We traveled some 90 miles south to May Creek Lodge, a rustic forest service cabin near the Idaho border, over Labor Day weekend.
Our old friend Joe and our less old friend Mabel joined in on the fun. It was a pleasant 2 mile hike in (what will be a great snowshoeing or skiing adventure in the winter) following the creek that separated a hilly forest from a gorgeous willowy meadow.
Plenty of wood chopping, stove stocking, reading, hiking, and lanterns ensued.
John is ridiculously in love with Mabel. Anyone he's talked to in the last four months already knows that.
After one short hike, we turned back due to dark clouds (Mabel isn't a big fan of thunder/lightning/rain). The rain started before we crossed the creek and the last quarter mile of trail to the cabin. Mabel, who was doing fantastically, bolted. When we got back to the cabin, we didn't see her and started calling for her frantically. With no luck, we ventured into the cabin to regroup, where we found she had somehow weaseled her way in and under the bed.
Later on, while John was splitting wood, she also did her best impression of a black bear surveying its territory (perching on a log for an unknown length of time, watching).
After reading the visitor records (and seeing how well stocked the place was), we'll be sure to lean away from our backpacking meals toward finer dining next time.
That Monday marked, for John and I, four years behind us and an ongoing determination to cram as much life as possible into the century ahead.
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