A little gush here at the rush of a glacial waterfall. The water falls one hundred feet onto my feet and my head; it´s right here but then the wind moves it over there intstead.
The hearth is built, the firewood collected, it´s so remote here that illegal fire won´t be detected. The glacial melt stream gleams twelve feet from where I sit, with water so clean because there´s no shit in it.
We just set out yesterday not knowing what we didn´t know, not knowing the right way just looking for somewhere to stay the night. With open minds we find good people who people the world, with campgrounds and guides and maps and directions we slowly form our plans.
We hiked up here over the pass, past volcanic rockflow and volcanic ash, to this beautiful clean pebble beach on which I lie. I would try to justify it but I don´t think I´d manage it anytime before I die.
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