Lonesome Was a Girl: Truth and Turnbuckles in the North Cascades
I was not thinking about books that day. At least not to start with. We were hiking switchbacks in the hot sun, Paul and I, overburdened with gear—come-along and wrenches, turnbuckles and shackles—on our way to repair a cable footbridge. It was late in the season, and I’d begun to lose patience with him. Paul …
