|Where giants have walked, apparently|
And also sound effects. A whole lot of sound effects. And talking to those trees. And yourself. And cursing all things metal. And cursing the very tall people who put the tags in too high. And cursing the trees themselves, but then feeling really guilty and taking back those particular curses, and putting a bare palm against the sticky, hairy truck and apologizing.
A person walking down the trail blindfolded may have thought one of many things:
(1) that an Olympic dead-weight lifter had moved to the area to train;
(2) that James Brown was back from the dead and enjoying more rustic huh-hahs;
(3) that George Carlin was back from the dead and testing new cussing combinations;
(4) that a sadistic dentist was administering a root canal (just relax, help me, help you...):
or (5), that a deeply conflicted Smeagol was waging a schizophrenic war of morality...
(f*#k you!...I'm sorry...dammit!...it's okay...arrghgh!...sorry, sorry, sorry)...
In short, the whole process turned each of us into a bit of a weirdo.
|Cleaning up the forest|
Then the weather got in on the torment. Snow then rain then slush then rain then snow. 60 mile and hour wind gusts pushing us backward, tearing maps from our hands, and slamming car doors with authority. Cold air freezing our shoes and toes and fingers and noses. All of it briskly escorting us out of the woods. Call it a night, folks. And then we were done.
And while a week later I am still enjoying the fact that the decision to venture out into the wintry mix is now optional, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it already. I guess I'll be seeing you around, bears. Enjoy your long nap. I think I'll have one too.