September 21st - Lazy Morning, Port Townsend to Kingston

Port Townsend sunrise

No rush for me this morning. I'd had some good birds over the last couple of days, and I just needed to get to Wenatchee by evening. My son, a music major at Central, had done an arrangement of a song that was going to be performed by the artist, accompanied by an orchestra, for a film. It's a lot of layers, but needless to say, I had no intentions of missing it!

The first steps out of bed were the roughest part of my entire day. Plantar fasciitis barks loudly at me after intense days like the ones I'd had backpacking around Marmot Pass. But I was hungry enough to find motivation. I stopped at the Bayview Restaurant for breakfast. There was a lot of the standard fare on the menu, but I went to my go-to, a Denver omelet. It's right there with a BLT for my diner standards. 

Deer through the window at breakfast.
This may have surprised me nine 
months ago!

Food tastes good when you're hungry. Simple fact. This food was ten-star delicious. And it's one of those places where the waitress knows people as they come in and can already guess who is going to have the blueberry hotcakes. 

I spent a lazy hour or two at Point Hudson looking at the saltwater. I could have run other places, but many of them may have involved like. . . 50 meters of walking, or something outrageous like that. I had no intentions of anything that rigorous today. The Heermann's, California, and Olympic Gulls on the little spit ensured that I wouldn't even have to handle any new identifications for the morning. 

I take crap-tastic pictures when I'm chatting :D
Harlequin Ducks, at any rate, have returned!

Birders can spot birders. There's field marks. But I was admittedly confused when I spotted someone with binoculars around her neck, and a trash picker in hand. Had I known it was International Coastal Cleanup Day, I'd have been quicker on the uptake. She was a recent transplant from the east coast, and she immediately wanted to clarify what the gorgeous sooty-toned gulls on the spit were. 

It was nice to go through the IDs on the other gulls - most of them a completely different set from the regulars on the other coast. She'd also not heard about the Red-footed Booby in Port Townsend, so I pointed at the building a mile or two down the beach (all the instructions needed for finding this cooperative visitor!). Before I left, we exchanged contact information, and I was told to tell her when I'd be in town next. "We'll go birding!"

Big tangent time. Strap in, fearless reader. Ten to fifteen years ago, an excellent birder dropped into the Seattle area to be closer to family. Being an east coast native, he introduced himself on the local listserv (Tweeters), and just kind of expected someone to grab him and say "Come on, let's go birding." It took a mildly frustrating amount of time for anyone to say that to him, and as luck would have it, I got him first. I'll blame my birth state - New Jersey - although my parents are the more likely influence here, since I only spent a year of my life out there. 

There were a lot of road trips and birding walks and explorations with Pete, but not near enough, as we lost him almost ten years ago. So, it's such a small thing, but that invitation brought back a fond memory of Pete. 

I made stops at Kah Tai Lagoon, looking for an Eared Grebe (no, but yes on a Eurasian Wigeon! Not new for the year, but always a good bird), and a stop at Oak Bay for a Sabine's Gull (nope, although others have seen it out there), then headed for the Kingston Ferry. I didn't really expect anything new for the year at the ferry terminal but landed one more species - a Heermann's Gull - 146 for the year in Kitsap!

Sitting at 190 in Jefferson and 146 in Kitsap. . . it's really feeling like the home stretch, although I'm going to need some luck in Jefferson to hit the goal of 200. It's going to be fun to try for it either way!

Slipping into Kitsap over the Hood Canal Floating Bridge

October is a month where I've organized "blanket trips" in the past (see Mason and Chelan). It's a little spin on the usual field trip format, with people meeting at a central location in the morning, heading off in different directions in three separate cars, and basically blanketing a county, hitting quite a few good spots between them. Meeting up for lunch, people have a chance to share sightings and to head home. . . or use the afternoon to chase the odd birds that were found! 

Although my legs still hurt from that hike, the calendar tells me that October's not far away. It might be nice to get a little blanket trip together. Date and time TBA, but feel free to contact me through here if you're interested! If you haven't birded much in Jefferson County, it might especially be fun to get out. If you've birded the county a lot, you might be a good candidate for navigating one of those cars. 

