The door opened to a smoke-filled bunkhouse with three old men. It was Pete with coffee and hot water for oatmeal. This is what comes from river water: the end of isolation. Pete said, "It's a little cool today; we may have to wait." Waiting seemed fine. We tested the air. My mustache froze as I made my way to the woodpile. In a few hours, if the car started, Pete thought we'd drive to see Elephant Peak, and beyond if the weather and gas held out.