What is happening in this picture? 1) Dave's shoulder rub just dislocated Nate's elbow 2) Dave's amorous advances are met with opposition from Nate 3) A camping trip at Mt. Cheaha gets silly If you guessed #3, then you would be close. In fact, the camping trip, which consisted of Dave, Nikki, Nate, Mark C. and myself, got very silly and remained that way. The trip began with a round of skeet shooting on Goodner Mountain, during which Dave demonstrated particular aptitude at knocking many wild, high-flying skeet into smithereens. Nate, on the other hand, showed his skill at flinging the skeet at and hitting beer bottles lying on the ground directly in front of him. However, Nate was joined by Mark C, who showed that he could not only fling skeet at the bottles but blast the bottles apart with his shotgun. Many native talents were dislplayed. After a goodly number of the native clay pigeons had met the same fate as the beer bottles, we ambled on back to our cars through the mud. One could sense it was going to be an interesting evening.

And indeed it was. There was much silliness around the campfire, must singing and dancing. Mark's fiddle sparked the fire in our bones, and we howled at the moon hidden behind the rainclouds moving over us. Though the rain fell in sporadic drifts, we were undampened. Awoooo.

However, let me stress to those of you who have long been considering taking only a light fleece blanket with you when you are camping in 37 degree weather: DON'T DO IT. Don't even think about it, in fact. Though we made it to Cheaha Falls Shelter before the rain started, and though we had a fire, and though George Dickel made his presence known, it got downright cold. Cold, cold. The moment I lay down in that miserable excuse for a blanket I knew it was going to be a long night. I could feel the wind reaching my armpits, for chrissakes. Needless to say, I was glad when rosy-fingered dawn finally showed the hell up.

On the way home, Mark and I shunned the interstate. Drove on backroads the whole way, occasional handwaves from pickup trucks going in the opposite direction. Saw pieces of land I'd love to purchase and spend a lifetime on.

One must always return to the core of the land.