I'm on my second book about mid-century hikers of the Himalayas. Both authors are candid about the physical hardship, indispensability of local guides, and ultimately inscrutable motives for their journeys. Though I don't think I'll ever push things so far, I find myself of the same ilk. Setting aside the tedious management of one's variety of affairs in order to devote attention to a particular mission has always resonated with me. That's not to say there aren't myriad attendant duties and tasks, but that they all serve the over-arching goal is a satisfying grand narrative. All the assignments and studying and notes are in service of Graduation; correcting and finessing words and typesetting turns manuscripts into Books; buying food and packing gear and walking thousands of steps achieves Through-Hikes.
I don't really know where I wanted to go with that. I have a bit of a headache, possibly from the first direct sunlight to hit my eyes in two months, or the after-effect of mild hypothermia, or both. Lesson learned (maybe?): even when it's -10F, you can be lulled into not realizing you're cold. Oh, I had my down jacket right there in my backpack, but it somehow didn't compute that it might help with my painful, un-warmable fingers. I'd like to think my chilled brain would've eventually made the connection; luckily, it was only about a half-mile of my own confederacy of dunce-ness.
Abby leads the way on the frozen Kyokuk River.
glassy overflow on Gold Creek
Damn good brioche, if I do say so myself.
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