Sunday, August 25, 2019; day 36
What a glorious nights rest! …Oh, the stars, the crescent moon! Such a clear, cool night with the slightest hint of breeze.
The sun kisses me good-morning; then is overtaken–hidden behind a blanket of grey.
It becomes so cold. I must put on my long wool stockings and balaclava to slip out of my down cocoon comfortably.
To Sherman Pass!
The wind howls. A lone wolf through the clouds. Haunting, beautiful, chilling. It plays my nerves like a violin.
I continue along the Kettle Crest Trail.
At times I have to will myself to continue. Oh, the struggle, the push. I realize that the feeling of freedom, however defined by an individual, never comes without sacrifice.
The sky clears.
I discover huckleberries along the ascent towards Copper Butte. Oh, thank you! I move slowly, eating my fill.
I break up a gathering of grazing cows. I am positioned between one and the group. It “moos” deeply, angrily, desperately. I continue, side stepping the plethora of cow patties at their various stages of decomposition.
I no longer find the cows amusing.
The trail, however, was clear and fantastically beautiful.
I came to a piped spring and trough. It was fenced to keep the cows out.
I took a short break by the spring and continued.
I made it to parking lot of Sherman’s Pass. I got a visual of Route 20, and where I would hitch from. I then walked back to the trail head in search of a flat spot to camp. I found a small space that would suffice. I spread out my tarp and mat. I would hitch in to the tiny town of Republic, first thing in the morning.