Let's go birding!

The end o' September tally!

September 20th - Marmot Pass and an Accidental Ascent (Morning Wordle)

The rocky slopes of Buckhorn Mountain from Marmot Pass

Breakfast at Mystery

A shelf for my coffee - very
welcome discovery

Need to catch up on your sleep? Camp in September in a place that doesn't allow you to build fires. Half the day is dark, and your sleeping bag is the most comfortable place you can find. I made one necessary trip outside of my tent around 4 AM, and then slept until civil twilight (that lovely time before sunrise when you can see well enough to walk). 

Getting out of my tent for breakfast involved a lot of slow decision making. I was sore from the hike up, and honestly didn't want to get out of my tent and stand up if there were still things inside my tent that I needed. No more squats. Once I'd chucked out those important items, I got out of the tent and strolled over to the spot where I'd hung my food bag. It was still there, unmolested. Phew!

I got my coffee and oatmeal out, as well as my snacks for the morning hike, then searched the grounds for a better branch for hanging the food. It may not have been super-necessary in this semi-open habitat, but better safe than sorry. I found a tree with some higher branches, although they didn't extend far from the trunk. On throw number one, this was the outcome: 

I briefly wondered how getting it down was going to go. . . but was otherwise happy with the outcome. I packed things up in the misty morning, rolling up my sleeping bag and pad. My intention was to set out from camp, head up from my camp (5300 feet) to Marmot Pass (5950 feet) in a little under a mile. I'd have a couple hours to poke around up there before coming back to have lunch, pack up, and return to the car. 

The start of the hike - I brought no sunscreen, although 
this was only a mild regret by the end of the morning.
Incidentally, I had *no* bug problems on the entire trip.

Buckhorn Mountain from 
the trail

Heading out of camp, I realized that there are actually quite a few campsites at Mystery. Heading up in September on a Thursday, I'd had the entire place to myself, but I could imagine it filling up in other seasons. Varied Thrushes and Canada Jays were common on the hike, and early on I also got a new species for the year list - Pine Grosbeak! (187 for the year, a tally I'll keep adding parenthetically) The bird was out of sight but gave several of its cheerful warbling calls before taking flight. 

These trips, mind you, have been undertaken with a sense of humor. Yes, I'm hoping to find two hundred species by the end of the year. Yes, when I hiked up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew and found no new species, that did not help me towards my goal! But. . . I got up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew, so the goal helped me towards what I really want - joyful exploration of this beautiful state. 

Keeping that in mind, there was a list of birds that were possible adds on this trip: 

Clark's Nutcracker and Pine Grosbeak - I saw both as likely.

Gray-crowned Rosy Finch, Townsend's Solitaire, Mountain Bluebird, Golden Eagle - I saw as less likely but possible. 

Ruffed Grouse - I saw as a bird I'd missed for the year. Easier in the spring when they're drumming, or in the mornings on gravel roads, especially on the west side of the county. Here I was on the east side, and probably with these birds hidden all around me!

Canada Jay

If I came back from the trip with two new species, I'd probably be on track to fall just short of my goal. Three? Now the goal would still feel in reach, so I needed some good surprises. lol "needed". . . you know what I mean. 

As I slowly ascended, I enjoyed the comfortable morning, and I started to get views of Buckhorn Mountain peeking out from behind the trees. The path took me to a large meadow at one point, apparently this is the home of the marmots (Olympic variety here), which live in burrows, and sometimes come out onto large rocks to enjoy the sun and the scenery. I didn't see any on the trip but enjoyed the *idea* of them perched on the rocks. I could, at any rate, hear the first human voices since I left the trail the afternoon before - campers up on the ridge ahead.

The low easy path to Marmot Pass is visible here.

I hit a little spot that looked campsite-ish, and there were two paths leaving it. One going up the ridge directly in front (west) of me, and the other heading parallel to the ridge (north). I sighed as I looked ahead to the ridge but tried to put the steep direct climb into perspective. I'd been up and down many flights of stairs earlier in the week as I moved my daughter into her college dorm. I could do this. 

