The bears lost.
That's all I have to say. They didn't even show up to play, and I was ready for them....I had a sharp stick!
Ok, really, no.
Thursday I left for the seemingly remote Quinault river valley, North Fork edition.
It was everything I had thought it'd be in that remote category. I was the only one up there, until today, when I was hiking out.
But I advance to fast; I regale thee in my adventure:
I realize I forgot my hiking boots once I am ready to put them on. Really. I forgot my boots. Luckily, I had my running shoes, which are not even remotely adequate in the ankle support for heavy loads department, but they worked fine, once I saw that I didn't need to go very far in to be alone.
An hour walk or so brought me to the "Wolf Bar" campground, and I set up camp, gathered firewood, ate dinner, built a fire, etc, etc. Camp stuff.
Day 2 I spent on the river bank reading, drinking tea, and sunning on a fir tree that had fallen over the river. I was hugging said tree as a river rushed below me. I got some sun.
I then built a bigger fire the second night, read through my book, and drank some fine Fighting Cock bourbon, and when I saw a falling star, I made a wish and went to sleep in my little tent.
This morning I awoke with the pre conceived idea that I would jump in the river. The glacial melt-off, very, very cold river.
I built a fire, made coffee, and my hot oatmeal. Then I jumped in, and man, it was f'ing freezing. I couldn't feel my feet!!!*
I warmed up quickly enough, lounged about, then struck camp and came home. It was a fine outing, unmolested by people (and bears too) and left to my own devices.
*just like now after drinking a pint of my very potent home brew....zowza!
