13 Jul (Sun) OFF. No Shitbird [my cat] did return in the night. The Wilsons [recent visitors] must’ve spurred him into a kitty-walkabout. He’s disappeared like this before so I’m not particularly worried but it’s just another stress layer on top of my generalized anxiety about the regime change. ◦◦◦◦◦ Took the day off, big-time. Felt deeply fatigued all day. (That trip to Carson City right after the long tour was not a restful day off!) So this is a day of internal collapse to re-fortify. Took a couple of long naps with dreams. Didn’t eat a bite til almost noon…no hunger. ◦◦◦◦◦ At 1:30, walked to Dinky Creek for flowers but almost nothing is blooming since the little creek is already dry. So, back down the hill and across the river to the several flowing springs where I found lotsa columbine plus first leopard lilies and swamp onion and arrowleaf butterweed. Got my rainbow bouquet and toted it home, swatting and swiping, to get it in some water. I truly feel more “at home” when there’s flowers in the cabin. It wasn’t always like this. I almost need them in some hard-to-pin-down way. The greenery…the colors. I look at them all the time and get to scrutinize flowers with a leisure I’d not be able to enjoy while being swarmed. Also, I get to observe various insects that came with (and are continuing to live their lives as best they can under altered conditions). ◦◦◦◦◦ Started a big pot of beans—another rangerly duty. (Gotta have beans handy. Somebody might show up hongry!) ◦◦◦◦◦ No Shitbird. But a giant full moon which I went out and grokked only once before bed. It was a glory on the meadow…what a world. A great horned owl hooting downcanyon aways…first one I’ve heard this season.
14 Jul (Mon) Went to greet the two visitors I heard across the river last evening. As I approached, one yelled out, “Ranger Tim!” It was two I’d met in a bigger group a couple of years ago right at my sign [with a posted greeting from “the ranger”]. They were headed to Rainbow Meadows and Stubblefield Canyon following the route description in the accursed Shaeffer guide. One fella was in his 50s; the younger, a studly guy maybe late 30s. The pair were obviously slathered with DEET—exposed skin, with no swatting motions (like my own incessant waving of hands about the face). I might’ve dampened their spirits a bit—they’d planned to camp where Rainbow Creek joins the West Walker but I told them the place was a mosquito infested swamp and that Rainbow Meadows would be pretty awful as well. Then I mentioned the steep snow-filled gulley they’d have to climb to get across the crest. They both looked at me, uncomprehending. I explained that the “guidebook” made their trip sound casual. But it wasn’t—down in lower Stubblefield you have to constantly cross and re-cross the creek because of cliffs and impenetrable brush thickets. The guide, alas, fails to mention this being a problem during the high-water months. Again they looked at me quizzically (I’ve seen this blank look before—it says, “This information does not compute…it is in opposition to THE PLAN and does not allign with our EXPECTATIONS.”) I told them they’d actually embarked on a fairly adventurous journey but would figure everything out…to just take it one step at a time…that the route was obvious. This pair will learn a lot on this trip. ◦◦◦◦◦ No cat did return in the night. Still not worried but…it’s a drag. Feeling somewhat demoralized again today. ◦◦◦◦◦ Saddled Red and Tom and packed the full kit to go remove some big trees. Rode up Harriet Hill and took out the new downed lodgepole—a rotten S.O.B., two cuts of 16” and 17” with some classic levering action by Blue Max [my “peavy”—a tool, also called a “cant hook,” used for moving logs]. Voilà! Took somewhat over an hour, mercifully in shade the whole while. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the P.C.T. Met three guys lunching at the little creek near Cinko Junction. Kid hiking Mex–Can accompanied for a spell by his dad and uncle, a jolly crew. Nice little visit. ◦◦◦◦◦ Removed the other big tree, a splintered mess: 22” lodgepole fell over a rock (across the trail) and was all rotten inside. Cut it out into 15’-long “strips.” An unusual job, not altogether pleasant but different. ◦◦◦◦◦ After my sweat dried I took the shovel and walked back, rocking and cleaning w-breaks for about a half mile. Some treadwork [clearing and smoothing out rough trail]. ◦◦◦◦◦ Homeward. Picked up about 25 lbs. of limbwood from that earlier job on Harriet Hill. No cat (no surprise). If he’s not home sometime tomorrow night I reckon he’s a goner. But still not too worried. Took my first river bath of the season! It was great but no lolly-gagging while dressing, I’ll tell ya!
→ 13 waterbreaks → 2 trees → 450 lbs. rock → 5 visitors → 9 miles
15 Jul (Tue) Saw a gorgeous (if small) butterfly on the P.C.T. yesterday. This morning I actually identified it thanks to my new Peterson field guide to butterflies: Hoffmann’s Checkerspot (Chlosyne hoffmanni). Habitat: openings in alpine forest zones. Check. Adults nectar at yellow composites and pussytoes. ◦◦◦◦◦ Just after midnight last night I woke instantly at the sound of plaintive meow out on the porch. Ahhh. Instant flood of relief. Or you might call it the instantaneous relaxation of a psychic muscle that’s been clenched up tight for three days. I was never truly worried. But there are few sensations in this life available to human experience as sweet as the prodigal’s return. Shitbird was still outside making those funny, sort-of tentative sounds and I was whistling the 3-note kitty-call. A merry meeting. He slept by/on my head all night, close as he could get, and woke me a number of times purring and kneading. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to tell when someone short and furry is damn glad to be back home. Where he went and what he’s been up to I’ll never know but he came home skinny as I’ve seen him in months. ◦◦◦◦◦ Took the day off, gladly. Yesterday was another stout effort. A few folks (one group) stopped by, wow-ed by the scene, and we visited on the porch. Bit later I constructed a temporary bridge just below the cabin using some P-cord and a few of the corral rails from the pile stashed near the front gate. Lashed them together and—Voilà again!—bridge over untroubled waters. ◦◦◦◦◦ Up in the hammock where I wrote a couple of letters. All caught up in this log (phew!). And the kitty came home. Thanks!
©2018 Tim Forsell
19 Apr 2018
19 Apr 2018
Tim i sure enjoy your Paiute Log entries.
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