Unsurprisingly, the night was cold, and the morning was cold. I’m getting awfully tired of aching fingertips.
On the bright side, it never properly rained today. Just fog with a bit of mist.
Though I can’t stand the climate, it seems that mushrooms feel differently. There were many varieties by the trailside here.
Washington couldn’t decide how to treat me today. Sometimes it was misty whiteout, other times the sun shone clearly.
We kept passing, then being passed by, the homeless-looking woman from yesterday. She was really fast, and her unusual gear choices were likely a big help.
It was never exactly warm today per se, but the direct sun could dry out our condensation-soaked gear.
One of the people drying gear in the meadow was the woman I’d thought was homeless. Her name was Cow Patty, and she lived near Ashland. Today, it happened, was her 67th birthday. Everybody sang Happy Birthday, but we were unable to produce a cake.
Since it was labor day weekend, locals were out hiking. We also saw horseback riders, ATV drivers, and heard a lot of gunshots.
The trail for the rest of the day was much like Northern California — hillside trails with few views, and much clearcutting. Except, here it was 40 degrees colder.
We kept on moving, trying to keep warm, until hours later, it was time for camp. I don’t like Washington.
301 miles left.
I feel like this mushroom post should be turned into a children’s book.
I think I might’ve been channeling The Very Hungry Caterpillar, or One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. Either way, I was probably hungry
Reminds me of the time I visited the lodge at Mt. Rainer and had a snowball fight… IN JULY! Ah, Central Washington summers.