I am man! I create fire! Fire is good!

Luckily, I went home for Thanksgiving. Mark thinks it's funny, but I had no idea how to start a fire. It's not something I had really thought about. How hard is it to start a fire? You light a match, and burn the stuff. It had never occurred to me that you couldn't just light a big log on fire.

It makes me sound incompetent, but really, it's just not something I've ever done. If nobody ever sat down and forced you to write the letter 'a' a thousand times in elementary school, you wouldn't be able to do it. Someone had to teach you. The only fires I had ever started were with the easy-light logs. The ones that that you simply light the outer package, and you've got a roaring fire in the fireplace for hours.

That is, until Thanksgiving. Mom has actual firewood. When my dad and I first arrived, her brother, my uncle Larry, was having trouble getting the fire started, so volunteered to take over the project. Mom thinks I'm a buffoon. If we sit down to eat, she wants to explain to me how to use a fork. She still thinks I'm 2. So, as with everything else, when I kneel in front of the fireplace, she comes out to tell me how to start the fire.

"Just use the newspaper to light it, and here in the bag you have smaller pieces of wood for kindling..."

Initially, I just nod as usual and accept that my own mother thinks I need help with every last thing...then I realize...I had no clue!

Had I gone up into the mountains like this, it's highly likely I would never have gotten a fire started. It was fortunate that I had come home for the holidays.

Camp Potosi - Part Four

It's already dusk. And it's already cold. And it's not even 5 yet.

All the practicing out here in the wild, and setting up and breaking down the tent at Mark's house pays off. Even with making a bad mistake and threading one of the poles wrong, and having to go back and fix it, I set up the tent in under 5 minutes, and quickly have my gear unloaded and organized. Now, even in pitch black, as long as I can get to the tent, I can find everything.

Gathering firewood is easy. It's everywhere. Lots of dead trees and pieces of dead trees scattered all around the campsite area. Rocks for the fire ring take more searching. But I get a good collection going and before long have a nice fire pit set up.

Mark gave some good instruction on setting up a fire in the wild. Building the fire ring. Using dry grass as kindling to get the fire started. And maybe the most important - details on puting the fire out. On the back side of the mountain, I can see what fire damage can do.


5 PM

I can't believe it! I'm blogging fireside!!!

The heat is wonderful. It is getting cold. Fast. Now that the sun has gone down everywhere around is cooling off. In under an hour, it will be night, and the temperature will drop down precipitously. Thoughts of using my fire for utility purposes enter my mind: drying clothes, cooking up some dinner. Really what I want to do is pull out my skymap, and learn about the stars. Being up here should allow me a magnificent view of them. I can't wait for them to come out.


6 PM

Trying to cook the Top Ramen has been a nightmare. The boiling pot in my mess kit has a handle that is crooked. I have nothing to set the pot on to keep it over the fire, so I have to hold the handle and keep it hovering. How irritating. Not the kind of activity I want to be involved in after the day I've had, just getting here. It's too dark now to run around looking for stones to build a makeshift stand for the pots and pans, so this seems my only option. There's a spot in the firepit where the logs are level, and seem steady, so I try resting the pot on those. Oops. It turns over and empties out. I now have a puddle instead of a fire.

One corner of the fire hasn't gone out, and with some extra logs and a bit of effort, the fire is saved, and even the wet areas get hot enough eventually and all the logs catch back up. It's wonderful. I could just sit here and soak up the heat forever.


7 PM

I'm bored senseless.

I've been tending the fire for 2 hours, now. I have given up trying to heat water over the campfire. My frying pan is burned. Nobody told me not to cook over open flame. Live and learn. I try using the can of Sterno fuel that I brought. I love it. It lights up easily, stays hot, but if you get your pots too close to the mouth of the can, the flame goes out. A couple of times, I sat there holding a frying pan over no heat. Without keeping consistant heat going, it's hard to boil water when the temperature around is below freezing.

The Sterno fuel idea isn't working, either. I no longer care that my pan is being cooked. I want hot water. And after charring my frying pan beyond salvagability, I manage to get hot water. Not boiling, but warm enough for hot chocolate. Ok. Luke-warm chocolate. But having liquid in me that isn't icey cold water is most welcome. I have neglected to bring utensils, so I stir the hot chocolate mix with the flavor packet from the Top Ramen I was never able to get fixed. Dinner ends up being dry Cheerios and a raw brick of Top Ramen that I eat like a candy bar, straight from the package. Not exactly 5 Star Gourmet.

