I finally figured out how to get video from the camcorder developed during the Alaskan gold rush onto my computer. So here's my first video: me playing the piano. Yes, I am that boring.
There you go.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
And Home Again
When I got up the next morning (I wont say woke up, as the only time I slept was 10 to midnight) I went down to the end of the Island and walked a mile out to the farthest South overlook on the Island. I brought the tripod and tried to take some 360 pictures of the sunrise. I haven't found a program to merge them yet so I don't know how well it worked, but there some good shots either way. I then did some more overlooks on the way out, none of them being more than 2 miles.
Below is looking through Mesa arch out onto the East side of the park.
After the overlooks it was time to go to Arches. I hadn't been there in ages and I have to admit after my much expanded memories and a week in Canyonlands, I was kind of disappointed. Still, it was nice and I took several pictures, including the classic Delicate arch.
Then it was shortly after 12:00 and I realized I'd done everything I wanted to do in Arches. Which meant it was time to go home. Fine with me, I didn't feel like spending another night out anyways. The drive home was pretty fast. A little scary in a few parts but amusingly the most dangerous part was about 3/4 of a mile from home where I couldn't make it up a snow covered hill. However, two alternate routes later and I was home from my trip: a success!
Down and Around
The planned loop had me drive to one tailhead and then walk back to the Gooseberry trailhead about 2.5-3 miles along the paved road. Then a drop down Gooseberry itself and out onto the shelf. From there the trail flowed around the tip of the Island and back to the trail leading up to my car. The total distance was about 26 miles, and in the winter timing can be everything. I left before sun-up, but twilight had already come. Under no condition did I want to do Gooseberry before the sun came up (even though it would be in the shade all day due to the positioning of the cliff). When I arrived at the drop the sun was coming up and there were some great views.
After taking pictures and a deep breath, there was nothing for it. I have no pictures to show how truly terrifying it was, so you'll have to take my word for it. The shot below was simply me right above the trail (you can see the first carrin on the bottom left) pointing my camera straight down. The trail drops faster than you can really see in this picture.
Besides the pain in my left knee and foot, it was terrifying. I never lost the trail and I honestly believe it was a gift from God, as there were many points where I simply had to plunge ahead and hope I was on the right track. There was steep drops, cover in several feet of snow. Small ledges you were to walk across that had so much snow you didn't know they were there and just had to hope. Slipping and watching mini avalanches charging out in front of me and then dropping off the side of the cliff into the aether, I was frightened. I went very, very slowly, foot by foot. The 1+ miles of actual descent took me about an hour and a half, but I made it.
Once down it was spectacular. Mountains and deep canyons, and the Island always above me. And no one there at all, nor had there been. It was just me and the scenery and miles and miles of trail. I did begin to get nervous. The next landmark after the drop that had a distance associated with it was 8 miles. With the injuries I had I thought I was going fast but I knew I could easily be deceived by the pain. I kept pushing myself to faster and faster. As it turns out I was going plenty fast, in fact my resting average for the day was just under 3 mph (and just over if you took out the slow drop down Gooseberry).
I made it back to my car with plenty of day left for dinner and settling down. I discovered that not only was I the only one on the trail that day, but there was only one or two other car tracks down on the south end of the Island where I was! Now that's solitude. I spent the night in the car again, and I was cold and slept poorly but this time I wasn't nervous. It was a great day!
To Island in the Sky
I woke up around 6:00 and packed up. The hotel's breakfast didn't start until 6:30 so I had to wait for that, but shortly I was on the road, headed for the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands. Here, the Island is a massive butte that sits at about 6000' elevation. Shear cliffs drop off on all sides (save the North, where you drive into the park) over 1000' to a shelf below. From there it is another drop or two and another 1000' feet to the Colorado and Green rivers that run on either side of the Island. Most of the hikes are either very short (no more than 1.5 miles one way) walks out to view points, or much longer and more strenuous climbs that have been expertly routed down the side of the cliffs onto the shelf below. There, a 4x4 track runs around the circumference of the island and is very popular with mountain bikers in the Summer. There are no paths down to any lower shelves and to the best of my knowledge, no feasible access routes even for experienced, technical rock climbers. The views from on top are spectacular, and this is a great place to visit if you never want to do a hike more than 2 miles but still want extraordinary views.
Here I found far more snow than there was just a few miles South in the Needles. I imagine it was due to the elevation and topography, but whatever the cause, camping was made nigh impossible with my equipment. Still I entered the park with high hopes and was not let down.
