There’s only one camping spot down here and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let some punk-ass Dutchman grab it.
Really nice hike. This was Stevens Trail, down to the North Fork of the American River. In the morning, the valley was filled with mist, which burned off by the time I got to the bottom.
When we first moved here, one of my favorite things about California was the large difference in smell that a small distance in travel can make. Wales has a lot to recommend itself (chiefly, the bacon), but unless you’re in one of the south-east’s more urinique areas, the whole country smells like a similar mix of animals and the sea. The Coast Range around the Bay has a smell — eucalyptus mixed with burning VC cash? — that’s very evocative.