There's a ton of humidity in the air. The sky is hazy, and I can't see the stars. I'm not really in the mood for star gazing anyways. It's too cold to look up. I want to leave my face right here in the flames.

I figure I might as well get some sleep. After the workout I have gotten just getting to the campsite, I should be plenty ready to pass out. I warm up the sleeping bag by holding it near the fire for a while, then put it back into the tent. Then, I warm up the fleece bag while it is still rolled up and stuff it inside the bigger sleeping bag. It takes me 20 minutes to get the fire completely out and by the time I get into the tent, the sleeping bags are cold. Warming them had been pointless.

I unroll the fleece bag, stuff my feet into it, and then stretch out inside the main bag. It's not too bad in here. I get the tent zipped up, and lie down to enjoy a good night's sleep in the great outdoors.


8 PM

So much for that. I'm freezing. I'm not tired. I realize it's not going to bottom out on the temperature until somewhere between 2 and 3 am. I am going to die. It's not even 8 pm yet. If I call Mark to come get me, it's not like I've dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night. I know the cellphone won't work here, but it's a fairly short walk to a point up the mountain where it will.

Surprise, Surprise! It works! 5 bars, and I didn't even have to get out of the sleeping bag! I send Mark a text message. Very simple. "Very cold". Now, I won't lose face. When he messages back, he can suggest that I should probably come home, and I can just agree with his wisdom, and I haven't wimped out. Just followed his lead.

There's no response. I start thinking about my options. Even if Mark does call back and suggests that I go home, it's an hour and a half walk down the mountain. With steep rocky areas where a small mistake is a fatal mistake. In the dark. In the cold. That doesn't sound wise. And if he sends the search and rescue team, how stupid do I feel when they get there and give me the 'What were you thinking???' look. I decide it's best to just tough it out. Amazing the power testosterone has: the ability to guide you into deciding it's better to die than to be shamed. I think about the future. I can stay up all night on the fire. But I will probably fall asleep and land in the fire. Or if I stay up all night, will be too exhausted to make the climb down in the morning without falling off the mountain. Things start looking bleak. I begin to panic. I send a text message to Sandy.

Sandy is like my second mom. She frets over every last thing I do. She's a great, great friend. I explain the situation. Then, I notice something very, very, bad. The liner around the opening of the sleeping bag is damp and cold. I feel the tent to see if water is leaking in from somewhere. Yikes! ICE! I open the tent and feel the outside walls. Totally dry. I realize what is happening. My body heat and breath are condensing. The dew on the walls of the tent is freezing and creating ice crystals, helping to chill the inside of the tent. Panic!!! I notice I am shaking. I'm not sure if it's from the cold, or the panic, or both. My breathing becomes rapid and shallow. I'm not quite hyperventilating, but it's coming. I'm gonna pass out and freeze to death. Thinking this only makes it worse.

I share my fears with Sandy. She panics. I have to reassure her that everything is going to be alright. The bright side of testosterone. Now that I have to comfort the woman, I am in more control of myself. I have to be calm to help her though her ordeal (her ordeal???). I reach down into the sleeping bag to check how cold my legs are...feel for numbness. Ho! I'm warm! Check the feet...? WARMTH! I'm not even cold. All the shaking was from panic. I relax completely. Suddenly I'm exhausted. I thank Sandy for helping me through this, and say good night. It's 9:30.


10 PM

Drat. I have to piddle. BAD. I'm afraid that if I don't, I will explode in my sleep, end up all wet and it will freeze. How humiliating that would be? To be found later by hikers. Dead. Dead because I froze due to bed wetting. But I'm afraid to get out of the sleeping bag. I don't want to lose all this built up heat. I finally slip on my frozen boots and head out. The zipper on the tent is so cold it hurts to touch. Stepping out of the tent, I expected pain. But it's not as miserably cold as I thought. Now that I'm calm, it's more confortable.

Stars! STARS! It's beautiful. I'm lost in the sky, now. Staring up at a now clear sky. Look at all of them. STARS!!!! I find Orion, the only constellation I know. Mark showed me how to find it the night before. It didn't look like this from the city. Wow. Then, I realize I am cooling. The rational mind tells me to get back into the sleeping bags before they cool down too much.