It was a clear morning, but as the afternoon came, so to did weather. When I began to climb up the side of the Island again small flakes of snow were falling. By the time I reached the top and walked a mile or so out to a view point it had turned into a full-on blizzard. Which was quite disappointing as I had a series of overlooks planned for the afternoon. I did them anyways and found the weather kept oscillating between blizzard and blue sky. It was fun when I reached the overlook above my trail that day: in the blizzard with a 1000'+ drop straight down right beneath me, I pulled out my harmonica and blew out some tunes including Amazing Grace. It might only have been for me, but appreciated it. Below is a picture of upheaval dome, taken in one of those blue sky moments.
I went to the visitor center to ask about conditions and weather. I was told the next day would bring clear skies, but the rangers couldn't tell me much about trail conditions. It makes sense based on what I saw I guess. The trail I went down that day was clear of prints after the first few hundred feet, and the one I was to go down the next day didn't even have tracks approaching it, much less going down.
I had a long hike planned for the next day, it was to be my last one and after having been stymied twice I really wanted this one to work. It was simpler than the first one I planned, and most of it didn't have much that could go wrong, but there was one part that was still up for grabs. The plan was to head down Gooseberry trail to the shelf below the Island, then walk around on the 4x4 road to Murphy's trail and go up that. Murphy's was the trail I did this day, so I knew I could do that, and the 4x4 road was, well, a road. But the trail down, this 'Gooseberry' was reputed to be the hardest trail, and most dangerous one in the park. It wasn't really dangerous in the summer, or so I was told, but winter is different (as I had adequately discovered in Needles).
All the ranger could tell me was that it could be treacherous, no one had done it yet this season, but they also hadn't closed it (though since no one had seen it I don't know what they were basing their choice on). All this added on to the fact that I had injured my knee, and revived the stress-fracture I got in my left foot years ago on my mission. Which wouldn't kill me but I knew if I couldn't make it back from my loop there would be no one out there for weeks to find me so I needed to make sure I could go the whole way. The 26 mile loop wasn't that daunting but there were concerns. With less light in the Winter, injuries, and hazardous trails you never knew. Still it was to be my last walk and I decided to go for it.
That night I slept in my car. It was not very comfortable, and it got very cold, the water bottle next to me froze pretty darn quickly and I ended up without much sleep. But enough rest because I was ready to go in the morning for my adventure.
Here I found far more snow than there was just a few miles South in the Needles. I imagine it was due to the elevation and topography, but whatever the cause, camping was made nigh impossible with my equipment. Still I entered the park with high hopes and was not let down.
After taking the above pictures at one of the overlooks I headed to the hike for the day. This was to be a test, it was supposed to be one the easier descents onto the shelf and I wanted to see how feasible it was in the snow and ice. You can see a picture I took of it below. This was taken from the bottom: the trail goes up the cliff on the right side of the picture (where you see the trail of snow leading up to the top). Beneath that picture is an image of the trail from the top (or close to the top) looking down.
It was a little frightening going down it, I'll admit. A few quick gasps of breath as I slipped or discovered more snow than I expected, but overall quite doable. The hike and view at the bottom were nice as well. The multiple layers of this park made for very interesting times, and very pretty ones. Also, I saw big-horn sheep.
It was a clear morning, but as the afternoon came, so to did weather. When I began to climb up the side of the Island again small flakes of snow were falling. By the time I reached the top and walked a mile or so out to a view point it had turned into a full-on blizzard. Which was quite disappointing as I had a series of overlooks planned for the afternoon. I did them anyways and found the weather kept oscillating between blizzard and blue sky. It was fun when I reached the overlook above my trail that day: in the blizzard with a 1000'+ drop straight down right beneath me, I pulled out my harmonica and blew out some tunes including Amazing Grace. It might only have been for me, but appreciated it. Below is a picture of upheaval dome, taken in one of those blue sky moments.
I went to the visitor center to ask about conditions and weather. I was told the next day would bring clear skies, but the rangers couldn't tell me much about trail conditions. It makes sense based on what I saw I guess. The trail I went down that day was clear of prints after the first few hundred feet, and the one I was to go down the next day didn't even have tracks approaching it, much less going down.
