I made my way to the lake. I swear if you stood still you could hear the ice melting. It sounded a bit like rain. Then it hit me...at the shores edge little areas of ice had melted to reveal cool, fresh water. Eureka! Why didn't I think of this before? Earlier when I made it to shore the lake was completely frozen. I didn't even try to break shore ice but maybe I should have. I guess that threw me off. Who knows, maybe last nights rain did the trick.
I set about the work of filter pumping the water. Such an exciting mechanism. It feels so right to gather water in this way. Up shore I could see my Slope of Good Hope. The way wasn't as treacherous as I had originally imagined. I could've walked the shoreline almost all the way, climbing only upon reaching the slope and saving myself a lot of hurt. Bogus.
Storm clouds roll in. I scurry back to my special ridge. Before long the sun breaks through triumphant. The ground in this area looks awesome in this light. Brown needle fall ignites fiery red in late afternoon light. Ahead I stumble across my ridge. I'm much farther north of my camp and nearer the lake. The land here is immaculate. Striations of sedimentary rock painted an orange ochre with lichen and turned upward by earth forces support soft, bubbly mounds of moss deeply embedded with fallen needles. In the fading light this perfect mesh of materials is absolutely sublime.
Back to camp, I set up my nights habitat as the sun sinks below distant peaks. I cook a big pot of couscous and hunker down for the night. Tomorrow I shall explore the way down from my ridge to shore. I will proceed to return to the Slope of Good Hope to retrieve lost socks. After I will return to explore the opposite expanse of this ridge at which point I will know how best to proceed to the next camp. Sounds like a promising day.
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