ABSTRACT
We arrived in Wenatchee before dawn. We jumped the train as it stopped to change crews and hiked along the tracks into the main yards, then to a creek where Carl said we’d find a jungle. I was stumbling along more asleep than awake, wishing I’d ridden that train down the road to a hot breakfast, but Carl was full of energy. He found the camp, cleaned some of the junk away and stacked our gear in a pile. It was a dreary place, a pile of burned rocks, some bent-up five-gallon cans we used for seats, an old rusty grill, and a small stack of wood.
