It’s like this – we wake up one morning and there it is, the Washington gray sky, fog over the pond, dew on my sleeping bag. I had kinda figured since there were still fire closures, it couldn’t possibly be cold and rainy already. And yet…
“You up?” Snail’s voice drifts out of his tent. “Freezing out here.”
And it’s not really – it’s probably only 50 degrees or so but my body’s adjusted to walking in 80, ...

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