I made it back to the Boulderfield campsite without a hitch. Once there the first thing that came to mind was fixing a hot meal. But the water bag was just about empty. After setting up the water filter, I drew a couple of gallons of filtered water out of the brook that ran through the camp and put it on to boil.

That brook ran under the rocks in the camp. You could hear it gurgling almost everywhere you went in the Boulderfield, but you couldn't see it most places. There were a few spots, though, where the rocks dipped down far enough to expose the stream. I knew many of my fellow campers were not very good about using the camp latrine, and that did not bode well for the prospects of finding any pure water here. Thank goodness for Sweetwater Filtration gear. And, I thought, the Iodine attachment that wipes out any bacterial and viral pathogens that ordinary filters miss...

Two latrines were strategically placed in the center of the Boulderfield, near the north edge of the campground. The photo on the left, above, shows the twin plume-stacks from the latrine's composters, way off in the distance. A blind person could find them without assistance. Like the potty at Peacock Pool, these had mucho-fragrant sludgers. They were open affairs, elevated above the camp, with low privacy shields on all four sides. One of the shields was a hinged door. You sat on the pot, your rear end just below the upper level of the privacy shield, overlooking the rest of the camp. And I thought privacy was lacking at Moore Park...

But, I reminded myself, it could be worse, and once upon a time it was worse... Back in 1978, on my first trip to the Boulderfield, the sole latrine here consisted of a  box with a hole cut in the top. It was situated in the center of the camp, out in the open, with no privacy shield of any kind.  I took one look at that box, and the 150 other hikers milling around it at the time, and said "No way, Jose!" Such were my scruples at age 36.  About that time, up trooped a group of nine young ladies, all in their late teens or early twenties, who one by one stepped up to the box, dropped their drawers, and took care of business. Impressive. But I still couldn't do it. 

About half an hour later, I learned the full price of false modesty.  I and my 9-year-old son started up toward the Keyhole. When we got to the part requiring hand-over-hand exertion, guess what...  my options were gone.  Nature made an urgent call that could not be ignored. I had to drop my drawers right there, on the side of the mountain. And here came the troop of ladies, marching right past me, within touching distance, eyes on the trail, not saying a word. But I knew what they were thinking... and they were absolutely right.  I have wondered, since that day, how many times they have told that story to their friends. 

After cooking and eating a hot meal, I was ready to rest and take a short nap. Later that night I cooked another hot meal and retired. The weather remained unusually balmy through the afternoon, evening and night. Under the stars, I wished I had my 5-inch cassegrain telescope with him. The sky was so clear you could see to the far reaches of the universe...

The Sixth Day, August 17, 1999

The photos on this page were taken the next morning, just before sunrise. I had awakened much earlier, while the sky was still pitch black, and again watched the twinkling headlamps of the hikers coming up from Granite Pass. With more than a touch of sadness, I realized I would be hiking back down today, bidding Longs Peak adieu again.

Next: The Boulderfield, August 17, 1999, page 2...

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