Days End.

Resting for 2 days in Wrightwood - Mile marker 369.8 - Day 35 - Snake count: 8.

The end of the day always brings on a feeling of anticipation. I wonder where the camping spot I have usually already planned for is hiding. Sometimes I swear it must be over the brow of the next hill, and I crest only to be met with the sight of the trail winding up even further. A classic single track path weaves from side to side, up and down, hugging the contour of the hill. Occasionally snow spills over the trail as I tread carefully to the next safe haven of track. My feet are cushioned by millions of pine needles, a rich smell of butterscotch emanates from the tree trunks. I kick pine cones into the air, clamber over or crouch under huge fallen tree trunks as I pull my jacket a little tighter around my neck, the evening chilling by the minute this high up.

Then I catch a faint smell of burning wood and I know someone has already made the camp spot. I clamber precariously up a snow slope and am met with 3 hikers huddled around the orange glow and warmth of a camp fire. Faces peer at me through the twilight and smile.

"Hey Fozzie, fire's warm. Come sit and rest", says the Professor.

I join him, Pony and Teressa, holding my palms against the heat and spreading out my fingers. The breeze catches the smoke and I move to one side before I cough.

By the time I have set up tent, we are 11. Hikers homing in on the laughter and chatter, the light from the fire and the smell of camp food like fishes caught helpless on a hook. I sip on hot chocolate whilst my rice bubbles away, my pot lid rattling.

I turn in at 8.30, as most of us do every night, but not after spending a few minutes just standing there by my tent listening. Listening to the tall pines creak and watching them arch over in the strengthening wind. I watch the moon becoming brighter leaving a silver hue to the ground as my shadow becomes clearer. A faint, orange glow of a town a few thousand feet below me and many miles distance gradually comes to life.

I get into my tent quickly, the temperature plummeting to around freezing. Hastily I undress and cringe as I get into my sleeping bag, the cold material against my skin. I lie there motionless for few minutes whilst my body heats up the bag and I hear the tent canvas slap in the wind.

Another day finished. A new one to savour in a few, short hours.