I go hiking once, maybe twice per year. That leaves you ~360 days you could pick to give me an infected wisdom tooth. But no, you had to choose that one evening when I'm a six hour hike away from the nearest ranger station, on a moonless night to boot.
You know, I was going to get you something nice for your birthday. Maybe a tree or something. Instead, I think I'm just gonna go out and dump some kerosene on the lawn. Happy now?
Apart from the pain and the fever, the hike was great. We drove up to Yosemite friday night, hiked to a small glacier lake saturday, camped, hung out for a few hours sunday morning, then hiked back. Beautiful and refreshing.
The goal. At 10,000 feet, approximately.
Yours Gnuly, somewhat sweaty after a few hours of uphill hiking.
Our intrepid explorers napping in the sun. From left to right - The Pale One, The Other Swede and The KnoffelMan.
Campsite, by Young Lakes. A series of small glacier lakes, that apparently doesn't get much above freezing even in the height of summer.
More Campsite. The beach kind of took us by suprise. The Pale One's suggestion of us posing on the beach in swimtrunks was quickly discarded after it was pointed out that some of us actually want to keep our nipples.
Nightfall, and the temperature has dropped to ~20 F. It's frikking cold, and I'm wearing six layers of clothes. Five minutes later, I'm adding my seventh and last layer.
Breakfast at the beach. This kind of made the whole hike worth it, just by itself.