5:20 a.m., I awoke the the eerie sound of bear bags being swatted. I hurriedly poked my head out of the tent and could see them swaying, but no sign of bears.
Had I scared them off? No, there was Skot, just a little too thin for me to see in the dark, without my glasses.
Last night was just a pleasure to behold as we prodded and fed a nice fire and smoked a funny cigarette. I went to bed feeling good, except for my feet.
It had been an easy day for the most part, but when I got up into the switch-backs, or actually somewhere before them––I wasn’t even at the horse bridge when I found Skot––I’d made a few wrong turns in my attempts to avoid the massive amounts of water and done a bit of bush-whacking (Little did I know . . . ) that had me slightly whipped and just happy that I’d found the trail. And I think that having hiked for a few days with Gio and to suddenly lose him, I was kind of looking for company.
So when Skot suggested I spend the night in his camp and we could both wait for Manny to appear, I was happy.
To top it all off, the trees opened up and let all the stars in and along with my little back-country buzz, it was all good, or so I thought.