Ashes on Granite

Starting to dry out some fresh food at sea level so I can eat it at 12,000 feet.  Annie picked these from her garden late yesterday, these and with the other vegetables from her garden and along with fruit, I'll dehydrate. I'll get some meat from my favorite carnicería in the Mission District and turn it into jerky.  Rice and granola and I'm good to go.

Got a good sharp knife.

I'm heading up to the Sierra.  Always late in season, always after most everybody else has gone away, always with the hope of running into some weather.  A snow would be nice or a big windstorm, or hail.  Something.

In 1971 I hitchhiked from Montana to go skiing at Mammoth.  Down 395.  The most gorgeous road in the world I think.  I've been coming back here since then.

Got an area all picked out. Nobody will be there, it's out of eyesight.  No trail to it, only a steep and awkward scramble up a watershed to the prettiest little granite filled basin you've ever seen.

Every time I come back from one of these solo trips I have my daughter come over and I tell her I've found the spot I want my ashes to be scattered when the time comes.   I point to the area on the topo, she takes a picture of it on her phone.

She understands.