Smoke has filled in the Howe Sound almost to the brim. A small marine layer of cooler, denser air prevailed for a while throughout the forest, no doubt made possible by the insulation of the hemlock, cedar, and fir canopy.
Tales come to us of thicker smoke up high on the wall, reminding us to stay put under our evergreen umbrella and wait it out. Mornings are cool enough.
Forest fires to the northeast have blown their soot our way, the whole phenomenon exacerbated by the ninety-degree heat during the later part of the day; we are living next to and under a hellish furnace.
The rock sweats with us, yet a dip each day in the cool snowmelt stream flowing adjacent to camp keeps us sane.