Hitch 7

The shrubs and branches fall limp under the weight of fall’s first rain. The trail grows silent. No longer do the limbs of firs tumble to the ground, nor does the thimbleberry fly up from its roots. The rocks settle in the river bottom and the rain washes away every footprint. It is time for one last climb out of the fresh red canyon. The tools get packed away, more neatly than ever before. The truck’s original color is revealed under layers of dust and the remains of insects flying over the highway. The canyon is left to the snakes, the deer, and the red-tail hawks. The temporary inhabitants are off toward separate latitudes, coasts, continents.

Stats

5.25 million lops, 90 football fields of brush, 7 tools lost or destroyed, 8.5 miles of trail, 1 unforgettable summer