When I get back into the tent the bags were already cooling down. It only takes a moment for them to start warming again. I notice that I haven't rushed to put my gloves back on, and my hands aren't cold. They don't hurt. The heat and humidity have built up in the tent in the last couple of hours. It's nice in here. The ice on the walls has melted. Still wet, but no longer frozen. I decide to catch up on my blog notes. I write until almost 11pm. Finally, I'm really tired.

Lights out.

Camp Potosi - Part Three

Moving on after lunch, I fall back onto another animal trail. Almost expected, there are more signs of the burros. I am wondering if Mark phoned them, and told them to haunt me while I'm camping. I've heard stories from other campers that the burros will walk right up to sleepers and sniff at them from a few inches away. Not an exciting prospect...waking up with a giant face so close to your own.

The animal trail dumps out onto Road 582. Incredible. I could have followed the burros on a shortcut right to where I need to be. But there's another decision to be made, almost immediately. The road splits again. This time, the branch is 582 A. My memory tells me that I'm supposed to be on the far side of a ravine that runs down the middle of the valley, but the side road looks quicker, and I can always cross over if I find the need, so I chose, again, to travel on the offshoot.

There are a lot of mines around here. All are closed up with fencing, with warning signs: "keep out: unstable mine." They are not of interest to me. The cloud cover is making it darker, and feel later, than it really is, and a sense of urgency is pushing me to move faster. I really do not want to have to make camp, and search for firewood in the dark.

Somewhere I make some kind of mistake. Road A dumps me into a wash. I think I confused a crossing and picked the wash instead of the road to follow. It happens. It's often difficult to tell which is which. It keeps me headed in the right direction, so I don't let it bother me and keep moving along. When the wash becomes overgrown, I climb up the bank and take to ambling along through the desert again. Now, the area becomes familiar. The trees here are scorched. A fire swept through this valley during a previous storm. I have seen all of this from above. The temperature continues to drop, and there are fewer breaks in the clouds for the sun to peek through. The wind is also picking up, and the air is cool. It's a mild climb, but it's work with the pack that probably weighs between 40 and 50 pounds. I'm sweating. Being damp in a cold wind is not comfortable.


2:35

Panic!

A vehicle! On the road! Coming towards me!

I had stopped to look back towards the sun at the cloud cover, hoping to find that there would be some space for the sun to shine through soon, when I noticed the glimmer on the metal and the dust kicking up. It was just coming around the curve at the hills on road 582. Even with my binoculars, I cannot tell what kind of car it is, but I don't like it. The vehicle stops. Did they notice me looking at them and stop? Did the driver stop to use his own binoculars to look at me? Probably they stopped at the mines that are down in that area. I am thinking it could be the green truck I saw near Potosi Mine. Could be people just out checking out the mines. But I don't like it. I would much rather be alone out here. I turn and move swiftly towards the ridge that I will be going up, which is now in sight.

When I find a bit of a rise, I drop down into the wash a bit, and pull out the binoculars again. The vehicle has started moving again, and is closer. I can see it, now. It is the green truck, and it's moving along at a good pace. I use to wash to move and stay out of view, now. I don't want to be up on higher ground where I'm visible. I get almost to the ridge and I can hear the truck. Close. Just on the other side of the hill that protects me from view. I decide to equalize things. They cannot drive up the mountain. If they are going to chase me, it will be on foot. Up I go.

It's not a 'they', only a he. And it's not white supremacists out hunting. He waves. I wave back, feel foolish, now. He stops and turns off the truck, so he can hear me. He calls out a greeting and I answer. He asks what I'm doing. I tell him "going up," pointing towards the higher areas of the mountain, "to camp."

"Camping?!?" The expression on his face makes it obvious he thinks I'm a fool. The eyes are asking, 'Do you not know it's going to be freezing up there tonight? Are you an idiot?'

My sheepish nod answers, 'Yes. All of the above.'

We chat briefly. He's exploring the mines. He's a climber. But I'm eager to make camp before dark, and head off after saying goodbye.


4 PM

It's bad. The sun has dipped below the mountains, and I now know that I am lost. Lost bad. I have misread my map somewhere. What should have been a stroll up a valley has become a difficult climb up a rocky ridge. I may need to drop and camp in a bad spot before the freeze. I do not like heights and there are many spots where I have to remove my pack and push it up a rise, then climb up the rocks to get over. I have to take two breaks to rest my exhausted legs. I'm doing a lot of switch-back hiking to minimize the work.

