I awoke to a light drizzle and made a fire. Coffee and oatmeal were in order.
I ate and broke camp, headed up to the bridge. It was a primitive suspension bridge across the Elwah.
I started up the Long Trail. Nine miles of switchbacks, everyone says, “Nice Grade.”
They don’t say it’s a motherfucker and there’s no water for nine miles.
Red squirrel chattered at me incessantly.
The drizzle stopped and a little sun peaked out from the clouds.
Sweat came easily and I had two quarts of water to replace it. That should do.
C’mon now, this ain’t that bad. One foot in front of the other. Let’s go.
When I looked up the slope to the north I could see the fire lookout at Dodger Point. It was a beautiful sight.
Scrambling up the slope I arrived. There was still a field of snow which I could melt for water.
Dodger Point is the last of the lookouts in the Olympics. There’s still an old fire finder in there but the lookout is not manned anymore. Gary Snyder would be disappointed that the boy who was the lookout at Dodger Point is no more.