7:00 a.m.

Kelly Flats Campground #20

$17 to camp here, but definitely well worth it. There is the constant sound of the river, the way it carefully and intensely overrides all other sounds. I have my own little bank of the river at which to sit, write, eat, read, whatever.

I can look 180 degrees (maybe even 200) around me and not see a soul. That's enough for me today. I have enough imagination to pretend the other 180 degrees don't exist.

My spot is isolated from the road and backs into nothing but trees and brush and the rocky hill I'm sure I'll climb in a bit. A rare spot to find in a campground such as this, and I am thankful for this gift.

I drove up last night after work and without any real plan. I almost turned around nine times. It was 8:30 pm before I hit the canyon walls, my eyes were heavy from a long day's work, and I kept getting flashes of the laundry pile in my closet at home. The voices in my head - countless friends' warnings of going out alone: "It's not safe", "Don't forget the bear mace... you don't have bear mace? You have to have bear mace", etc.

I find at times a seeming contradiction of desires. The "responsible" self - work, laundry, rest, safety, etc. And the "other" that can often carelessly say "do what you want." I wager that the "other" has to be the best thing at times. Also that the "other" does not have to be careless or even irresponsible. It is true to me, though. True to what I care about. If I want to wake up in the mountain sun, I'm going to take every available opportunity to do so. Last night presented itself and clearly I couldn't resist.

A brief note on safety: the lack of it - not a bad thing. A little risk, uncertainty, a fleeting "what the hell am I doing?" never hurt anybody. It's in those moments (or hours or days) that you (I) look beyond your own (my own) sense of self sufficiency and independence and find where true help comes from. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting it's wise to coat your bare skin with fish grease and wander out into bear country to learn a lesson or two about trusting God. I digress.

What kept me following the road up the canyon was this. Right now. Waking to the very early morning sunshine's shimmering reflection on the water. The golden light on the rocks, the trees, my face and knees. Waking to stillness. Waking to the roar of the river, the smell of my wet dog. And getting to use my new stove. And the fact that no matter what it took, or what it risked (not much, really) to get here, I am here.

Nevermind that it isn't perfect solitude or quiet. Nevermind my tent being on a gravel pad or my dog whining at the neighbor's dog or that some ambitious early morning tubers just floated by. An adventure is what you make of it. Or rather, make your own adventure. There are no complexities to it, just a simple mindet to make the most of everything and experience all you can. Like setting up camp and cooking dinner in the mountain darkness, stars innumerable above, then waking up to the revelation of what the light of day brings. Exactly what you had no idea you were looking for.

This is quietude - the musical "shhhh" of water running over rock and my thoughts expressed in written word.