The trailhead was several miles closer than I thought and the road better than expected. Good start to the day.
Then I opened the car door.
Immediately, mosquitoes were all over me. Alone, I had their undivided attention. I have spent time above the Arctic Circle and hundreds of days in the Boundary Waters. I know mosquitoes. Just two weeks earlier at the southern terminus of the Middle Fork trail by Timpanogos I was the only crew member not to wear bug netting or use bug repellent; generally, that is typical. I heard, “There’s a swarm all around you.” No problem.
Today was different. I was at another southern terminus, this time Diamond Peak Trail, planning to scout north 2 miles to Rockpile Trail and then head east. Summit Lake was nearby, and there were many ponds near the trail. Figure lots of standing water, one mammal, swatting several at a time on a hand, inhaling some, glad for once I wore hearing aids, since at least the bugs wouldn’t go in my ear.
The day didn’t improve. Two hours later, the last hour at least mosquito-free, I was off trail. I wasn’t lost, because I knew where the trail was behind me and could always get leave the woods that way if I had to. I was annoyed at myself, however, because earlier I had come through the other direction and had no difficulty. I usually need to see a trail on two separate occasions to develop a decent memory of it.
I had hiked past ponds, streams, and snow, swatting as much as I tabulated downed trees and possible needed tread work as a result of the 208 fire. There were so many downed trees I listed them by number every hundred yards. Trail scouting in a fire zone is like route finding in winter. With no ground cover landmarks, many spots appear to have a trail. Finally reaching Rockpile Trail and turning east, I quickly lost the trail. I hunted on the north and south sides and got lucky. I then placed my pack on the ground to scout ahead more quickly, finally making a 25 inch diameter log across the trail my turn around point. I needed my GPS to find my way back. Note to self: keep your pack on when having directional trouble or at the least be extremely certain you can find it again. The phrase “think I can” is inadequate. I returned to the 4-way junction, headed south and after 3/8 of a mile lost the trail again.
Then I saw a balloon. On the ground. In the Diamond Peak Wilderness.
At first, I thought it might be a weather balloon, for balloon soundings are sent up twice daily from Medford and Salem, and the balloons have to come down somewhere. But the gray ribbon bow was clearly not from the NWS. It was a balloon from a gathering somewhere. It still had some gas, probably helium, although I didn’t do a voice test. Someone likely to the west of me, given population centers and prevailing mid to high level winds, released it. Out of sight, out of mind. Sort of like tossing an apple core. You don’t see it again, but it still exists.
I felt like I was a little less in the wild. A balloon can do that. Once, in a remote area of Alaska, I encountered an Epi-Pen cartridge. I know that this region has not always been designated wilderness, but it has been officially wild in one form or another for 70 years and a balloon is as much out of place here as I would be in Times Square. East of nearby Summit Lake people used to drive in to what is now near the PCT. You’d never know it by how it looks now. I picked up the balloon, put it in my pack, finally figured out where I needed to go, found the trail, placed illegal but temporary ribbons for those who were going to log it out so they could find their way, and hiked downhill out of the burn area into the woods, where the mosquitoes were still waiting.’
See you on the trail.
Boreal B[l]og 
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