April 29, 2026. We moved campsites again yesterday, about 75 yards down a 4x4 trail. This might be the most epic campsite I've ever lived in. I haven't gotten used to it. I'm stunned every time I look up and see where we are.
Footage is piling up with nowhere to go. I'm leaving it on the cameras until I have more hard drive space. The drone footage I can move to my phone but everything else has to wait.
My supplies are quite low. In fairness I've been out 23 days without a resupply, nine days past my original plan. I have enough to get through. Last night I found three Strawberry Sunrise Bubbly Waters hidden in the back of the fridge I didn't know I still had. And a pack of Peppermint Trident buried in the bottom of my pantry bin. Finding those things when you're low on supplies is a genuinely great feeling. I've got tuna fish, a virtually unlimited supply of egg whites, enough ground beef for today. Out of cheese, out of snacks. I can make chia pudding. Slim pickings but quite doable. Plenty of water and all the important stuff.
I've been watching my mind in this low supply situation with some amusement. There's something strangely pleasurable about it, a higher stakes feeling to the adventure. I also noticed that the moment I decided I needed to ration, my appetite became suddenly insatiable, some deep drive to eat as much as possible. I've fasted plenty of times and I'm no stranger to restrictive eating. This is something different. Rationing, where there's a finite amount and a fixed horizon, is new territory. Shannon, as an experienced backpacker, has a calm and rational approach to rationing. She also has far more food than she needs. Meanwhile I'm recalculating my supply quantities for next time and looking forward to Friday with great anticipation, imagining how good it will feel to be freshly topped up on everything. I love this. The process makes me feel alive.
This campsite is the kind of place that's typically the reward for a long hike. You walk in five or seven miles, take in the view, have a snack, head back. We live here. The view doesn't go away. It's wild. It's so worth whatever it took to get here.
Shannon has turned out to be a great camping buddy. She was up for taking her van down this rough trail, which I'd say the significant majority of the nomads I know couldn't or wouldn't do. She's hiked the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and countless others. A highly experienced backpacker, and a war veteran. A very capable person. It's been good doing my thing but having a buddy nearby.
It was comical getting both vans into this spot. When we scouted it looked like more space than it was. I got in first and parked as best I could. Then we spent way too long trying various strategies to get Shannon's van turned around so her back doors would open to the view. It really was a puzzle. When we finally solved it, it felt like finishing a Rubik's cube.
I got largely caught up on solar yesterday and will be fully topped off by midday. Spectacular weather for the rest of the stay. 65 to 67 degrees. This is the butter. We are chasing the butter. And we are succeeding.