FROM DAY 3 Rain, relentless rain. The downpour at Little Gem Lake continues unabated all through the night and well into the next day. At times fog rolls in, so thick that the ground a few feet outside our sopping tent becomes nothing more than a cloud. The rain turns to sleet, then to snow, and I watch the wide flakes settle by the thousands on the surface of the lake. The turf outside turns white as the air grows colder.
Rockslides fall every few hours, the only sound outside of the swirling storm.
Maybe we put up with the painful sides of wilderness because its pleasureful sides are so wondrously potent. I doubt it is accidental that prophets from all cultures have traditionally plunged into wilderness for a time. Wild places, and wild storms, provoke us to clarify and simplify, to distill our abundant cleverness into a few drops of wisdom. FROM DAY 8 Mist rises off the floor of Conundrum Creek valley, curling slowly skyward. As we follow the creek in the gentle rain, often walking in fog, we seem to be trekking through a damp rain forest.