This is the story of a major crossing and the building of a bridge not far enough. The story begins with me bushwhacking up a narrow valley filled shoulder to shoulder with exposed granite boulders. Over, around, and between the boulders, ran a creek swollen by rain and melt-water. The spray thrown by the waters had painted all of the boulders in an emerald green, a film of algae, moss, mucous, and slime that coated the rock with a treacherous grease.
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