July 24
1915-1955

This area has been decimated by fires in recent years. Throughout the morning we walk through charred, apocalyptic, landscapes with smoke hanging obscuring any views beyond our immediate surroundings.

In between the burns are murky ponds, the primary water sources for this section. Not terrible, but not great. I do my best with a handkerchief to get all the big pieces of floating debris out, and give the water a few extra drops of purifying chemicals.

This area was heavily wooded the last time I came through here. It was an ancient forest dotted with lakes. The fire burned so hot that barely anything was left standing. Even the soil was scorched. I am reminded of the frailty of all things. If a massive forest can be decimated so easily, what hope do I have? The woods are silent. Surrounding some of the ponds, meager amounts of grass grows. Life starts here, anew. It is a reconstruction from the deconstruction.

“Perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be.”

We make good time today, even though we are smoking another pack of figurative cigarettes with all the exposure from the smoke. There are minimal mosquitoes, which also speaks to the damage this area has endured.

In the evening we pass again into living forest.

By sunset we have walked 37 miles, and decide to hike an hour into the night so we can do our first 40 mile day. It feels good to push. It feels good to be strong.