Wilson

I’m alive. At South Rim Grand Canyon after five nights camped below the rim. I’ve now been hiking alone for 49 days I think, but at one of my most vulnerable moments, sitting on the shore of the Colorado near the Little Colorado confluence waiting for someone to ferry me across and getting ignored by commercial floats (I’m not used to being ignored while hitching), I made a friend. I was worried about my food and my itinerary (which I had to keep to keep my mother happy), and yet settling into the idea of never getting a ride, so maybe spending a night there. So I started looking around for places to hole up in the rocks for the night. And I found not one, but three basketballs.

This is my Wilson. I might have talked to him. And shortly after we found one another, some river rat pirates floated up, and I screamed, “I LOVE YOU! WILL YOU FERRY ME?”

They said yes.