A Day on the PCT in the High Sierra
Without fail, I wake to a bursting bladder at 4:48 or 4:52 or some other time a hair or two before my alarm, and decide to ignore both the shrill ring and the sharp pain in search of another fifteen…
To All The Tents I’ve Loved
To my very first tent, that nameless damp canvas cavern propped up in a small clearing just north of Green Hand Bridge, within smelling distance of the wetland. You were my shelter from a merciless thunderstorm…until we abandoned you for…
