Heavier Packs

We've walked the neighborhood Three-Trees-New-Trail loop twice more, while experimenting with heavier packs, first 30 and then 40 pounds.  On today's hike we ran into friend and neighbor Gary Bevington.  

 








On a side note: these things that look like the dog slept on them are the remains of the arrowleaf balsamroot plants, those plants that were so extravagantly showy in May.  

We leave for our planned 6-day backpack in Mount Robson Provincial Park and some day hikes in Jasper and Banff this Thursday.  In just a few days we've progressed from wondering if we can carry the packs to having made trail and campsite reservations in Mount Robson.  Here we go.

Refinishing the Doors and an Experiment

Eric spent long days over the whole last week sanding and re-spar-varnishing the exterior doors, mostly glass but with wood frames and jambs.  Many of the hours that he worked, I read aloud to him from Michael Pollan's Cooked. 

And the experiment: today we returned to thinking about the now-much-closer trip to Banff, Jasper, and Robson Parks.  This felt like the day to try a hike with loaded--today half-loaded anyway--backpacks.  We're testing our backs, knees, and hips.  Can we still do this?  It's been 14 years since our monumental backpack to Dusy Basin and beyond in the Sierra Nevada.  Today we each put a sleeping bag in the bottom of the pack and then added filled water bottles and canned juice up to about 20-25 pounds.  Things seem to be working so far, and, to add to the fun, right at Jumbo Saddle we ran into the weed-eating sheep and their guard dog. 

We'll try heavier and more realistic packs tomorrow.  

Rain at Last

Missoula last had measurable precipitation on July 12, when we got .02 inches.  In the whole month of July there were only .09 inches of rain.  Normal for the month is 1.06", and we are very nearly 3 inches behind the year-to-date normal precipitation total of 8.86".  The ground has been cracking, and the wildfires have started, so the sound of rain on the roof today thrills us.  Here is rain on the rain chain that drains the roof gutter near the front door:
 
 








And here--at last--is rain on the serviceberry, lavender, and driveway:




"The gentle rain which waters my beans and keeps me in the house today is not drear and melancholy, but good for me too. Though it prevents my hoeing them, it is of far more worth than my hoeing. If it should continue so long as to cause the seeds to rot in the ground and destroy the potatoes in the low lands, it would still be good for the grass on the uplands, and, being good for the grass, it would be good for me."  Thoreau, "Solitude," Walden