Tungsten Mine. Old mining camp in the middle of nowhere. We found a can of Baked beans in one of the cabins that after 10 days of dehidrated food tasted like the best food I ever ate. Upper right photo of my friend Clayton with his over loaded pack, if he only knew what he was getting himself into when he agreed to go on the trip.
. . . To him who has once tasted the reckless independence, the haughty self-reliance, the sense of irresponsible freedom, which the forest life engenders, civilization thenceforth seems flat and stale. Its pleasures are insipid, its pursuits wearisome, its conventionalities, duties, and mutual dependence alike tedious and disgusting. The entrapped wanderer grows fierce and restless, and pants for breathing-room. His path, it is true, was choked with difficulties, but his body and soul were hardened to meet them; it was beset with dangers, but these were the very spice of his life, gladdening his heart with exulting self-confidence, and sending the blood through his veins with a livelier current. The wilderness, rough, harsh, and inexorable, has charms more potent in their seductive influence than all the lures of luxury and sloth. And often he on whom it has cast its magic finds no heart to dissolve the spell, and remains a wanderer and an Ishmaelite to the hour of his death.
Francis Parkman
Francis Parkman
Friday, June 15, 2007
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