Field Notes
Field Note No. 1: The Map Ran Out
November 1949
The map ended at the creek. Somebody had drawn a dotted line past it once, then thought better of it and rubbed it out. You could still see the ghost of it.
We took the ghost. Two days of deadfall, one day of scree, and a night above timberline with the wind trying to steal the tarp. The pot got dented. The stove stayed lit. Nobody said much, because nothing needed saying.
Came down the far side with no trail and no regrets. The map's still wrong. We never sent in a correction.
Cheers to the goats.