6 July 2001 - 1

It's early, just a little after six o'clock. I've already had my long, peaceful hike to the showers, and nobody else will be stirring for 40 minutes.

I'm sitting at the picnic table in our campsite, trying to read the last few pages left in Alexander McKee's Wreck of the Medusa. It's a nearly cold, analytical look at the events of a French shipwreck off Africa in the early 1800s. Been hard to put down. Stayed up past midnight a couple nights, reading it by flashlight in my tent. Found it in the house when I was packing for this week at camp, and just threw it in the pack.

No idea whose book it is.

Started it Monday, and hope to finish today.

One of the local Abert's squirrels (the rare, black variety of this tufted-ear species of tree rodent) came trotting up on the rocks just two meters away to the left, and then stopped to stare in my direction. I froze to see what it would do, and then realized it wasn't alone. It's mate had just jumped up onto the picnic table, and then scooted by within reach of my right arm. Making the cute little thumpety-thumpety pattern of little feet on wood. Then they circled camp together to get to the three pines they are apparently nesting in.

One of them drug an old worn pair of boxer shorts out from under one of the tent platforms yesterday, and tried to drag it up the tree.

Hope they were clean.