The date should have warned me. Today was a day of getting lost, and found, and getting lost again.  In the morning, I took the dogs for a hike up the mountain, through mixed evergreen forest. Every firest has its own distinctive smell: this one has a woody, warm, caramel scent, with just a slight resin-y tang. We’ve not yet hit the coastal rainforests, and these woods are open, with many small, flowery meadows. One trail joined another, and another, and then another. I took to marking my turns with arrows made of broken sticks. Still, when I headed back, I managed to miss one turn and walked quite a distance until I realized my mistake and backtracked to the right trail. Relieved, I set off—and missed another turn. By now, it was nearly three hours on the trail, and I was getting tired and annoyed. In the nick of time, I found the last turn and my campsite.

After lunch, I decided that I really should go see the Painted Hills, back in Mitchell. My camp neighbors assured me that there was a much quicker way there following one of the gravel forest roads, and although they were a bit sketchy on directions, I figured I could find it without too much trouble. That was my first mistake.  My second mistake was trying to find my way without any cell service. After THREE HOURS of wrong turns, including a few miles on a closed road and a very confusing detour, I finally found my way back to Mitchell, and tired, grumpy, thirsty, and hungry, I decided to have dinner at the same restaurant where Russ had eaten the night before. Thank goodness they had an outside dining area, and were very dog friendly, as the boys were with me. I also filled the car with gas, which I was worried about. 

After dinner, in a somewhat better mood, I decided not to waste all that driving, and set out to see the painted hills as the sun was setting.  That, at least, was worth all the bother. See for yourself. 

However, I was not about to chance a repeat of the afternoon, so I drove back to camp the way I’d originally come: 38 miles west of Mitchell, then 16 miles back toward Mitchell on the only paved road to Walton Lake. 

Hopefully, I will have an easier time driving to my next campsite at McKenzie Bridge!