I would love it right here if I wasn't in a semi-state of emergency. I'm high up on the side of the mountain, with a great view of mountains and valleys for miles and miles, with no signs of civilization or mankind. Really beautiful. Stopping here to jot notes for the blog is great. I would love to just sit here and write for hours. And now I have found my burros. I was right. Only about an hour behind them, at the most. I cannot see them, but I hear one of them braying. Where I turned to head into the valley, heading for the campsite, they continued on towards Red Rock Canyon.

I am terrified of getting stuck up here. I know I could have a real problem if I find myself up against a spot that I cannot continue climbing and am forced to go back down. Down is usually harder than up, because you are looking directly into where you might fall. I could end up searching for the best place to set up camp and waiting for search and rescue. It would be bad, because the mountain is covered with dry grass. There would be no campfire.

Fortunately, no unpassable area ever comes up. I keep working my way up and around the hill. Something is horribly wrong. I turn around and look down towards the valley. This is not what I've seen from above. The view I got from near the arch on previous trips was one of a casual, gradual slope. A walk. Not a treacherous climb. I'm in the wrong place. I think I know what happened. In my panic of encountering the green truck before, I have turned too early. I'm in the wrong place. I'm scared. This is bad.

As I keep pushing upward, I come across something interesting. A mine. Unlike every other mine I've seen, this one has no signs warning adventurers to keep out. There is no indication this one has ever been fenced up to keep people out. But it's not new. I might have passed right by, if not for the debris and discharge. There's a small amount of tailings, so it must not be very deep. But there is debris. Old bricks. Broken, aged lumber that looks to be old remnants of support beams from inside the mine. The opening to the mine is obscured from view by trees. If I were not right on top of it, I wouldn't have been able to see it from anywhere else. I may have found something long forgotten. If I wasn't at risk of ending up dead, it might be something to get excited about.

I think I can see the peak of the hill I am on. If I can get to that point, I should be able to see where I am. By the terrain, and my estimates based on my view of Potosi Peak and the radio towers, I should come out near the arch where the geocache we ventured after weeks before. From there, it's all familiar territory, and an easy hike to the campsite. But when I finally reach the peak, it's not what I expected.

I can see the arch from up here. And I'm not under it. I'm on the wrong part of the mountain. My earlier guess was wrong. I hadn't turned too early. I had turned too late. I've gone too far. And now there's cause for serious concern. I look past, between the peak I am on, and the peak where the arch is. It's down. Several hundred feet down steep, maybe unclimbable slope. I'm stuck. I look to my right, towards Potosi Peak. Searching frantically for some way to get across the valley, so I could follow the side of the mountain to my destination, but there is no easy route. This is terrible. I'm so far off route that it could be days before anyone looks here for me. I drop my pack and wander. I move to the edge of the ridge, measuring the risk of trying to get over to the arch. Now that I've pushed through the trees, I can see better to my left. Unbelieveable! It's a soft saddle valley to the next hill. All burned out valley. My valley. And I recognize the upper crest beyond. The campsite. The relief comes on so heavy I feel like I'm going to cry from joy. I go back and get my pack. In less than ten minutes of easy walking, I'm at the campsite.

I'm home.

Camp Potosi - Part Two

After my break, I continue along road 582 C. The higher up I get, the more I can see that the road runs right along my route, pretty much. Going this way was a good choice. There are more signs of man. A car and a truck. I don't know enough about cars to say what make and models, but these are old. 50's era old. Completely rusted out. Both littered with bullet holes. Big piles of trash: recreation for social misfits. I am even more eager for the solitude of the high mountains.

Along this road are also lots of signs of wild burros: fresh droppings along my route. I can't see the pack anywhere ahead of me. I am far from being an Indian tracker, but I would guess by the drying that I am only an hour or so behind them.

The road takes me right to the mouth of a box canyon. Looking up the face of the moutain here, I see Potosi mine. And I see the thing I want to see least. Sign of man. Present man.

There's a green pickup truck parked off the road under the mine. Apparently, someone has parked here and climbed up the steep slope to the mine. I do not hear or see anyone anywhere, so they are most likely inside the mine. I've been up there. Lots of white supremecist graffiti, and bullet shells. Not people I want to run into while I'm out all alone. I decide to pick up my pace a bit, and put some distance between me and them.

