Type II Fun

We drove, then boated. We passed happy fisher people, congregating in the cathedral of Ross Lake.



We hiked trail as far as it would take us. We forded a river.


We fought brush and struggled up steep slopes. The walls of the drainage closed and the sidehill grew treacherous. We had gone up the wrong drainage. We hiked back down to the river in the dark.


We forded the river. We looked for a confluence. We grew frustrated. We forded the river again. We fought brush. We fought brush.



We found a confluence. We struggled up steep slopes. We fought brush.


We found the river's headwaters. We camped. The sun set.


We climbed a gulley of trackless hardpan. Loose rocks teetered. We crested a divide.


We lifted our eyes.


We traversed a basin. We crossed a snowfield. We scrambled solid granite, then piles of shattered gneiss, then cinder and sand. We found the summit.


We lifted our eyes.


We downclimbed. We traversed back across the basin. We skated down scree.


We followed the stream from its headwaters to the river. We followed the river to a lake.


We hiked back to the car. The memory of our trials faded with each step.