I took that path instead

Amazing view! I was a little puzzled, trying to figure out if I'd made it to Marmot Pass, but I just took a few pictures regardless. From there, I continued along the ridge to the voices I'd heard. They belonged to a couple of mountain goats. Not actual goats, but two older guys who had been backpacking for several days up here, and who seemed completely at home. 

It was fun to chat with them for a bit, to talk about their trip (which included Constance Pass the day before), and eventually about birds. Pine Grosbeak and Clark's Nutcracker both came up as birds that they'd seen and heard on the trip. This gave me some hope!

I had to at least get the picture of his hat
This Chimacum grocery is 
highly recommended

As I wrapped up the conversation, one of them suggested a little side trip. "See that rock over there?" I nodded. "You really should head over there. Great spot to have lunch, and the views go all the way down to Port Angeles." "Yeah, but. . . " I gave him a look that communicated, "Dude, I'm still feeling lucky to have made it up here and am not sure I want to push my luck." "I understand." he said, fully understanding, "but seriously, it's not a hard walk.

I considered this as I started down the north end of this ridge, ending up at the "road signs" at Marmot Pass. It was such a nice morning, such a great open spot. I just sat and sipped some water, nibbled my snacks. It was 9:30 something, and I decided to see how I felt about the northward trail by 10 o'clock. Clouds sometimes drifted up towards me at the pass, but for now they balked at cresting the pass completely. It was fun to see clouds doing the same thing on the far side of the valley (the Copper Creek Valley? I think so).

Osprey in migration over Buckhorn 

The trip up. You can see trails
crossing at Marmot Pass below

Ten o'clock arrived, and I felt good. I took the trail north in the direction of the rock I thought the old fella had been pointing at. Along the walk, I got another. . . expected surprise? Sure. A Clark's Nutcracker (188) flew past silently. Is it weird to be disappointed at a seen-only bird? So many birders will note that a bird has been "heard-only" if they don't get to actually see the bird. The supposition is that without visual confirmation, identification becomes tricky. In many cases, this is true, but this is a bird with such a cool, distinctive call - a harsh nasal call that I automatically associate with high and dry habitat. 

The views slowly improved, especially to the south, where Warrior Peak started to peek out. Then I got to a parting of the paths. One went straight ahead, and one angled upwards. I looked up and thought I was looking at the rock that I'd seen earlier. I debated it a little bit and decided to take the upward path. So that's how I ended up accidentally going halfway up Buckhorn Mountain, just for clarity. 

Things got very talussy... talusful? There was talus. Loose rocks that sometimes meant the loss of some progress as I went up. Once or twice, I got a little off trail, but rejoined it, keeping an eye on the rock formation ahead. As I went up, it was also fun to look back at the marker for Marmot Pass, appearing lower and more distant over time. 

I honestly almost got to the rock in question, but at this point, I could start to see around the corner, and the valley was full of thick clouds below. My hopes for actually looking out at the Strait of Juan de Fuca were not great. I stopped to breathe for a minute before heading down and got my first *real* surprise of the day, a Gray-crowned Rosy Finch! (189) There have been sightings up here, but most of the descriptions had placed the birds in the talus on Buckhorn Mountain - something I of course had not planned to climb. Haha. Ha. 

And then as I started down the hill, I nearly bought the farm on the first step I took. The rocks gave way under my step, and I regained my balance. I stopped, steadied myself, and thought about how lucky I was that I hadn't gone tumbling down the slope. The second step that I took? Exact same thing. Goodness. 

Far enough

So, this essentially became my morning wordle. My brain, presented with the fact that I had to map and plan out every step on the way down, got engaged in a happy familiar way. Honestly, despite memories of someone breaking a leg on talus on a hike with me many years ago in the Olympics, this was a lot of fun. 