I had a long hike planned for the next day, it was to be my last one and after having been stymied twice I really wanted this one to work. It was simpler than the first one I planned, and most of it didn't have much that could go wrong, but there was one part that was still up for grabs. The plan was to head down Gooseberry trail to the shelf below the Island, then walk around on the 4x4 road to Murphy's trail and go up that. Murphy's was the trail I did this day, so I knew I could do that, and the 4x4 road was, well, a road. But the trail down, this 'Gooseberry' was reputed to be the hardest trail, and most dangerous one in the park. It wasn't really dangerous in the summer, or so I was told, but winter is different (as I had adequately discovered in Needles).
All the ranger could tell me was that it could be treacherous, no one had done it yet this season, but they also hadn't closed it (though since no one had seen it I don't know what they were basing their choice on). All this added on to the fact that I had injured my knee, and revived the stress-fracture I got in my left foot years ago on my mission. Which wouldn't kill me but I knew if I couldn't make it back from my loop there would be no one out there for weeks to find me so I needed to make sure I could go the whole way. The 26 mile loop wasn't that daunting but there were concerns. With less light in the Winter, injuries, and hazardous trails you never knew. Still it was to be my last walk and I decided to go for it.
That night I slept in my car. It was not very comfortable, and it got very cold, the water bottle next to me froze pretty darn quickly and I ended up without much sleep. But enough rest because I was ready to go in the morning for my adventure.
Disappointments and Luxuries
It was to be my last day in the Needles, my fourth day and night there. Again I had something short planned since I wanted to drive out and check into a hotel in Moab. The time constraint wasn't getting a hotel there (everything's cheap and empty in the winter) but making sure everything I owned had time to dry out: a lot of stuff was very, very wet. The previous day, after my adventure, I had journeyed part way down an "improved track" to see if my car could handle it and decided it could not. So that closed off one of only two trails I really had yet to do on that side of Canyonlands which made my choice pretty easy: I was to journey down Big Spring Canyon and loop back to the campground. It looked nice and I was all the way up to the end the end of the canyon before I hit trouble. There I discovered I couldn't make the top! I was quite unhappy, I knew I was no more than 100' from where the trail crested the top of the canyon and dropped back down into a trail I knew I could do. I tried for close to half an hour to use different techniques to best the slick rock and get on top but could not. This time it was not dangerous, which was nice. Any uncontrolled fall I suppose is dangerous, but this one didn't end in a shear cliff, if I fell I was just back on the trail. Not that I still didn't get an adrenaline rush any time my feet slipped of course.
Not making it proved depressing enough I only took one picture there.
Afterwards I headed out to Moab. I picked up a room and spread all of my stuff out: completely filling the floor and chairs with wet camping gear. Then a shower, a bit of reading and a very satisfying (if lonely, I'm always lonely eating by myself at a sit-down place) dinner at local Italian restaurant. And my first good night's sleep. It was nice.
Not making it proved depressing enough I only took one picture there.
I returned, dejected, the way I came. Nearing the campground I discovered there was a alternate route back, added maybe half a mile, that would take me over an outcrop of rock and could be quite nice. I decided this was the make-up for missing the top of the canyon and took it. There were some great views, but of course there had to be a scary spot on this one too. They had installed a metal rope to help guide you down part of the slick rock, but the area surrounding it was covered in ice and I discovered the only way I could get down was to simply slide down to the rope and hope I could catch it instead of sliding off the side and down the cliff. It was only a 30' drop tops but enough to do some damage. Luckily I caught the rope and went down hand over hand returning safely to my car. And got some good pictures in exchange for my fear.
I did one more trail on my way out. A short one that gave a view of the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands (which I would be heading to the next day). At least it bumped my distance over 10 miles which made me feel better, and it was pretty. It was also the only trail I'd been on where I saw anyone else.
Afterwards I headed out to Moab. I picked up a room and spread all of my stuff out: completely filling the floor and chairs with wet camping gear. Then a shower, a bit of reading and a very satisfying (if lonely, I'm always lonely eating by myself at a sit-down place) dinner at local Italian restaurant. And my first good night's sleep. It was nice.
A Day of Half Measures
This was supposed to be another long hiking day, and it probably did end up close to 20 miles, but not only was that less than the plan, I left off of my planned hike after only about 3 miles. I had learned my lesson two days prior and didn't get up until 6:30, and then didn't hit the trail until 7:00. The idea was that I was going to walk up a 4-wheel drive trail (closed for the winter, and I was told to watch out for quicksand of all things) until I hit a few arches 12 miles in and then come back. It sounded pretty straight forward.
