On the trail
I watched from my campsite as the straw sun hat approached and passed below me on the canyon floor, and proceeded up into the canyon. Wonder where she’s going, I thought. The trail’s the other way.
It was a nice-enough campsite, well off the trail that crawled down the canyon edge, crossed the sandy floor, and then climbed back out again. I was well up from the canyon floor, out of reach of flash floods, but those passing on the trail as they reached the canyon rim above were visible to me, and I to them. Nothing to do but just wave and be waved to, as I rested there in the shade of a scrub tree.
Above the canyon floor, but below the trail above
The sloped canyon wall gently curved away from view of the trail a short distance past my tent, and making my way around on the slope I had located a grouping of trees with various roots and branches that would serve as a privy. I had now headed to this spot with its purpose in mind, and was just about to make preparations, when I spied the straw sun hat returning. Obviously that task would have to wait.
I returned to the campsite to wait for the straw sun hat to pass. But instead of passing, it turned and climbed up the slope towards my campsite. When the young woman underneath the hat had neared enough for conversation, she paused. Did I know the way to the trail? Yes, it is that way. And with a thank you, she headed off.
Day had turned to evening, and those hiking in had turned to those hiking out, becoming ever less frequent. She was one of the last.
After dinner, I hiked a bit farther along the now-deserted trail myself, curious if there was a change in scenery. Deciding that the best scenery was to be had at my campsite, I returned, and spent another night of solitude under the stars.
Scenery, stars, and solitude