I got into a good routine, finding big rocks, when possible, for sure footing. No big rocks? I looked for plants. Neither? I looked for medium sized rocks, and kind of . . . surfboarded them, for lack of a better term. I'd push them down and push forward, letting the rocks slide, but also bringing a lot of rocks up in front of it. No medium rocks, and I'd just scan ahead to my next secure footing, then let my shoe be the surfboard, pushing it down at an angle, so that rocks would build in front of it as I slid down a little. 

That was pretty tedious, I understand. But I've gotten very interested in what hiking does to my brain. I'd love to see brain scans in *all* of the following situations. I know it's not possible, really, but I know it'd be interesting and different for each: 

• hiking in silence
• hiking surrounded by birdsong
• hiking up a long climb with no end in sight
• hiking up a long climb with an end in sight
• hiking switchbacks that each appear to be the end of a climb
• hiking with others in silence
• hiking with others who talk a lot
• getting off trail on a hike
• and this - hiking when each footstep needs to be planned out

There are so many little games out there that help to keep our brains sharp, therapeutical methods to soothe an anxious mind, activities to make us feel exhilarated, anxious, or outright panicked. Hiking can bring all of these things in little unexpected doses. I'd say as long as you don't die doing it (as I have not. . . yet), that it's probably a good thing for keeping that brain healthy.

I was pretty satisfied when I made it to firmer footing. I took some more sips of water, looked at the time, and started back to camp. Three birds added to the list! Not a bad morning. 

Golden-crowned Sparrow, 
offering no directions

As noted above, I firmly believe that the second you're off the path on a hike, one's brain goes to a different (and not entirely bad) spot. I had brought a map with me, and just could not make sense of the direction it seemed the path was supposed to bring me back to camp. This was at the spot where I'd earlier decided to head up the ridge, but. . . how had I gotten there? I could see that Camp Mystery was below me and to the East, however, so in the end, I followed something akin to a deer run through the thin forest - easy walking that brought me back to the trail and the meadow. 

I'd hit noon at this point, and I started seeing hikers occasionally. None on the way down were backpackers - all of them just up for the morning. I got back to camp, boiled my water, had my ramen, packed up and returned down the hill. I tried to pack things a little better for the return trip. I'd had things become loose on the way up, and it had gotten annoying. I fixed some problems, but created others, carrying my sleeping bag in the end, but only for the last quarter mile or so. 

Chestnut-backed Chickadee, checking on my well-being at Camp Mystery

Gosh it was nice to get back to the car. I can also report that my knees and toes were magically intact. I still can't figure out what exactly has improved. I don't think my overall fitness is much different, so I'm just chalking it up to footwear? I'm not looking this gift horse in the mouth, at any rate. Just glad it didn't end the way this trip or this trip did! 

I drove the long winding roads back, and at some point had a moment of silence as I realized I was on the last gravel roads I really planned to see in Jefferson for the year. No Ruffed Grouse, it would seem! But on Penny Creek Road, in the *very* last twenty feet of gravel, a Ruffed Grouse flushed up from the side of the road and flew off into the forest. 190? 190! 

Evening included "the usual" - a trip to Finnriver Cider to pick up my quarterly six bottles, and a night at the Port Townsend Inn. 

September 19th - Backpacking to Camp Mystery (Sudoku, Connections, Crosswords)

"Choosing" a date (Sudoku)

Name that fungus? I cannot! Upper Big Quilcene Trail
(update! This is Bear's Head. It's edible, choice, and has no real lookalikes)

From a 1995 Falcon guide 
(Hiking Olympic National 
Park by Erik Molvar)
picked up at Goodwill 
for $3.99. Great purchase.

I've had a backpacking trip in the Olympic rainshadow in my sights for months. In the original iteration, it was going to be twenty miles, four days, three nights, with two friends and a friend of a friend to share the joys of lugging a home around. This was going to be a two-car situation, with one parked at the Mount Townsend trailhead and one at the Upper Big Quilcene trailhead. It would have gone up Mount Townsend, down to the Tubal Cain trail, up to Marmot Pass, and back to the Upper Big Quilcene trailhead. The reverse of this route can be seen here. 

