August 17
1103 – 1123
I got up and going pretty early for me. I saw some helicopters but nothing like last night. I wonder what was happening? I came to a peak and talked to some people with fishing poles. They hadn’t seen any helicopters the night before. Probably I’ll never know what that was all about.
The woods up here were different. Mossy and ferny and quiet. Bigfoot maybe lives nearby.
I played headgames with myself all day. Five miles then a break. Two more hours then a break. No break until I find a creek. That sort of thing.
At Richardson Lake, I ate early dinner and wished I could set up camp. I put my feet in the cold water. A school of tiny fish swarmed around my toes. Maybe they’d give me fish pedicure. A crawdad scuttled after the fish. I pulled my feet out.
I dragged myself those last five miles. I ended up at a stupid campsite. My choices were tall grass or cement-hard dirt. Too tired to care.
Spinstera 