9/3/2010
Sweet 16 and I hitched a ride out of Government Camp up to Timberline Lodge. Our ride was almost immediate, it was a marketing director or other such type. His car and his man-toiletries smelled so good, and we smelled so bad. Microburst wanted to hike the five miles up to Timberline from Barlow Pass, I would have been super-worried or changed my plans to go with her, but she had said during our stay (and argument) at Breitenbush that she never gets any alone time and how much she just wants to get some space sometimes. So I inquired after her mace, her cell phone, and any desire for company, and left it be at that.
Sweet 16 and I got there right as the buffet was starting, and my-oh-my was it a buffet: waffles with all sorts of toppings, pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, biscuits'n'gravy, fresh squeezed orange juice, croissants, pastries, scones, toast, cheese, granola, yogurt, nuts, berries, oatmeal...mmm. We stuffed our caves, and just as I was about to push back to digest, Microburst showed up several hours before we were expecting her (her hitch was impossible that early and she beelined for Timberline).
After much ado about nothing later, we hiked up to Paradise park. It was so beautiful! Lush alpine meadows in bloom with Mt. Hood in full glory as the backdrop. The sky was free of clouds, except for one lenticular cloud (that's nerdy for [standing] wave cloud) kept forming and re-forming over the peak. We ran into Nonstop, Maybelline, Sunshine, Shannon, and Rif-Raf.
Unfortunately, to get into Cascade Locks/Hood River at a reasonable time, we had to do 20 miles today after the brunch, which put me into camp at 9:30. I got tired of saying "Hey-O" over and over again, so I started quoting Monty Python every few minutes. At first I was conserving the silliness, but then after a large, persistent, localized rustling in some brush, it was nonstop. I had just finished up with a terribly botched song about the universe ("well the sun and you and me, and all the stars that we can see... so just when you're feeling small and insecure (blah blah blah) how unlikely is your birth, and just hope there's something intelligent out there, 'cuz it's all just tugged down here on earth") and had started in on "Every Sperm is Sacred" when I saw headlamps: lots of them. Rather than rationally figuring that I was close to camp, I thought I had stumbled into the tree-people who had kidnapped that Olympian outside Bozeman to make her someone's wife. But it was ok, it really was just camp.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Mile ????: Hitching as hiking, the scariest campsite yet
9/2/2010
After a lovely morning of more "vegetarian, organic, bountiful fare" we took stock of how far behind schedule we were, and what to do about it. This, of course, prompted fighting amongst the ranks. Microburst wants to complete the entire trail as fast as possible, and actually could, she is pissed that she is saddled with me and my slow pace. Sweet 16 also wants to do the entire trail, but most importantly wants to ge to Canada in time to see her brother and catch her plane home. Obviously, I'm not entirely sure what I want, but I'm sick of struggling to keep up and worrying about mileage and pace etc. The more the trail sucks, the more I'm tempted to quit, but if I start cheating in a way that I can enjoy the experience, I think I can make it to Canada. Microburst and I are bound to one another by our increasingly important tent, and none of the three of us want to break up our trio.
We hitched a ride out of Breitenbush back to the fire detour/shuttle route with a massage therapist from Portland. While we waited, we debated the merits of skipping not just the 12 burnt miles, but all the way to Mt Hood to get caught up to schedule. We had finally all agreed it was an ok plan when the shuttle came by and picked us up. We got in, and were back to indecision land. I was all for the hitch, especially since we're meeting/greatly imposing upon a friend of my friend, and I'm afraid that a weekday arrival in Cascade Locks/Hood River would be much worse than our original weekend plan. Sweet 16 surprised me with a yes vote, and finally Micro agreed again to the hitch. So Ryan the cute shuttle driver dropped us off at the junction between Highway 46 and a forest service road to the PCT.
Shortly after we were picked up by Justin and Janelle, other Portland residents down at Breitenbush, taking the scenic route back home. Janelle entertained us with stories from the set-decorating business. They dropped us off at a gas station at the intersection to our next road. From there, we hit up people for the six mile ride to Sandy.
