Its funny how Dylan and I live in the woods and went into a town, sat around, and watched T.V. for the Memorial day weekend.
I couldn’t really say at this point how many days we have been doing this. Usually I can tell by referencing the other side of the paper or perhaps the previous sheet. Last time I mailed off my journal segment I was really left wondering what trail day it was. This time, after some time off, it is even harder to recall. I don’t care so much about keeping track. It’s simply for posterity and much easier that daily recalling the date or day of the week. I long ago turned off the date display on my camera. It never seemed to know the date any better than I. Whenever any sort of numbers could be confirmed through a laborious process of memory and counting the camera would be wrong. At first, I liked the aesthetic of the date on the picture. It seemed that they would imbue the photos with a touristy snapshot edge. My opinions on this have since changed. The mountains we daily walk through are timeless in relation to us. They have preceded, and will follow, us for ten of thousands of years. Passing through them is not necessary for them to be valid. Commemorating a view is a fine attempt. Photography is a nice hobby. Making the images relative only to the time I was there, while a truthful effort, is really egotistical.
I climbed onto a knoll jutting off a westward saddle of Olancha Peak late this afternoon. Frothy white clouds crowned nine to ten ominous snowy peaks of the high Sierra. All I could do was laugh looking at the truly awe inspiring panorama through the view finder of my point and shoot. There is just no way.