roam free or die

Image

 

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.

 

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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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