A young couple with a bright and talkative 5-year old daughter took us, even though it was farther than their final destination. Somehow we all completely spaced on offering them gas money, even though they were clearly somewhat poor and had gone out of their way to give us the ride. As they drove past once we were dropped off, the man slowed down and sheepishly asked if we were 4-20 friendly girls. Though we're completely fine with others smoking, none of us actively do, nor do we carry any, but I instantly realized how tactless we had been to not offer gas money. Feeling terrible the three of us quickly scrounged up $9, which I hope more than makes up for the mistake.
From there we had a long hike along the highway to the next gas station, where a local man who introduced himself as, "just a nice guy," agreed to give us a ride to Welch's halfway up. He gave us the history of the area and interesting tidbits.
At the grocery store-gas station he dropped us off at, we were having miserable luck and getting nervous as the sky started growing darker. We finally had luck with two guys out with their dirt bikes and four-wheelers and coolers, out for a weekend of fun. We had only asked for a ride 1.5 miles up to a better hitching location, but when Dean realized that he could take us farther on his route, he did.
Now we are attempting to stealth camp at one of the ski resorts on Mt Hood before we get back on the trail in the morning. We thought it wound be super-chill, but we passed a number of OTHER tents on our way up: were these other cheapskates, or homeless people, or tweakers? As we looked for flat spots, we could hear male voices in the distance and see headlamps. So we went further. As we were cooking dinner, suddenly we could see a flashlight working it's way up toward us from the OTHER side. We quickly turned off our headlamps and waited quietly. From Micro's feak-out over proximity to the other tents and voices at the first campspt we found (and left), I was surprised if not a litttle bit pissed at how quickly she turned on her headlamp and resumed noisily scraping her pot once the light was even with us.
Tonight I sleep with my bra on, valuables tucked in the sides, knife back in the cleavage.
Morning upate:
Lived to tell the tale. Nothing more exciting happenned than gettin up to pee and reinflating my sleeping pad.
- Typoed on my iPhone
After a lovely morning of more "vegetarian, organic, bountiful fare" we took stock of how far behind schedule we were, and what to do about it. This, of course, prompted fighting amongst the ranks. Microburst wants to complete the entire trail as fast as possible, and actually could, she is pissed that she is saddled with me and my slow pace. Sweet 16 also wants to do the entire trail, but most importantly wants to ge to Canada in time to see her brother and catch her plane home. Obviously, I'm not entirely sure what I want, but I'm sick of struggling to keep up and worrying about mileage and pace etc. The more the trail sucks, the more I'm tempted to quit, but if I start cheating in a way that I can enjoy the experience, I think I can make it to Canada. Microburst and I are bound to one another by our increasingly important tent, and none of the three of us want to break up our trio.
We hitched a ride out of Breitenbush back to the fire detour/shuttle route with a massage therapist from Portland. While we waited, we debated the merits of skipping not just the 12 burnt miles, but all the way to Mt Hood to get caught up to schedule. We had finally all agreed it was an ok plan when the shuttle came by and picked us up. We got in, and were back to indecision land. I was all for the hitch, especially since we're meeting/greatly imposing upon a friend of my friend, and I'm afraid that a weekday arrival in Cascade Locks/Hood River would be much worse than our original weekend plan. Sweet 16 surprised me with a yes vote, and finally Micro agreed again to the hitch. So Ryan the cute shuttle driver dropped us off at the junction between Highway 46 and a forest service road to the PCT.
Shortly after we were picked up by Justin and Janelle, other Portland residents down at Breitenbush, taking the scenic route back home. Janelle entertained us with stories from the set-decorating business. They dropped us off at a gas station at the intersection to our next road. From there, we hit up people for the six mile ride to Sandy.
A young couple with a bright and talkative 5-year old daughter took us, even though it was farther than their final destination. Somehow we all completely spaced on offering them gas money, even though they were clearly somewhat poor and had gone out of their way to give us the ride. As they drove past once we were dropped off, the man slowed down and sheepishly asked if we were 4-20 friendly girls. Though we're completely fine with others smoking, none of us actively do, nor do we carry any, but I instantly realized how tactless we had been to not offer gas money. Feeling terrible the three of us quickly scrounged up $9, which I hope more than makes up for the mistake.
From there we had a long hike along the highway to the next gas station, where a local man who introduced himself as, "just a nice guy," agreed to give us a ride to Welch's halfway up. He gave us the history of the area and interesting tidbits.