Well I discovered that the road, named "Salt Creek Road" was actually just the creek itself. Atleast in the winter. Mile after mile I found myself forced to walk on a frozen river (this is when I really wished I had crampons) which was slow and slightly adrenaline inducing.
That picture was taken about one to two hundred feet up from the trail in one of my many attempts to try and get around this bit. The trail itself leads around the side of this cliff and two the left (you can make out a carrin in the middle of the picture). I don't know how scary that looks to anyone, but since I was slipping and falling on much gentler slopes and this one had a waterfall on it (can you see it?) I was terrified. Also, the drop-off to the right is exactly as deadly as it looks: it's about 100 feet and I would be very expired at the bottom. I could't find my way around over the top so I went down to the trail. I tried getting close to the truly terrfying part just to have a look. I got out to about 30 feet from the carrin and decided it was exactly as stupid as it appeared from above. I tried to turn to go back and ... slipped. I managed to catch myself and then it took me five minutes, standing there petrified, trying to figure out how to get back. Which then happened again on another patch later on only that time it took me 10 minutes of standing there trying to thing of some other way across until I manned up and did it. Very scary.
So the trip was certainly something to behold, but I was honestly terrified much of the time, I think it's something I'd like to do some time in the summer. Some time without ice. I went back the way I came and walked as best I could down the Salt Creek Road. My feet got pretty wet but I was never too close to dying so that was nice.
One incident that I remember from that morning. As I was walking in the darkness (or twilight anyways) I came upon some fox or coyote tracks (I don't know tracks well enough to distinguish). This was not a surprise as they were everywhere, but these lead up to one spot in what appeared to be a swift manner, that had a good deal of bird feather stuck into the ice, and then trotted away. I followed the prints for some time (as they stayed on the trail) until they finally headed off into the brush. Some lucky predator had had breakfast there I presumed. I ate later.
Well I discovered that the road, named "Salt Creek Road" was actually just the creek itself. Atleast in the winter. Mile after mile I found myself forced to walk on a frozen river (this is when I really wished I had crampons) which was slow and slightly adrenaline inducing.
When I came to the first fork in the road I tried going down my intended path several times, but after spending far too long trying to fight through the willows and the weeds I finally took the other turn off and gave up on my first goal of the day. I shortly came to the end of that road and had to make a decision again.
A trail began there that continued down the canyon. In fact this was part of backpacking trip I was thinking of doing there until I discovered the snow and sub-zero temperatures. I thought maybe I'd head down that for a while until I hit an arch, the distance would be about the same as my original trip so it made sense. However, a little ways into this plan I discovered I hated walking down a creek with no more trail (when the 4x4 path turned into just a trail I lost it all together in the marshes). I simply wasn't interested, plus the only thing to see was the arch down there and I hadn't heard much about it. So I messed around there for a while, going up little slots to the side and so forth until I returned to the end of the 4x4 path. There another trail branched off besides the one I'd already, sort of, taken. Remember that one trail that I was told meant certain death? Yah, that one started there. However, it was also supposed to have some of the bests views in the Needle's District. So I figured, what the heck, I'd take it until it became impassable and then go back. Interesting choice.
Well it certainly did have good views. Despite many attempts none of my photographs could really capture the contrast of the Needle's District with the snow-capped La Sal mountains in the background so just take my word that it was spectacular.
The trail looped up some fun little passageways before coming out on slick-rock with great views. It didn't take long before I encountered what I thought the rangers were talking about. A long stretch of sloped, slick rock that fell off into an abyss. However, I thought I could do it and got kind of excited I could complete a loop instead of just return the way I came (and try to walk on the creek that was now undoubtedly thawing in the sunlight). So I went ahead. One spot in particular scared me but I passed through. Going very slowly and cautiously I made it around the ~1/8 mile section much to my relief and excitement. Then I turn the corner and there's another one just like it! Well again caution and taking my time I come to just about the end (with only a few scary moments in there) when I see it: death in trail form.
That picture was taken about one to two hundred feet up from the trail in one of my many attempts to try and get around this bit. The trail itself leads around the side of this cliff and two the left (you can make out a carrin in the middle of the picture). I don't know how scary that looks to anyone, but since I was slipping and falling on much gentler slopes and this one had a waterfall on it (can you see it?) I was terrified. Also, the drop-off to the right is exactly as deadly as it looks: it's about 100 feet and I would be very expired at the bottom. I could't find my way around over the top so I went down to the trail. I tried getting close to the truly terrfying part just to have a look. I got out to about 30 feet from the carrin and decided it was exactly as stupid as it appeared from above. I tried to turn to go back and ... slipped. I managed to catch myself and then it took me five minutes, standing there petrified, trying to figure out how to get back. Which then happened again on another patch later on only that time it took me 10 minutes of standing there trying to thing of some other way across until I manned up and did it. Very scary.
