Nearly eight o’clock now, and I’m back in my tent, a babbling brook off to the side (oh… bladder, ignore the running water), gorgeous sunset over the meadow with a view out the tent door, and snug sleeping bag around me. The marmots are whistling in the distance, and my compatriots are out enjoying the views. (I really do just get that cold that quickly, and the sun is approximately ten minutes from gone.)
Camp in the Meadows
After the brief snooze in the flowers, we set up camp and did a little exploring. The meadow is off of officially marked trails, but we need to return to those trails for tomorrow. Since we weren’t entirely sure exactly where to meet the trail (we know where we are, and we know where the trail is, but the path between the two was less certain.
So Steve, Jeanne, and I headed out, past the spot where Sue and Bill turned around, continuing their mushroom hunt. (They were collecting large rosey bollettes, if I remember correctly.) We continued down a barely marked path, which occasionally disappeared, and occasionally showed clear signs of motorcycle tracks. Eventually, still not quite finding the path, Steve decided to head to the saddle that the trail crossed. Before we had to climb the entire distance to the saddle, however, we crossed the main trail, and headed the other direction, away from the saddle, trying to find where the run from the stream we are camped next to crossed the man trail. Eventually, much farther along than we expected (and brief discussion about the relative placement of stream crossings over the trail and estimated location of camp), we found a spur trail that led up to the horse camp not far below our camp. As that spur trail meets the main trail significantly south of where we want to go (and is not only longer, but loses us more elevation that we will have to recover going over the saddle), we will be going overland tomorrow.
Upon our return, it was time to get down to the business of dinner. My brilliant idea to leave my stove behind (which, since it’s a JetBoil, means leaving my pot behind) has complicated our cooking routine, as we have to avoid contaminating one of the pots with gluten. But this has been successful so far, and has taught me to bring a pot next time. Bill made the mushrooms that had been picked, and Indian food, while I had the dehydrated kielbasa and amaranth in fire roasted tomatoes that I had previously dehydrated. And, of course, shared chocolate for dinner.
Cleanup followed, and I opted for anti-social but warm, so am now in my tent, avoiding the mosquitoes.