At the grocery store-gas station he dropped us off at, we were having miserable luck and getting nervous as the sky started growing darker. We finally had luck with two guys out with their dirt bikes and four-wheelers and coolers, out for a weekend of fun. We had only asked for a ride 1.5 miles up to a better hitching location, but when Dean realized that he could take us farther on his route, he did.
Now we are attempting to stealth camp at one of the ski resorts on Mt Hood before we get back on the trail in the morning. We thought it wound be super-chill, but we passed a number of OTHER tents on our way up: were these other cheapskates, or homeless people, or tweakers? As we looked for flat spots, we could hear male voices in the distance and see headlamps. So we went further. As we were cooking dinner, suddenly we could see a flashlight working it's way up toward us from the OTHER side. We quickly turned off our headlamps and waited quietly. From Micro's feak-out over proximity to the other tents and voices at the first campspt we found (and left), I was surprised if not a litttle bit pissed at how quickly she turned on her headlamp and resumed noisily scraping her pot once the light was even with us.
Tonight I sleep with my bra on, valuables tucked in the sides, knife back in the cleavage.
Morning upate:
Lived to tell the tale. Nothing more exciting happenned than gettin up to pee and reinflating my sleeping pad.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile ????: Braidenbush Hotsprings, Hippie Heaven
I am in hippie heaven. After a miserable day (cold, rain, wind, falling down) after a miserable night (cold, rain, wind, wet down), I barely missed the last shuttle of the day from the Braidenbush Trailhead 45 miles around a 12 mile section closed due to forest fires. A nice man named Dale offered to take us down to Braidenbush Hotsprings, which we had been fantasizing about all day long as we hiked through fog, wind, rain, and wet brush, usually all at once.
We went. At $70/person, it was more than we had bargained for, but we certainly weren't going to ask Dale to drive us right back, nor were we going to pay $55/person to camp in our own wet gear. The price includes three vegetarian, organic meals, 24 hour access to all their clothing-optional geothermal features, and admittance to their well-being workshops. It is heaven for the crunchy types and those who like to make fun of them. I am doubly satisfied. The cabins are cleaned by members of the "Cleaning Arts Team," and squirrels and dragonflies are allowed in the lodge because Braidenbush is a "wildlife sanctuary."
In the morning:
Feels so nice to sleep in til 7. Gah my knee hurts so bad though! I thougt long and hard yesterday about what it would mean to get off the trail. I'm somewhat ahsamed to admit that my primary motivator to remain on the trail is fear: fear of what I'd have to tell my friends and family (and potential employers) when they'd inevitably ask, "Why'd you quit early? Why didn't you finish?"
The thing is though, I'm now operating on everyone else's goal, the goal of hiking the entire PCT from Mexico to Canada. I specifically DIDN'T want to se myself up for failure and self-loathing, my own goal when I set out this summer was to spend my summer hiking along or near the PCT from Mexico toward Canada, and to do something fun every day. I have largely lost sight of that goal, and with all my skipping ahead, I certainly won't meet everyone else's stated goal even if I do make it to Manning's Park, British Columbia.
Imagine standing on a rocky precipice. There are jagged snow-capped volcanoes in the distance, some alpine lakes in-between, slopes velvety with lush evergreens carpeting them. The shot is framed by some gnarled, wind-tortured trees. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?
Now imagine standing at that exact same spot, but your field of vision is significantly reduced down to the tunnel formed by the bill of your hat and your hooks cinched tight around your face. It doesn't matter though, because you can't see anything but grey-white beyond the trees directly next to you, because you're inside a cloud, and you have been for several days. The trees are dripping on you, the wind catches the shredded remains of your cheap poncho, and as you turn from the pointless viewpoint, it gets snagged and shredded some more by the trees.
Tha is my experience lately. I'm missing out on gorgeous terrain, and I'm miserable while I'm at it. I'm not ready to quit because I'm stubborn, but I might be coming to peace with it. Badger and Sweet Jesus figured out what they wanted to do with their lives while on the trail, and got off to do it. I realize that I want to live a balanced life, which hiking can be part of, but what I'm doing right now most certainly is not balanced.
