We went to the camp at Mile 9 for a night. After setting up, we walked a couple of kilometres up the road. My face stung from the cold. We turned around as the sun melted orange into the horizon, with statuesque pines silhouetting in the foreground. Behind us a waxing moon rose and guided us as it darkened.
A fire had already been lit, so when we returned, it was cosy-warm inside the camp.
We wonder who replenishes the woodpile (just behind the woodpile is a little outhouse with a seat cut out of styrofoam).
The next morning, we woke up to snow. It’s always nice to get away from the bright lights of the city!