Wednesday, September 9, 2015
My feet are again planted on North Carolina clay but my head is still cruising at twenty-one hundred over Tikchik tundra. My body clock’s somewhere between.
The gear’s scattered across the back deck and my waders and fleece are spread out on the line to dry. I’d take a picture, but they’re interspersed with Mary’s unmentionables and I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. It’s quite the contrast, Simms and Chantelle, but that’s what it’s like around here, and I missed it.
When my head and my feet find some common ground and my circadian rhythms stop doing the bop, I’ll try to give you a peek onto the experience. Snippets of the trip, vignettes, and an image or three when the words fail me, as they almost always do. In no particular order, bite-sized pieces of a place that’s too vast to consume all at once, if at all. Just too big.