- Typoed on my iPhone
We went. At $70/person, it was more than we had bargained for, but we certainly weren't going to ask Dale to drive us right back, nor were we going to pay $55/person to camp in our own wet gear. The price includes three vegetarian, organic meals, 24 hour access to all their clothing-optional geothermal features, and admittance to their well-being workshops. It is heaven for the crunchy types and those who like to make fun of them. I am doubly satisfied. The cabins are cleaned by members of the "Cleaning Arts Team," and squirrels and dragonflies are allowed in the lodge because Braidenbush is a "wildlife sanctuary."
In the morning:
Feels so nice to sleep in til 7. Gah my knee hurts so bad though! I thougt long and hard yesterday about what it would mean to get off the trail. I'm somewhat ahsamed to admit that my primary motivator to remain on the trail is fear: fear of what I'd have to tell my friends and family (and potential employers) when they'd inevitably ask, "Why'd you quit early? Why didn't you finish?"
The thing is though, I'm now operating on everyone else's goal, the goal of hiking the entire PCT from Mexico to Canada. I specifically DIDN'T want to se myself up for failure and self-loathing, my own goal when I set out this summer was to spend my summer hiking along or near the PCT from Mexico toward Canada, and to do something fun every day. I have largely lost sight of that goal, and with all my skipping ahead, I certainly won't meet everyone else's stated goal even if I do make it to Manning's Park, British Columbia.
Imagine standing on a rocky precipice. There are jagged snow-capped volcanoes in the distance, some alpine lakes in-between, slopes velvety with lush evergreens carpeting them. The shot is framed by some gnarled, wind-tortured trees. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?
Now imagine standing at that exact same spot, but your field of vision is significantly reduced down to the tunnel formed by the bill of your hat and your hooks cinched tight around your face. It doesn't matter though, because you can't see anything but grey-white beyond the trees directly next to you, because you're inside a cloud, and you have been for several days. The trees are dripping on you, the wind catches the shredded remains of your cheap poncho, and as you turn from the pointless viewpoint, it gets snagged and shredded some more by the trees.
Tha is my experience lately. I'm missing out on gorgeous terrain, and I'm miserable while I'm at it. I'm not ready to quit because I'm stubborn, but I might be coming to peace with it. Badger and Sweet Jesus figured out what they wanted to do with their lives while on the trail, and got off to do it. I realize that I want to live a balanced life, which hiking can be part of, but what I'm doing right now most certainly is not balanced.
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 2019ish still: more misery
It continued to rain and blow ALL night long. Two hours after I went to bed, I was still awake from the noise and put in earplugs. The fly dripping and collapsing SOAKED my shoes (which were somewhat dry until then because I'd been hiking in Chacos) and gloves. The fly dripped on the already flooded groundcloth. My down bag is damp. For the first time Imever on this trail, I slept cold. We woke up to no change in the weather, and decided to at least wait until it was light. I realized that I had packed a day short on food. I can see why people get off this trail for weather. I might.
- Typoed on my iPhone
- Typoed on my iPhone
Mile 2019ish: leaving Bend, misery
8/31/2010
The plan yesterday was to meet up for lunch, then hike on from the Santiam Pass trailhead. As of 10 or so in the morning, it was downpouring with no signs of ceasing. A quick teleconference between Cindy's house in Bend and the hiker's hotel room in Sister led to the decision to make it a full zero day and sleep at Cindy's house. Within a few hours, the weather cleared, but it was too late, we were comitted. We had a good time with Cindy, enjoyed a delicious home-cooked meal, and all slept in our own warm, comfy beds.
This morning was gorgeous too, and we dawdled about getting up, eating, getting ready, and getting going. Eventually though; we were at the trailhead, pictures taken and bladders emptied.
It got really miserable really fast after lunch. I told myself, "You'll get hypothermia if you stop for any reason before you see Micro and 16 camping." So I hauled, but my lack of usable poles with my arms all balled up under my poncho to conserve warmth, andthe rest if me was coolf
The plan yesterday was to meet up for lunch, then hike on from the Santiam Pass trailhead. As of 10 or so in the morning, it was downpouring with no signs of ceasing. A quick teleconference between Cindy's house in Bend and the hiker's hotel room in Sister led to the decision to make it a full zero day and sleep at Cindy's house. Within a few hours, the weather cleared, but it was too late, we were comitted. We had a good time with Cindy, enjoyed a delicious home-cooked meal, and all slept in our own warm, comfy beds.