So the trip was certainly something to behold, but I was honestly terrified much of the time, I think it's something I'd like to do some time in the summer. Some time without ice. I went back the way I came and walked as best I could down the Salt Creek Road. My feet got pretty wet but I was never too close to dying so that was nice.
One incident that I remember from that morning. As I was walking in the darkness (or twilight anyways) I came upon some fox or coyote tracks (I don't know tracks well enough to distinguish). This was not a surprise as they were everywhere, but these lead up to one spot in what appeared to be a swift manner, that had a good deal of bird feather stuck into the ice, and then trotted away. I followed the prints for some time (as they stayed on the trail) until they finally headed off into the brush. Some lucky predator had had breakfast there I presumed. I ate later.
Crossroads
Since my long hike was to take place the day before, this was to be my off day: only a short hike for me. Though my hike the previous day had not proved to be as long as I hoped, I stuck with this plan (after all, I'm on vacation!) I had gone to the ranger station the day before after returning from my adventure to ask about conditions. I was told to avoid one trail in particular as it was literally deadly (Peekabo Springs/Canyon trail) and other than that they reccomended I stay off all the trails I had done that day. Which amused me (though they were probably right, there were a few close calls). So today I headed to the North end of the district to see the confluence of the Colorado and the Green River. There was a sharp drop and then climb at the beginning of the hike but most of it afterwards was relatively flat.
The confluence itself was not the awe inspiring. In fact with the ice in it, it just looked dirty. It's a good thing the views around it were so nice.
The hike was 14 miles, 7 each way and without massive elevation gains it was pretty straight forward. There were a few slick-rock spots that slowed me down, but nothing really dangerous. My biggest complaint was that the previous day my boots had finally died on me: splitting along the seams and becoming quite porous. My feet were soaked for the rest of the trip much to my chagrin. Still, it was a pleasent walk with views along much of the trail.
After one day of picture taking my camera claimed low batteries. I figured it was just because of the cold but that wouldn't help me should it run out. I became much more sparing in my use of it, though it never did run out of juice on me.
The confluence itself was not the awe inspiring. In fact with the ice in it, it just looked dirty. It's a good thing the views around it were so nice.
I returned from the hike and spent the remainder of the day reading and trying to dry out my boots. I was more successful at one than the other. Then another night into the cold.
A Man's Gotta' Know His Limitations
The day was supposed to begin at 5:30 for me, but despite being awake then I pushed it back an hour. It was around 0 degrees out and I knew it wouldn't get much warmer until the sun rose, and that didn't happen until after 7:30. At 6:30 I got up and ate breakfast (dry, shredded mini-wheats: better than it sounds) contemplating the day ahead. I didn't actually hit the trail until 7:00 when twilight had already begun. It was cold. After a few minutes of walking it wasn't too much of a problem for my body as long I kept moving at a reasonable clip, but it did cause other problems. The water in my Camelback froze every 5 minutes unless I did something about it (held my hands around the hose), and every 2 minutes when I was in the bottom of canyons where it was significantly colder. I was only wearing a long-underwear undershirt and my hiking shirt yet even that close to my body the outside of my shirt froze and turned white with frost. Yet for all that, it was spectacular.
Things started to get sticky for me as I turned and headed up Lost Canyon, and towards the first slick rock of the trip. Well, actually things got very unsticky. The theme of ice and snow getting in my way, and a powerful wish for crampons, began right about then. As the canyon began to narrow the trail became a stream. A frozen stream, and one that was not easily avoided. It was pretty, but also pretty hard to walk on with any kind of speed.
The slick rock at the top of the canyon proved worse. Though it would have been little problem in the summer, the snow and ice made much of it impassable and I spent a great deal of time trying to get around it and down it without seriously injurying myself. Not to spoil the ending but I never did more than get some good bruises and a few twisted body parts from the ice. Which is good as I had a several opportunities on this trip to kill myself so I'll take a bruise over that.
