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September 3
Tarp is raised. Occasional sounds of growling pick-up trucks passing on the road. Expecting rain tomorrow, however skies looked promising this evening, just patches of cumulus, nothing solid or homogeneous. We'll cross the western slopes of Mt. Adams tomorrow, a prominent volcano, good weather would be appreciated. We heard news from passing southbound hikers that upcoming glaciers can't be crossed without ice equipment, a detour will be required above the ice. We'll see how it looks when we get there.
Autumn's pendulum has swung. The corn lillies are dying, going dark at the edges. I remember watching them bloom in the Sierra, in June. Now, they wither and go pale. Last night, the breezes kept the tarp well ventilated with brisk gusts, my sleeping bag cinched around my nose and face. The sun sets earlier and earlier, making it harder and harder to get in 25, or more, miles a day. The earth's tilt creeping a little farther each day. They say the seasons travel 17 miles north per day. Sometimes, I am traveling almost twice that speed. Still though, the cold alpine air has instilled in me fear and trembling for what lies more north of here, in the higher peaks and deeper into the season. Again, like the Sierra, I find myself recognizing the danger that I am walking into.
Tarp is raised. Occasional sounds of growling pick-up trucks passing on the road. Expecting rain tomorrow, however skies looked promising this evening, just patches of cumulus, nothing solid or homogeneous. We'll cross the western slopes of Mt. Adams tomorrow, a prominent volcano, good weather would be appreciated. We heard news from passing southbound hikers that upcoming glaciers can't be crossed without ice equipment, a detour will be required above the ice. We'll see how it looks when we get there.
Autumn's pendulum has swung. The corn lillies are dying, going dark at the edges. I remember watching them bloom in the Sierra, in June. Now, they wither and go pale. Last night, the breezes kept the tarp well ventilated with brisk gusts, my sleeping bag cinched around my nose and face. The sun sets earlier and earlier, making it harder and harder to get in 25, or more, miles a day. The earth's tilt creeping a little farther each day. They say the seasons travel 17 miles north per day. Sometimes, I am traveling almost twice that speed. Still though, the cold alpine air has instilled in me fear and trembling for what lies more north of here, in the higher peaks and deeper into the season. Again, like the Sierra, I find myself recognizing the danger that I am walking into.
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