Upon waking I learned that a sixty-five square kilometer chunk of ice at foot of the Thwaits glacier in Antarctica potentially broke away. Yep, that glacier. I then set about making coffee and breakfast for myself and my family.
Over eggs and toast and a cuppa, I mentioned this to my wife. “They’re waiting for cloud cover to clear to confirm it, but everyone seems pretty certain.” I cleaned up the dishes. Washed up, brushed my teeth, got dressed. Took my youngest to school, his first day back since our recent infection scare. Then came home.
When I came home I added a layer of rain gear and my umbrella and leashed the dog. Lyra and I went and walked through the park for an hour and then some. It wasn’t busy, and the only other couple with a dog had it on leash. We’ve encountered them before and they’re as much concerned for their shepherd as I am for mine.
I thought about things, carefully skirting my way around the elephant. For instance, I noticed that my Outdoor Research Helium rain jacket wasn’t really wetting out with the addition of the umbrella. I did have plenty of sweat build up on my chest, back and shoulders though and this was probably from wearing too much insulation. It’s just middle age I suppose, but I prefer to hike cold. Next time I’ll bring a small pack so I can take off the insulation if it becomes too warm.
I also considered things that might go in my pack on longer upcoming trips. Then things I might choose to leave home. I’ve been considering using a GPS tracker for my hike and I contemplated publishing this information, but then started to list some of my reservations.
For a while, I recalled a man I met on my way down from Kendall Katwalk last summer. He was abandoning his hike of the section because he found it too difficult. This has greatly bothered me since I met him and I’ve consistently wondered what I could do to help people like him since. Knowing I can’t hike for anyone other than myself has me wondering how or even if I can tell or show people how to hike better.
I thought about this blog. What’s it good for. Why do I maintain it when sometimes it feels like I’m writing into the void. Conclusion? Sometimes I am. Sometimes I’m not, and I guess I’m okay with that. Then it occurred to me how miserable and hamhanded this stupid blog editor is and I resolved, once again, to figure out how to write and publish from Scrivener, if at all possible.
As I was passing an open segment of trail that overlooks Poverty Bay and East Passage I noticed that the tide was in. How, in that moment, the water didn’t leave even a sliver of gray pebbled, sandy beach visible. And I thought about how this was going to become “normal.” Such a routine that after a while I probably wouldn’t remember that there was a time when you could see the beach at the tide’s ebb.