its green surface, and a spigot dripping water so slowly that it was painful to watch. It'd take hours to fill up a liter bottle at that rate. It was then that I noticed a break in the bushes at the back of the trough and immediately my spirits rose. Sure enough, squeezing into the brush of the overgrown path, I heard the distinctive sound of flowing water. Not much, but enough to keep this strip of vegetation green, the birds chirping and this thru-hiker very happy. Used my cup to transfer the clear liquid into the bottle and both water bladders as I promised myself that from now on I would not be caught short of water. It has been a difficult adjustment to go from the Sierras, where water is so plentiful, to these eastern slopes, where sources are few and far between. I took the time to fill my belly with long gulps from the cup too, seeing as how, if the pattern held, the creeks were no longer reliable and the next spring was twenty miles distant. After I was satisfied with my water supply, I spent a few minutes resting in the shade. While relaxing, I heard a car pass on the dirt road that I'd crossed a short way back. Thought nothing of it until shots rang out, which sounded to me as if they were zipping right overhead. A short pause, and then what sounded like shotgun blasts. I decided that I'd better get out of there toot sweet before someone got hurt. Namely me! I shouted, "Hey, there's a hiker down here. I'm coming back up to the trail.", hoping they'd hear me and direct their fire elsewhere. As I scampered down the trail, trying to put some safe distance between us, I heard some more shots. Whoever it was, I don't think they were deer hunters. My guess, it was just some good ol' boys looking to unload some ammo. Anyway, the rest of the day was spent winding away high in the hills, at one point looking down once again along the easternmost flank of the Sierras. Another time, late in the afternoon, I look up and there are two deer charging at me down the trail. I almost believe I am going to be trampled, but they put on the brakes and pull up in a cloud of dust. The smaller one immediately jumps off the trail and bounds downhill and the bigger one just as quickly whirls around and speeds back down the trail in the direction it had come from. I could understand their panic, it being deer season and all. I probably looked the same way they did when I was leaving Fox Hill Springs. :-0 Well, if really hot weather, scarcity of water, blackened forests, and gunfire aren't enough to ruin your mood, how about some bothersome flies. They just sit and hover right in front of your face and no matter how many times you try to swat them away, they still come back. One I can ignore, two maybe, but when half a dozen of the tiny buggers are floating in your field of vision it gets downright distracting. Every so often, they'll make a move to land on the perspiration around your mouth or nose or even next to your eyes, and that's when it goes from distracting to maddening. You're close to being driven crazy by their persistence. But, worst of all, are the Kamikazes who somehow think that they'll find more moisture by diving for the back of your throat. Hack. Spit. Cough. Little blighters! Enough already! So for the first time since Oregon, I pull out my headnet and place it over my hat. Now, they're back to being distracting. I don't count it as a victory, it's not. More of a stalemate. The best spot of the day is the place I've chosen to camp. Under the branches of oak trees with starlight and moonlight filtering through. The flies are gone, the heat has abated, the water bottle is full and silence reigns.A Look to the East
31 Miles
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