The finding provided some necessary encouragement, especially as storm bursts had begun to penetrate our rain jackets. Then we followed our compasses through a pine tree deep deep carpet in Moss, which felt like walking in green clouds and then Boulder-Hopped in an ancient glacier molecular, quickly placing two checkpoints. With each finding, our hearts increased. Our searches became more effective as we coordinated more smoothly. We feel confident, we got a navigation bet, cutting the upper slopes of a viscous mountain and ignoring a circular dirt road below. As we uploaded the next checkpoint, we were in our success. I couldn’t help smile as we soon crossed trails with a team we had overcome, which got the easiest but greater way and was still looking for the checkpoint.
As they fell into a tight river valley without any official route, the storm intensified, but I don’t mind. Although it was soaked, we found that if we maintained a decent pace, our exercise kept us warm. And finally I achieved the deep focus that was so central to my love for orientation. With the increased awareness of navigation, everything seemed very beautiful. Against the smoked clouds, falling orange and yellow leaves shone like fire sparks. A Cerulean Blue Crayfish crawling all over the trail seemed like a fairy tale, as later, a six -point deer, the pink horns from velvet. I felt so merged with the landscape and the map that I felt two checkpoints, one hanging over a river and another confused in a ravine before I saw them.
When you navigate well, you and the map and the world are merging. Make the sneak of the slope of the soil, the turns in a valley, how many meters and kilometers your steps have come out. It is a immersion of himself and nature, the inner and outdoor worlds-returning when navigation was necessary for the survival of mankind as hunters. Your mind fits your magnetic north almost as much as your compass.
11:36 AM
We pushed towards the end of the river valley, enjoying the quiet quiet that fills the handles in the storm, when Helene’s next band ran in, hitting the hard wood around us. For the last four hours, I have heard the huge roots of the roots that broke from the ground and the brackets of the trunks. Suddenly, I heard a thunderous crack over. I knew what it was still before I looked at it and saw it: the top half of a dead maple.
I ran, shouting. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Macrae and Jed had instinctively scattered. But the trunk fell down to them like a giant hand, its branches spread like the fingers of a hand that hits a fly. Some of the smaller lower sectors even fell throughout the Jed. If Jed is crushed, the situation would be desperate. Assuming that Macrae and I could stabilize it, the nearest road was still at least one mile away and there was no way to carry it. And even if our emergency lighthouse could be able to connect with a satellite through the clouds, no helicopter would fly at this time.
