Plodding along, big wet backback on my wet back, wet hat on head, mud.

One of the main reasons I started tramping and climbing is that it gave one a large portion of time in which to merely gel ones thoughts. Climbing a good size volcano, for examples, gives you about 11 hours of thought, and all you can do is look at the view (if there is one), or think. or talk, but you are frequently out of breath.

So you trudge along, looking down, glancing up, and everything thoughts pile through your brain. I find that the emotional stuff is dealt with first, and usually I reach a point where I have a sort of catharsis and can move on to other stuff. Nostalgic or fantasy, banal or sublime.

My friend has taken to carrying a small digital recorder, to take the non-sequiturs that arise from this process. I myself, find myself mouthing plans outloud, or sometimes just find my self stopped, steaming deep in the woods, finishing up a chain of mental pieces that has just been swirling around.

Today I saw a Ptarmigan (a kind of bird), and it reminded me (as much else does) of a friend who loved chickens, who in turn reminds me of a fellow noder, which reminded me of programming, which lead off into a weird mixture of sex and rain. What can I say, I am tangential. It seems to me that physical exertion brings everything up. take it a piece at a time, by the time you get back, you at least have everything lined up.

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