28 Days on the John Muir Trail

I just finished writing Marry Me, John Muir -- the story of my 2012 JMT thru-hike. It's a trail journal, but it's also sort of a love letter. You might like it if you're a hopeless romantic fool for the wilderness. 

It starts here, with a post called Into the Wild. 

(To read in chronological order, scroll down below the comments at the bottom of each post and click on the title of the next one, by the little triangle in the black dot.) 

Marry Me, John Muir is also on Facebook. Visit and LIKE that page for pictures, posts, likes and links about hiking, backpacking, outback adventures, natural beauty, preservation, conservation, climate change, mountains, rivers, deserts, glaciers, bears, marmots, naked mole rats, health, happiness, yearning, crazy big bittersweet love of life and family and friends and long-dead soul mates and, of course, the ever-elusive meaning of life. 

Peace, and happy trails!

Marry Me, John Muir

Where have I been the last two years and a half years? Well, on the John Muir Trail for one thing -- backpacking in the High Sierra for 27 days, half all by myself and half with Juliana. Come on over to my trail journal blog, Marry Me, John Muir, and read all about it!

One

Ever have one of those days when every song on the radio rips your guts out as you drive to work inside the weird little bubble-world of your car, and then you park and walk into the office trying to act normal even though the lyrics are still bouncing around in your head?

FREE TO ANYONE WHO WANTS THEM

Thankful Friday

At 8 a.m. the bay is like glass, and those little finches, they look like happy little thumb-smudges of yellow paint, and the sun at 45 degrees shines through the scattered clouds in distinct rays of light that almost make you think, “shoot, maybe there is a god up there.” It’s completely silent except for the far-off hum of the freeway until suddenly a half-dozen birds break into a spirited call and response, and then it’s quiet again and the bay's still shining glassy silver-blue, but it’s time to walk through those tall doors and up the stairs and down the hall past the nappy green and grey fabric of cubicles, cubicles, cubicles and into my office for eight hours of meaningless work and so the question is… what happens to those three perfect minutes out by the water? how can they not be corroded away into nothingness by eight hours of tedium? the only answer I can come up with is that you have to pass them on to someone else, and so i'm giving them away to anyone who wants them, hoping they end up in a good home.

so picture them there on the curb for the taking -- i can't believe how many people walk by without noticing them, because they're really fucking beautiful -- and if they speak to you and you have room, scoop them up before it's too late.

(Originally posted on Facebook. And then I felt like a total traitor to PGD.)