This morning was gorgeous too, and we dawdled about getting up, eating, getting ready, and getting going. Eventually though; we were at the trailhead, pictures taken and bladders emptied.
It got really miserable really fast after lunch. I told myself, "You'll get hypothermia if you stop for any reason before you see Micro and 16 camping." So I hauled, but my lack of usable poles with my arms all balled up under my poncho to conserve warmth, andthe rest if me was coolf
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Mile 1988ish: into Bend
8/29/2010
Cold, cold morning after camping in the rain. Everything was damp. It cleared up a little as we hiked along, "Oh, hey, there was a huge beautiful mountain that just poked out from behind yonder cloudbank!" Apparently we were hiking by the Three Sisters, when previously it had just looked like we were hiking by trees and clouds. It got beautiful and the terrain became another breathtaking alien volcanic landscape. Sisters Trail Angel Lloyd Gus (or as we misheard, Lord Gust) had described the upcoming section as a "trough of razor-sharp baseballs." I thought it was rather fitting. As pleased as my eyes were, my feet were screaming in pain.
I had decided to skip the section between McKenzie and Santiam Pass in order to spend more time with Amy's mom, Cindy. Microburst and Sweet 16 were going to take a shorter town stop and hike the section, it was a way to appease everyone. The last I saw of them, I was running into the trees as Microburst called out, "Bye Poopy!" We drive each other nuts, but we also love each other so.
I ran into some weekenders that told me Highway 242 was closed at the PCT from fires, and to try my hitching luck from a nearby trailhead, offering me a ride down to Sisters if we were there at the same time. Shortly thereafter, another hiker ran into me at a trail junction, and ahead of his group and without maps of his own, asked to look at mine. We ended up hiking all the way back to the trailhead together, talking the whole way about a monthlong hike he'd done in Europe that I'd LOVE to do, mountaineering, and his upcoming bid for a state senate seat against the incumbent Republican. He was charismatic, intelligent, and very very good looking; if the voters in his district are as uninformed and easily charmed as I, it'll be a Democratic victory. I think I might try to stay abreast of politics a little better this fall. I always intend to, but now there's a more personal curiosity too.
His friends gave me a ride down to Sisters, where I drank a delicious huckleberry smoothie and met up with Cindy. It was nice to ride with backpackers: I wasn't as worried about disgusting them with my aweful hiker-stench, and they were all super-nice and friendly, I instantly felt so comfortable and at home with them that I had to remind myself that they didn't need a thru-hiker detracting from their victory lunch, it was time to give them space and attend to my own business once we got to Sisters.
Cindy and I spent the evening running errands, which always takes longer than I want it to. My most exciting purchase was a real spoon that won't break after a few days like all my cheap deli cutlery keeps doing, and nutella. I also bought a new shirt with no holes in the armpits big enough to stick my allayed hands through and some superfeet due to stabbing pains in the arches, but neither are as gratifying as eating. We went out for some delicious burgers and beers at the Deschutes brewery, I drank an "easily enjoyable beer inspired by the 'Mello Yello' song."
Cold, cold morning after camping in the rain. Everything was damp. It cleared up a little as we hiked along, "Oh, hey, there was a huge beautiful mountain that just poked out from behind yonder cloudbank!" Apparently we were hiking by the Three Sisters, when previously it had just looked like we were hiking by trees and clouds. It got beautiful and the terrain became another breathtaking alien volcanic landscape. Sisters Trail Angel Lloyd Gus (or as we misheard, Lord Gust) had described the upcoming section as a "trough of razor-sharp baseballs." I thought it was rather fitting. As pleased as my eyes were, my feet were screaming in pain.
I had decided to skip the section between McKenzie and Santiam Pass in order to spend more time with Amy's mom, Cindy. Microburst and Sweet 16 were going to take a shorter town stop and hike the section, it was a way to appease everyone. The last I saw of them, I was running into the trees as Microburst called out, "Bye Poopy!" We drive each other nuts, but we also love each other so.
