roam free or die



Entering the old Prince Creek Compound under a snow-laden bough.

I lived here, in a tent that found it’s way to me after being abandoned in Bishop by a visiting Swedish climber.  Everyone insisted that I have it.  I had been sleeping in a bivy sac and this would be a considerable upgrade.

Ali pitched her own tent just out of view, close to a stream that would flood her dreams if they came at all.  She had an insomnia problem that year.  More time for stars and walks with nighttime animal friends.

We had a fire some nights, cooking beef steaks in a cast iron pan over the coals.  I recall having a stove, but I don’t recall using it.

It was cold, the kind of cold that accumulates night after night, never fully leaving your body.  We would eat chocolate before bed and in the night I could feel the cold draw it out of me like some sort of siphon.  We joked about it being a new diet. 

Soon it was elk season, Ali flew to Spain, and new neighbors arrived.  Next door, grizzly men clad in camo flying a confederate flag.  Across the dirt road, an odd pair of European men who complimented the physique of my borrowed dog: all of the dogs here are so fat, but this one, she is healthy and trim.

Looking back, it all seems so charming and strange.


This entry was published on October 25, 2013 at 9:01 pm and is filed under et cetera. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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