Last month Andreas and I decided that we were going camping the last weekend of September, come hell or high water. Luckily for us the weather this weekend was about as perfect as could be. We headed over to Bainbridge Friday night, slept at Sacred Groves, then met up with my father at 7am. This is very early for a Saturday, but lately I’ve been getting up around 6:30 for yoga, so it was totally do-able. The three of us drove two cars into the Olympic mountains outside of lovely Quilcene, WA, and head up the trail to Marmot Pass.

Dre and I droped our tent and backpacks about 2.5 miles in, and then the three of us continued the remaining 2.5 miles up to the top of the pass. Glorious views! Delicious chocolates! Fantastic conversations!

Then it was back down the mountain. Naturally, the young folk started hobbling (my knee! Dre’s calf! my hip!) while my 62-year-old father ambled gracefully right along complaint-free. My father dropped us limping weenies off at our campsite and headed home for the night. Andreas and I read and cooked and listened to the burbling creek next to our camp. We went to bed shortly after dark (which meant probably around 8pm) and slept until dawn.

The hike down the trail was very very slow. I guess it’s not every weekend that I hike 10 miles, but I have been climbing my 21 flights of stairs most every workday and I thought I was better conditioned. I was limping and grunting today. It was sort of pathetic. How old am I? Use it or lose it, Stallings.

Here are the pictures!