When I reach the crest of the hill here, the road curves back out into the valley, and I get a good view of the valley below. I can see the entire road. It goes way out into the valley, and if I follow it the entire way, I will be going far out of the way and will be wasting a lot of time. I have been looking for a landmark lone mountain with a sharp peak that is just past the mine area. From down here, either I am not recognizing it from the different point of view, or it's something I cannot see from here. Not being able to find that, and looking at how far out the road goes, knowing that this is my chosen route makes me a bit uncomfortable. I am thinking that this 4 mile trek might be longer than I want. I know it takes about an hour and a half to climb up the mountain from the front, and based on how long I've travelled so far, I calculate that I can make camp by 3:30 if I turn back and go up the front side of the mountain. I think a while about turning back, but decide to continue on. At this point, the better way to go is humping it through the raw desert again. I love this.

The going through the brush and cacti is slow. I could move swiftly, but I have no desire to spend my evening playing amateur surgeon, and yanking cactus needles out of my flesh. I soon find an animal trail, and this helps. It's narrow but clear, and I can move quicker. There are more fresh burro droppings and fresh hoof prints in the soft dusty dirt. Apparently, I am following the pack.

The trail leads me almost exactly where I want to go. There are several branches to the trail, and I split off the trail occassionally to rough it out through raw desert, when the trail doesn't head exactly where I want to be going, but I seem to keep meeting up the trail where the burros are headed. It's starting to feel a little weird that we are on the same path, even though my own route is so chaotic. The trail leads up a big hill that I think is the last hill that I am supposed to be going around on the road. If my memory isn't too faulty, I should be able to see the valley that I am supposed to travel through to the backside of the mountain, and my chosen route to the campsite. Once I get to the top of the hill, I am rewarded with views of Potosi Peak. I know pretty much exactly where I am, and my instincts have been perfect. It's a good time to stop for lunch.


1:35 PM

Lunch is handfuls of the Cheerios and water. I pull out the book of maps and my compass. They are more for recreation, than for navigation. I know where I am. I can see the radio towers on Mount Potosi. I can see the road. There's no way I could get lost. But I love the idea of the maps and compass, so I fill my lunch time with pretending to be scoping out things. I do take some time to study the point where I am to leave the road and start up the ridgeline to the camp. That will be my only real task, since I've not been there before and it will not be visually familiar. But by the look of the map, it will be easy going the whole way. I still can't find my landmark peak, but I suspect the rise to my immediate left. I think it just looks different from the ground than it does up at 6,000 feet. I finish lunch with an anti-biotic pill I need for my still-lingering tooth infection, and an aspirin to thin my blood a bit and help the oxygen flow. I felt the effects of the altitude when we were driving up, and I can remember the altitude sickness I experienced not too long ago. Preventative measures.

I solve the problem with the sleeping bag. Educated by another frame pack I found while "shopping" for things I don't need (but still love to look at) that has straps for holding a sleeping bag, I use the straps designed to keep the top flap down to strap the bag to the pack. It's out of balance, but it's much easier than lugging it by hand. And space on the frame is still available for the tent. So now the only thing I have to carry in my hands is the machete. Much, much better.

There is a slight change in the temperature. Clouds are moving in from the northwest, and when they block the sun, even just a little, it gets cold. Quick. I find use fro the ski gloves already.

Now fed and watered, I move on.

Camp Potosi - Part One

Mark was sick.

The original plan was two nights at my campsite on Mount Potosi. Sunday night, Mark looked like hell. He said he didn't know if he'd be able to drop me off on Tuesday. I was less concerned about the drop off, than I was the pick up. Last thing I wanted was to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with my ride home taking a long-term nap in the city morgue.

Monday afternoon I sent him a text-message to his cellphone. If he was trying to sleep off the sickness, I didn't want to wake him. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. After 5 hours, I understood. He was dead, or something near it, and there would be no trip.

He managed to heal enough to turn it into an overnighter. I was fine with that. More and more, the original idea of a seven day adventure looked silly. One night, to make sure I could survive it was a much better idea.

The forecast was for a high in the low 40's. A low of 15 degrees.

