In less than three days we leave this place for the next destination. Our time in the Wallowas has totaled more than two months, and it has been really good to us. But I’m feeling restless and it’s time to move on.
It’s a surprising realization at how much I’ve taken to this nomadic life on the road. We are lucky to be away from the chaos of city life with everything blowing up there. Pandemic, riots, looting, unrest. But at the same time, it’s not enough. We feel driven to go deeper, further, to find someplace even more alone and experience a greater feeling of solitude. There are still too many people. There is still too much noise.
Every year we do something in the wilderness for Brad’s birthday. I’ve taken two weeks off work, and with my three-day weekends built in that totals 17 glorious days to get lost backpacking somewhere remote. We’ve selected a stretch of the PCT that will soon be accessible only by lottery. We have to get in while we still can…
Some things I will look back on fondly from our time in the Wallowas:
- Backpacking in heavy snow, digging out a snow camp, and falling asleep every night listening to Fall of Hyperion.
- The middle of the night hail storm that was so intense and fierce that I thought was going to destroy our bus!
- Binge-watching Game of Thrones in its entirety, from glorious season one all the way through the flop that was season eight.
- Giving Brad a quarantine haircut, transforming him from Jesus to GQ. I cut off two years of hair! I was so nervous my hands were shaking.
Wallowas, you’ve been good to us.
