Day 24. July 18.
I like to read. But I’m not a writer. I tried a writing class once. There would be “prompts” and we would have to write a story. Well, our campsite had a fire ring. In the morning, I moved some covering pieces of wood. In the ring was a pair of men’s underbritches. I thought that was one heck of a prompt. Miles from anywhere, why did someone try (but fail) to burn them? Were they cursed? “Ruined”? Was it an angry or mischievous partner? To be sure, it burdened me the first few quiet hours of hiking.
It was another day of walking through burned areas, pleasant forests, increased mosquitoes, and some tantalizing glimpses of Mt. Jefferson.
The four of us were taking a break at at a spring. Two guys came along, northbound. It was a son and father. The father told us he was completing a 100 mile section hike he started last year. He proudly stated he was 63. I could’ve been self-centered and thought I was almost his age and going (hopefully) 2100 miles. But I was actually happy for him. He was proud. He was there. And he was with his son.
We had a tough slog late afternoon. The mosquitoes were getting smarter, targeting vulnerable areas like the back of knees or shoulders. Plus, the trail across rock slides was maintained by the Marquis de Sade. Specifically, the “trail” was filled with small, sharp rocks. When your feet are killing you after 20 miles, having pointy gravel to step on is misery.
We reached our desired stopping point: Breitenbush Lake. The other guys didn’t know this, but this is where I caught my first fish. I have a black-and-white photo at home of me holding the fish while my Dad towers above 5 year old me.
The mosquitoes used sunset as a rallying point for a full-on assault. We retreated to our tents. From four separate tents came the sound of intermittent claps and slaps as the sly mosquitoes that slipped in before the tents were closed were dispatched.
Nearby, some idiot guys were having a bonfire. They stayed up until 11:30 talking about some of the dumbest things. It was so irritating. Josh and Brad, judging by their snores, were not bothered. I was, but fatigue began winning the war over irritation and I drifted off.
backpacking over the hill 