Chocolate Cake and Applesauce
Busier than a one-armed paperhanger these days, as my Uncle Bob would say. Or maybe it’s a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. I can’t remember which, I’ll have to ask Uncle Bob. But it’s definitely not the three-legged goat in the pepper patch. I know that much.
Just got back from a dandy float down the lower Salmon a day or so ago and headed back out tomorrow morning at the indecent hour of 5:30 a.m. Sam’s picking me up before five, so that means I’ll have to get up at . . . can you even call that ‘morning’? I mean, really. It’s on the verge of night, I’d say. Henceforth, between the hours of 3 and 4 a.m. shall be known as ‘mighting’. Or ‘nornight’. I don’t know.
Item: saw us some bighorns floating out of the Salmon. Awfully impressive beasts. Regret battery issue with my camera. Instead, I have for your viewing pleasure some random photos to behold.
That there is Morgan playing guitar. He just had a birthday, and Penny baked a four-tiered chocolate-chocolate extravaganza of a cake. You read me right. Four tiers. It was something. Happy Birthday, Mojo. And many more.
Item: that other image is the Winding Waters rig packing out a trip on the Dug Bar Road. Doesn’t really give you a sense of how big that country is down there, but it’s trying. I’ll get another shot of that and try again. But it’s one of those things, trying to show or tell the size of Hells Canyon unless you’ve craned your neck up or panned your vision across, trying to squeeze it all into your eyeballs. It’s a tight fit.
Personal note to my mom: we’re going to grill porkchops this trip, and I’m going to try and recreate your homespun apple sauce, Ma. I’m thinking it’s pretty straight forward … peel the apples, cook them down gently, add some cinnamon and a little bit of love … anything else? If it isn’t shaping up, expect a recipe call from the satellite phone.
All right. This here gearboatman has got to get some shuteye. That raft isn’t going to row itself tomorrow.