compass bearings & star trails

As the air turned blue we set about lighting a fire. The firewood was wet from the sled but we managed to get a flame to catch reasonably well. It was surprising how dark it suddenly seemed. I passed the twilight stomping through the woods taking photos of the firelight while my mom waited patiently by the fire and our dog came back with a nose full of porcupine quills.

I gathered gear while the shadows outside lengthened, piling firewood and bags onto an old plastic sled with a cord attached to its front. By the time we made it out to the plantation, the sun was low on the horizon and orange light cast across the fields. The snow was deep and light and the still pines seemed to beckon.

When I’m in a city or even a forest, there’s so many things in the way that I can get deceived into thinking that the sky is close. Sometimes it takes a mountain pass to remind me how distant the sun is, how big the horizon can be.

We put on every layer we had and hiked out to the overlook above the valley, surrounded by cold wind and mountain tundra and above all else the bright light of the distant sun. Farewell to the mountains.

Drove across Trail Ridge Road to try to get a campsite on the east end of Rocky Mountain National Park. Didn’t make it in time, so we spent the afternoon hiking up to Dream Lake instead. Dreaming of wild. 🍃

Horseshoe Bend was crowded as you could believe. We were looking for an isolated bit of desert, not a tourist extravaganza, so we did climbing down to a ledge below the cliff’s edge. Scared the heck out of the people around us but their fear was not our problem. That’s where we took in the sunset and said farewell to the desert—sitting and journalling and photographing and ignoring the exclamations of the concerned tourists above us. You’ve got to find your wild.

The Grand Canyon was cold in the wind before the sun. We packed quickly and drove to Bright Angel Point, pausing for a moment in the parking lot to boil water for tea. Brought the red sleeping bag liner at the last minute and used it at the end of the trail to wrap up in the wind as the sun’s light spilled over the deep canyon.

As soon as the sun’s light reached us we made oatmeal and climbed back into the warmth of our sleeping bags to watch the last of the mist drift across the lake. Probably the best breakfast I’ve ever had.

The frost crunched under our feet. The fog rolled silently above the water. I swear the sun has never moved as slowly as it did that morning at Sunrise Lake.