I ran into some weekenders that told me Highway 242 was closed at the PCT from fires, and to try my hitching luck from a nearby trailhead, offering me a ride down to Sisters if we were there at the same time. Shortly thereafter, another hiker ran into me at a trail junction, and ahead of his group and without maps of his own, asked to look at mine. We ended up hiking all the way back to the trailhead together, talking the whole way about a monthlong hike he'd done in Europe that I'd LOVE to do, mountaineering, and his upcoming bid for a state senate seat against the incumbent Republican. He was charismatic, intelligent, and very very good looking; if the voters in his district are as uninformed and easily charmed as I, it'll be a Democratic victory. I think I might try to stay abreast of politics a little better this fall. I always intend to, but now there's a more personal curiosity too.
His friends gave me a ride down to Sisters, where I drank a delicious huckleberry smoothie and met up with Cindy. It was nice to ride with backpackers: I wasn't as worried about disgusting them with my aweful hiker-stench, and they were all super-nice and friendly, I instantly felt so comfortable and at home with them that I had to remind myself that they didn't need a thru-hiker detracting from their victory lunch, it was time to give them space and attend to my own business once we got to Sisters.
Cindy and I spent the evening running errands, which always takes longer than I want it to. My most exciting purchase was a real spoon that won't break after a few days like all my cheap deli cutlery keeps doing, and nutella. I also bought a new shirt with no holes in the armpits big enough to stick my allayed hands through and some superfeet due to stabbing pains in the arches, but neither are as gratifying as eating. We went out for some delicious burgers and beers at the Deschutes brewery, I drank an "easily enjoyable beer inspired by the 'Mello Yello' song."
Mile 1976ish: The weather sets in
8/28/2010
Clouds appeared two days ago- to add visual interest? They thickened yesterday- to warn us of the future to come? They leaked all over us today- oh, right. Weather. We knew it was an eventuality, we were just expecting it later. Micro (from Seattle) and I (from Anchorage) remarked to each other how much it felt like home. Except at home, we'd get to go home, and cuddle up with hot soup and a good book or bad movie. With my poncho, windbreaker, and fleece pullover, I could handle the rain, but I was none too happy. When the rain turned white and started falling slower, staying on the ground longer, I didn't know what to feel.
We ate lunch with Hot Mess and Sneezes, who we miraculously caught up to after being a week behind for ages: they had taken 4-5 days off in Ashland, and another zero in Elk Lake. It was a reminder of how fun guys can be to hike with- they're not all social misfits, inappropriate creeps, etc. These guys are witty, clever, and very very funny. Us girls laugh all the time, but the boys had me afraid of spewing tea out my nose. Hope we Leapfrog with them for a while, they're fun to be around.
I ran into a guy with snowshoes strapped to his pack, and asked him where he was headed. Apparently, he had missed the glacier. He felt sure that he knew where he was, and pointed to a region on the map way off trail. Anywhere on the trail would have been a more logical guess. I pulled out my maps and gave him the pages he would need to get to Elk Lake Lodge, where he could get back to civilization, and showed him on the map exactly where we were. I hope he made it out ok... I don't think it would be that hard.
Clouds appeared two days ago- to add visual interest? They thickened yesterday- to warn us of the future to come? They leaked all over us today- oh, right. Weather. We knew it was an eventuality, we were just expecting it later. Micro (from Seattle) and I (from Anchorage) remarked to each other how much it felt like home. Except at home, we'd get to go home, and cuddle up with hot soup and a good book or bad movie. With my poncho, windbreaker, and fleece pullover, I could handle the rain, but I was none too happy. When the rain turned white and started falling slower, staying on the ground longer, I didn't know what to feel.
We ate lunch with Hot Mess and Sneezes, who we miraculously caught up to after being a week behind for ages: they had taken 4-5 days off in Ashland, and another zero in Elk Lake. It was a reminder of how fun guys can be to hike with- they're not all social misfits, inappropriate creeps, etc. These guys are witty, clever, and very very funny. Us girls laugh all the time, but the boys had me afraid of spewing tea out my nose. Hope we Leapfrog with them for a while, they're fun to be around.
I ran into a guy with snowshoes strapped to his pack, and asked him where he was headed. Apparently, he had missed the glacier. He felt sure that he knew where he was, and pointed to a region on the map way off trail. Anywhere on the trail would have been a more logical guess. I pulled out my maps and gave him the pages he would need to get to Elk Lake Lodge, where he could get back to civilization, and showed him on the map exactly where we were. I hope he made it out ok... I don't think it would be that hard.
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