MadAtlantric Drunk=ferst and bQB V

“Morning came quickly, as it always does on the last day of a trip. I lay awake in my tent, watching the shadows of tree limbs playing softly on rainfly for a while before I finally got up to pee, then grabbed my water bottle and toothbrush before making my way out onto the glacial boulder field. Yesterday’s rattles had moved on, a distant memory and a lingering caution, and the world was a sun-washed windy whisper. I did some lazy scrambling and lounged on a nice sunny rock where I brushed my teeth. The dregs of the previous evening’s merriment quickly burned off in the warm sun and I went back to my tent where I discovered spindle, Greenmonkey and Ms Doolittle fondling Richb’s homemade sleeping bag. It was only right for me to join in the ogling and fondling. The bag was clearly of the highest quality. Rich does nice work so we moved on to his pack, another Richb original, and repeated the process.

When we arrived back at the main campsite the crowd was busy buzzing about, eating breakfast, packing up gear and loafing about. It was another beautiful day and no one seemed to be in any particular hurry to get moving. We saw a thru-hiker run through around 9:30, headphones on, gaze focused on the rocks in front of him. He nodded a greeting without stopping and was gone just as quickly as he had appeared. Shortly thereafter a pair of thru-hikes strolled in to camp and stopped for a moment. Someone offered them some grapes and the next thing we knew they had us tossing bratwursts on the grill and passing snacks being their way. The food disappeared faster than we could present it. Chips and chocolate and cookies and crackers and grapes and veggies and anything else they could get their hot little hands on disappeared faster than mice in the fridge when the light goes on. But even though they showed our food supplies no mercy they were very grateful. The one guy kept mumbling, “Thank you so much.” in between bites when he wasn’t busy answering questions about mileage and such. Through the course of conversation we determined that they guy who blew through camp before them was a buddy of theirs and they were trying to catch up to him. He was already a half an hour ahead before they stopped and we probably set them back another 45 minutes but they didn’t seem to care. The fact that he didn’t stop meany more food for them. After they finished eating we offered them some tequila, which was also eagerly accepted, and then we saw them on their merry way.

As with all good things the weekend finally came to an end and it was time to head out. The group started to dwindle as hikers left in small packs of two or three or four. There was a lot of leapfrogging on the way out as faster hikers passed slower hikers and took breaks and were passed by the hikers they had already passed only to get started and pass them again. But it was an easy hike out for the most part and we were back to trailhead in no time at all, loaded up our cars and headed back out to greet the real world once again.

Looking back on the weekend I can only imagine that we must have appeared to all passersby like a merry band of sluggards, something akin to Mack and the Boys on Cannery Row. The weekend was but a moment in our lives, but in that moment we live forever, unknown even to ourselves:

“Mack and the boys dine delicately with the tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea-gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, blots-on-the-town, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house-fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature.”

“Ain't you guys got over this one............yet?”

“I just realized that I never posted the ending . . . although it could probably use some work.”

“Aw, its a wonderful story told by a great writer.

What you guys need is another trip!”

“Finally! Well done n_g!

”

“wow, that was some totally seriously trip reporting.”

“Never let it be said that Marko does not know how to use bandwidth....”

“Hoohoohahahahahahha!”

“Beautiful ending!

And what a great exert from Cannery Row. Great book, that was. Need to re-read it. Very fitting. :)

RichB does do excellent work on his gear. I need to learn how to make a down quilt. I can see all the feathers floating through the air as my cat chases them around the house. :p”

“Great Job NG!”

“Great job on the trip reports. Thanks for the compliments on my homemade gear. Now, I just need to get back out there and use it again.”

“Sweet ending, bub.”