The trailhead for my morning pick-up was a four-mile walk from where I made camp for the night. Getting lost wasn’t on my mind—the Oregon woods were home to me, and I found a small open space 50 feet from the PCT. I felt proud and smug that I still had the skill to chase the mosquitos away and make hot grub the old-fashioned way: over a campfire. I had stopped making fires years ago thanks to high fire danger in Oregon. ...
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