It’s been a good long while since I’ve broken my routine in favour of mucking around and bushwhacking a new trail.
Some might call this ‘exploring.’ I call it ‘walking in Mokhotlong.’
Before Jenn fled westward, she had described a winter route with a built-in river crossing. Not one to miss an opportunity to hop around on large rocks that spend most of the year underwater, I finally decided to track down this trail of ‘M’e Jenn’s. I think I found part of it; I think I missed most of it.
Thence began the mucking and bushwhacking.
In short, I played around on a mostly-dry riverbed for an hour – rock-hopping to my heart’s content – before slipping into the water, at which point I napped on a massive rock slab mid-river, basking in the paradoxically warm winter sun as I waited for my socks and shoes to dry.
Somedays these Sundays are necessary.