We got up and Bosco was already fussing. Wrapping his horns around and around the highline, then acting like a baby about it. Like he was super stuck and didn’t know what to do. We’d start heading his way to help, and he’d suddenly untangle himself. Like magic. Repeatedly. He knew what he was doing. Attention-getter. He’s a Smart Little Bugger.
It took us a tenth of the time to take down the fence, so we did that and ate breakfast before we turned the boys loose to forage for breakfast. They didn’t seem that interested in eating but we encouraged them anyway while we packed up.
We headed out and back across the stream we’d crossed yesterday to get to camp. Yesterday they’d all been champs, considering it was their first time ever to get their feet wet. We’d read so much about goats refusing to go through water, but our Bosco just splashed right through and then kept going back and forth for fun. Jon Snow didn’t seem to have an issue with it, Sharkey only balked for a minute, and Oatcake hated the idea but hated being left behind even more, so he came along shortly.
This morning though, the goats went through the water and one by one, their butts hung low to the ground and they stumbled around. Oh no, oh no! Sophie cried. We watched as Oatcake almost fell over and wondered out loud if everyone broke their legs on the crossing. Pretty soon, though, everyone was okay again, and The Mystery was never solved.
We quickly hiked back out of the basin and marveled at how strong the six of us have become. We climbed right back up to the PCT. Right back up to where I must’ve hiked before on my attempted flip in 2016. I had no recollection of this stretch of earth. This trail one foot wide stretching from Mexico to Canada. It was quiet and our footsteps were soft. Bosco was behaving and the only sound was the bear bells on each goat tinkling and twinkling and chiming their chimes. We walked in silence for about two miles, then headed down to a new and larger lake, on the other side of which we planned to camp.
We hiked through some camps and some forest and some parts of road taken over by water. Some rocky areas and some meadows and some crookedy, wind-swept slides. Some twisty trees and some straight ones and some dappled sun and some bright light. And all the while Bosco was a huge pain in the ass because the road was wide and he could go around me and he knew it. So he’d break away from me and sashay his little ass out in front of us and look back to make sure we were paying attention and refuse to be caught. He’d wait until I was three feet from him, then he’d run ten feet away and glance back again. Little Bugger. When I did finally catch him, it was Fish On. He’d fight and wiggle and thrown himself around. I’d turn him in circles to calm him down, his halter jangling. He didn’t care a whim and kept thrashing all over the place. My Beloved Fighting Sailfish. Oh, how I love that goat.
We finally came to a campground where someone was shaking out a tarp, which was a startling disaster, and there were kids screaming and dogs barking, and we found a camp host who pointed us to a quiet area where we could be alone…for $22. Sophie didn’t have any change and it got a little weird after they said we could put up our fence and stuff, so finally we just gave them $25 and didn’t make a deal out of it.
We took the boys to graze down by the water and then we ate and ate and ate some more, as though it were a new sport we’d discovered. We set up camp and put the boys on a highline. They were tired. I couldn’t get my blog to work. Sophie couldn’t get her solar charger to work.
We were more bored than tired.
So we just ate some more.