2028 – 2040
I slept next to a creek. It wasn’t so cold that morning. I slept hard, I guess making up for those shivery nights.
Right away I had tricky creek crossing, the first since the Sierras. I walked upstream awhile and didn’t find a safe way across. Downstream, I found a good set of stepping stones. A few miles later, I came to Russell Creek. A chute of rushing water tumbled over boulders. And a dead horse, its head underwater, its rear end bulging and swollen like a hippo. I read on Guthooks about the horse, and how it got there. Back in July, a trail rider and her horse fell down the ravine. The rider broke one leg and had to be rescued by helicopter. The horse broke all its legs and had to be shot. Poor horse. How traumatic, I wonder if that woman ever gets back on a horse after something like that? I wonder why that horse carcass is still stuck in the water like that? How come a bear hasn’t come to eat it? Or vultures or eagles or crows?
When I was cycling in India, I saw vultures eating dead cows. The huge vultures with feather collars to keep the guts off their shoulders. It’s not a sight I’ll ever forget.
I spent most of the day climbing 2000 feet over eight miles. Which doesn’t sound like much but it was tiring. A huge eagle flew over, hovered above me. Do birds get cold up there? Finally I got around the shoulder of Mt. Jefferson. Another mountain was behind it. Maybe that’s Mt. Hood.