I feel like I’m in a holding pattern. My analogy is this: I feel like I’m in a plane, circling the airport. I remember going for a job interview at Unity College in Unity, Maine. The main two building were converted chicken coops. The college was comprised of future environmentalists and loggers.

I was to fly into Boston. I was in a holding pattern above Logan Airport, which even then was too small for the existent air traffic.

The Ogilvie Mountains

I was, for some time, in a holding pattern in a thunderstorm. I was told that there were 128 planes waiting to land, or maybe it was only 28. Around and around we went. I was terrified. All it would take would be one errant lightening strike, and we’d all be toast. No one else looked to happy either.

We landed; it was raining hard. The taxi driver took me to a nice hotel in the Back Bay area of the city. I had to get up early and got to Unity later in the day. I don’t recall how I got to Unity – I wish I could remember. I was very tired when I got there. I didn’t get the job. I figured that because this was an alternative college, that they’d be interested in hiring someone who was interested in less traditional ways of teaching grammar. Translation: the teachers were at their wits end because (as they thought) their students’ work was riddled with punctuation and grammar errors.

This is going back a ways. Moving forward, yes, I am again in a holding pattern. I am here, taking up space in yet another gravel pit on the Dempster Highway. It’s still raining. I just want to go home. However, Becky wants to remain here or thereabouts until the 30th because this is when her house sitters will be leaving. She doesn’t want to have to boot them out of her house, but I suspect that if she has to, she will.

Early on today, I explained to Becky the reasons for my ineptitude. I provided salient details as to why I didn’t plan in advance for this trip. I don’t know if she heard me – she has her own whoas to deal with.

She has her backpacking act together and is most likely mystified as to why I don’t have my act together.

This morning we drove north on the Dempster and checked out the more northerly Ogilvie Mountains. The mountains, slate gray, scree, very imposing.

We turned back at this point, and at Mile 90 did a hike that was part bushwack, through dense brush, to 1, 2, 3 rocky outcroppings. I wasn’t fond of the brush scramble, the hike got progressively more interesting as we headed uphill. Becky found a brown, butter sized rock that she considered taking home with her, but the rock said that it would rather she left it at the top of the final outcropping.

On the way back to the gravel pit we saw a near full rainbow, only the middle part was missing. A good sign, I says. Now tomorrow, up road, an easy day hike, then day after, a moderate day hike. We’ll head home on Sunday. So we are on the flip side of this trip.

Next: 233. 8/26/22: Day #9, Heading Home