Campsite at home late mile 537 to Campsite at mile 559
Today was almost entirely uneventful. Nothing terribly much happened while we walked 22 miles up and over a set of small desert foothills. But, the day wasn’t bad, or even boring either. I don’t want to give you the impression that it was a negative experience, it just was. In the same way that you probably don’t recall much of your day two Thursdays ago. Some days in your life just happen and they lack any real import, some percentage of your life is made up of unremarkable Thursdays. What I need here is the written equivalent of a shrug.
So while this day may not be an often told story, it was wonderful in it’s own, more simple way. Today we continued the work that we began yesterday – climbing up out of the Mojave basin and into the low foothills. Hills where they farm wind, hills that rise from a valley where they capture the sun’s energy. This land is a study in heat and thrashing wind. But covering these broad brown rolling hills are thousands, millions of tiny wild flowers. We traverse through an innumerable volume of these flowers. Bright yellows and oranges on slender green stems. Purple as puffballs in clusters or else a fountain of bells atop a riot of green leaves. This day encapsulates something I very much love about thru hiking. Which is that while the daily activity is largely the same, the experience can vary wildly.