I added some new gear to my collection specifically for this adventure. I bought a lightweight mess kit, a heavier sleeping bag and some ski gloves. I bought a giant re-sealable bag of Honey Nut Cheerios and three packets of Top Ramen for food, a gallon of water and took 4 packets of hot chocolate.


Day of the trip - Noon

Mark drops me off at Potosi Spring. It's a good place to get started. It's familiar. I am a bit apprehensive. This is a big step. There are a lot of unknowns for me. How will I handle the cold? How will I be effected by the isolation, even in the short term? More than nervous, though, the edge is delicious. It's exciting. This is my first real adventure. Even though I'll be out in the wilds, alone, i'm not going totally without a lifeline. I do have my cellphone. I know a spot near the campsite where the phone gets strong reception. There are a lot of antennae on Potosi Peak. One must be a cell tower. In case I can't speak, we've worked out a numerical system. I text-message 911, and Mark knows to call search and rescue. I figure, if I'm broken, or freezing, I can at least muster enough strength to use a stick to type out "911".

We set 2pm as the pickup time for the next day. A contingency for heavy rain is made. 6pm, at the highway, because if the roads are soggy, Mark's truck will not be able to get in back by the spring. I don't want to get stranded, in the event of a flash flood.

I haven't even started yet, and already I'm having problems. Mark looks like he wants to get home so he can crawl into bed and die, and I don't want to hold him up. I am trying to get my sleeping bag tied to the frame pack, but it won't tie down right. The bungee cord I have is short and thin. Normally, this is the spot on my pack where I store my tent. I usually just have my flannel sleeping bag, and that fits nicely inside the pack. This sleeping bag is heavy and needs to be affixed to the outside, so I plan to set it on the frame and carry the tent. I eventually get a decent tie-down on the sleeping bag, and notice that the belt clip for my machete is missing. So, both of my hands are occupied. Left hand carrying the machete, right hand carrying the tent.

Mark stays a short while to enjoy the atmosphere and air of the mountain area. It's warmer than I expected. Very comfortable. Of course, I am pretty heavily loaded. A long sleeved cotton t-shirt. A long sleeved fleece shirt over that. A heavy flannel pull-over hooded sweat shirt over that. I'd probably be comfortable in Antarctica.

I march off into the wilds as Mark turns the truck around and heads home.


12:15

I've moved about 20 yards. I just can't get the sleeping bag to cooperate. I had it tied to the bottom of the frame on my pack, where I normally tie the tent. But it keeps rolling off. After three more attempts at getting the bag tied down, I decide I'll just carry it. The tent is tied to the frame, and I wander on, the unwieldy bag uncomfortably in hand.

It's here where I've stopped that I get my first signs of real winter. The spring is iced over. It's still running water where it bubbles up out of the ground, but 15 feet downstream, it's solidified. I break the ice with my machete, and find it's over an inch thick.

Following the 4x4 road, I find a lot of signs of man. A pick-up truck bumper, shiny chrome, fairly new. A cup from Taco Bell. Beer cans. Shotgun shells. It will be good to get up high, where these slobs do not go, where there is no evidence of their existence.

I follow the 4x4 road a bit, then walk down a wash, then through raw desert. Eventually the road and I meet again, and I follow it along again. There's a sign marking the road. National Parks Service Road 582. It's a pretty well maintained dirt and gravel road. It's not long before I have a decision to make.

The road splits. Road 582 continues into the heart of the valley, then Road 582 C splits off and heads inward towards the mountains. It's dirty, and less well maintained than the main road. I don't remember any side roads on the map, and don't bother to pull out my book to check. I'm sure that only the main road is marked. But I can see the road heads inward, then seems to turn to run along the perimeter of the mountain. I figure that the worst that can happen is the road dead ends, and I will have to trek through the desert a while to get back onto the main road. That's one of the great things about traveling this way. If you lose the road, you don't have to turn back and retrace your steps. You just hoof it through the rough terrain, and enjoy the trip.


12:45

I stop to take my first break. I feel good. I've covered a good distance, while not rushing like I usually have to when I hike with Mark. Road 582 C has taken me to a slightly higher elevation, and I can see pretty far from up here. Normally, this valley is very hazy. Today, the wind has cleared out the air, and I can see mountains in the distance I couldn't even see from high up in the mountains on previous climbs. I break out the water and a candy bar, and enjoy a relaxing moment in the warm air.