High winds carved black clouds into fantastic shapes that spit rain on us all day.
My camera stayed in the pack.
We charged up a fine ridge - firm, level, and dry, marching uninterrupted for four hours. (Save a one hour detour to pass two bears digging for lemmings in the patchy tundra.)
Then the ridge ended - dead ended - into a plateau marking the head waters of the Colville River.
Four hours of tussocks and bog slogging across an endless moor followed.
The tussocks were big, like gallon size paint cans on 12 inch centers, and wet beneath.
The marsh grass between the tussocks was endless.
The plateau at 2100 ft was still thawing from the late spring, and the marsh waters were only two inches deep. But walking on the overlaying ice, our feet went numb.
We hustled out of the marsh to follow the edge of a lake toeing a "lemming runway", the only dry and level walking we found in that four hour stretch.
Heading south to escape the tussock sea, we climbed higher and looked north.
Tussocks as far as we could see.
...and Ryan is gone, it was the worst day of the trip.
- Roman Dial