Solitary Confinement
Deep in the mountain forest, many miles from anything resembling a town, far from camp, I had seen no people, no cars, for some time. The only sounds were bird calls and the vague muttering of the wind. Standing on a ridge, looking out across the mountains,
Woodland Fog
A walk in a piney woodland is always a treasure, but when graced with fog it is a treasure with a dividend, a happy bonus that transforms the woods into a realm of magic and mystery.
In The Presence Of Giants
The day was cold and gray. Camping in the forest near the river, I was awakened not by the usual birdsong, but by a brief passing shower spattering the roof of the tent. I ate breakfast in the car before driving up into the mountains. Ascending more than four thousand feet along twisting curves and switchbacks, I drove into the clouds to visit the ancient trees.