survival of the wildest

We return victorious from the Porkies, proud with the lack of scars from battle. We smoked candy cigarettes outside a gas station in Ashland. We circled the wagons and had a dance party in the Ironwood Country Kitchen parking lot. Red Bull fueled our final blast into the Mountains; a long, dark drive at eighty miles an hour through swirling gold. Campsite patrons were ‘hopping mad’ over our noisy arrival at 11:00 at night and tried to call the wrath of the Park Ranger down upon us. Rain caressed us into wakefulness on Saturday morning and left behind grey residuals in the sky. Bears were expertly hung in bear bags. We fought with metal pipes. Paths of mud led to pleasant slumber on the shores of Mirror Lake. A confused bear with a lousy short-term memory woke everyone up in the morning. It snowed.

Trains were driven out to Michigan on rails of Rearden Metal, and ore boats were piloted back home through forgiving pavement. Great and beautiful changes.

No trees jammed my noggin, though I did find my old tree in the ravine and took pictures. It yearned for the gently violent touch of Old Man Kroiss and RQH. It had a really neat mushroom growing on it. Great and beautiful changes.

The photo gallery is up. The Wuda Wooch! gallery will be up as soon as I get to it.