Despite it's danger, walking over the slick rock provided amazing views of the surrounding area. I spent much of this, and future hikes walking around with my camera out of its case and snapping photos.
The hike continued like this for some time. Each canyon ended in a slick rock section that involved climbing out of the one canyon and into the next. Each time I spent a great deal of effort trying to safely navigate myself through the trails and up and down the slopes. Besides being dangerous, it was quite slow and combined with the fact that I had left an hour late I began to recognize that I would not be able to complete my planned outing.
I have to admit, I did enjoy the occasional ladder to help me cross these passes, though some were more pleasant than others...
Eventually it became decision time. Not done with my loop I decided to take a little side trip (to druid arch) and then return by the most direct route possible to the campground. This was a little depressing, but a wise choice. Almost the entire day I was on trails with no foot-prints. Which meant it would be hard to find my way in the dark, and that no one had been there in at least a week (and probably longer) so I couldn't exactly expect help if something happened. The overall trip ended up being only a little over 20 miles which was too bad. Still, for all the problems the snow, caused, it certainly added something to the beauty, and to the solitude of the place.
Things started to get sticky for me as I turned and headed up Lost Canyon, and towards the first slick rock of the trip. Well, actually things got very unsticky. The theme of ice and snow getting in my way, and a powerful wish for crampons, began right about then. As the canyon began to narrow the trail became a stream. A frozen stream, and one that was not easily avoided. It was pretty, but also pretty hard to walk on with any kind of speed.
Despite it's danger, walking over the slick rock provided amazing views of the surrounding area. I spent much of this, and future hikes walking around with my camera out of its case and snapping photos.
The hike continued like this for some time. Each canyon ended in a slick rock section that involved climbing out of the one canyon and into the next. Each time I spent a great deal of effort trying to safely navigate myself through the trails and up and down the slopes. Besides being dangerous, it was quite slow and combined with the fact that I had left an hour late I began to recognize that I would not be able to complete my planned outing.
I returned shortly before sunset, with enough time to cook dinner and get ready for bed. Though when sunset is at 5:00 I wasn't quite mentally ready for it and stayed up some time in my car reading. Even after I retired to my tent I found myself unable to sleep and got up around 11:00 or 12:00 to try my hand at photographing the amazing sky (no lights anywhere and single digit temperatures make for a breathtaking night sky). It turned out so-so (hard to see here, but like all pictures on the blog you can click to enlarge; however, even then it greatly lacks the awe of the true view I had there).
Sallying Forth
To begin this trip at the beginning (which is the only sensible place to start) I left home with the idea of spending one week exploring Canyonlands and, possibly, Arches. I knew where I wanted to stay the first night (the campground in the Needles District in Canyonlands) and the hike I wanted to do the first day I arrived (a loop around the trails there, about 26 miles in total with a lot of good views). After that I was just going to see how it went.
I left Tuesday morning and begin driving (most of the trip occurred on I-70). After some dangerous driving around Vail I made it into Utah and when I finally couldn't stand so much un-photographed beauty I stopped and took some picture from the side of the road. Normally not my style but the snow certainly added to the the effect.
I made it down past Moab and entered into Canyonlands (a rather slow, curvy, and icy drive). I stopped part way in to take pictures and to see Newspaper Rock. Apparently nothing is known about the drawings here other than a rough time frame, but it's quite a collection of them
I arrived in the campground at around 4:30 and set up camp. Well set-up my tent anyways, it wasn't really conducive conditions to set-up anything else. I had known that it had snowed some time shortly before the new year and that it was supposed to be cold. However, with the small amount of moisture that area is supposed to get I thought it would be basically clear of snow (and ice) when I arrived. That I was wrong proved to be a rather important feature of my trip for good and ill. At the campsite itself there was probably about 3" on the ground which wasn't that bad. I set up the tent, put down an army blanket on the floor and covered my sleeping bag with another blanket.
I walked around before sunset (and a little after) to see the area and for something to do. Every night I stayed in that campground there was always at least one other group, but normally that was it (one night there were two groups). It was quite beautiful there, even if it was cold. When I was trudging around I stopped for a moment and heard complete silence. It was something I'm not accustomed to hearing and it felt strange. There were no animals around to make noise, no wind, and no one else at the campground (the other group that night arrived right around sunset). I strained to hear anything to the point that the silence started to sound loud in my ears. I don't know what that means exactly, but it happened. Later, at night, it happened again but in the dark the silence sounded normal. It sounded peaceful: I do miss that.
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