But. . . finding mutually available dates was a downfall, and I needed to figure out a solo solution. Obligations and opportunities with work and kids narrowed things down more and more until, just like a Sudoku puzzle, the date was decided by process of elimination! I'd also already gone up Mount Townsend in August at this point, so this was my plan - Go up to Camp Mystery on the 19th. Camp. Go up to Marmot Pass in the morning. Bird. Head back to camp for lunch and return to the car. 

Getting there - Point no Point (Connections)

I'd been working in Tacoma on Wednesday night, and decided to do a hotel stay in Tacoma. The tiebreaking fact was a hot buffet breakfast. In advance of the hiking, I'd take any calories I could get!

Sunrise from my room

That stupid "Ford Hawk" 
Fool me once, shame on you
Fool me a dozen times. . . um. . .

I left Tacoma and made a stop at Point no Point. For once, I actually found the strength to drive right past Gorst, (I never skip Gorst. Things were serious.) knowing that I needed to leave as much time as possible to get up to camp by sundown.  But there were numerous birds out at the point that could be added to my yearlist. 

For Kitsap, since it isn't the primary focus for the year, the goal has just been 150 species for the year. It being September, a lot of birds are passing through, but I also saw one of the birds on my "not-going-anywhere" list. Virginia Rail! This list was getting shorter, but I've been keeping a close eye on it, figuring that I could at least *try* to find these birds any time. They range from Red-breasted Sapsucker to American Dipper to like. . . Mountain Quail. Crazy to think that there *are* Mountain Quail in Kitsap every dang day, and that they'd just be a commitment to try to find them doing their daily business. 

Dedication

So, I parked in the boat launch area and did the walk to the lighthouse along the beach. I'm going to admit, I was without my binoculars. I assumed this was because I'd left them at home, but they were actually in my car - just tucked in the back of the trunk following some Holy Reckoning with the space in my car when I was moving my daughter into her college dorm. I figured I'd try my luck with just the scope and camera. 

Common Tern

On the way to the lighthouse, I thought I spied an interesting gull and snapped some pictures. I honestly didn't realize I'd caught a Common Tern until I got home and looked over my pictures! 143 for the year in Kitsap, and *not* one of those birds that's around at any time of year. 

Photo showing the distinctive black shoulder mark that helps rule out Arctic Tern

I got to the lighthouse, where there were a couple dozen people fishing, and one person birding. 

"Anything good?"

"There was just a Sterna Tern in with the Bonaparte's Gulls!"

*pause* "Pardon?"

"Sterna Tern - like an Arctic or a Common." (I need to learn more of my genera!)

Soon, we were watching a Parasitic Jaeger (144) harassing the hundreds of Bonaparte's Gulls. Two more passed by as we chatted about birding. This relatively young birder had his sights on getting to every county in every state in the US! I have some ambitious goals inside the state, but this is something else! His rules: An ebird checklist in each of the counties - no incidental lists, all full lists. 

Parasitic Jaeger bullying some Bonaparte Gulls :)

He's done with some states already and is moving to Texas soon! Fun especially to talk about the different ways that goals like this can move us towards something that we can call fun. I'd really not enjoy doing it the way he's doing it. I'm sure he'd not enjoy my methods either! It's always my question before embarking on a year, during a year, and after: "Do I like what these goals are making me do?" 

A visual showing my yearlists from counties where I've dedicated a year
as well as ? or ?? for counties or pairs of counties I have to hit in the future.
Eventually, I'd like to have a 150-year in every county in the state!

It's been a mostly solid yes for me in these years. I like the depth this has given me on each county in the state. Last year, taking on four counties was a bit too much! But just a little. That decision is going to make me go back to those counties for quite a few missing birds to get them to 175. I don't mind doing that, as long as I don't leave *many* counties that far off.

Surf Scoters

I snuck away to the marsh behind the lighthouse. The seep and chip and smack notes around me sounded like five or so species of sparrows (junco, towhee, both -crowned Sparrows, and Song. Actually... maybe Savannah too, make that six). But I got right into my Virginia Rail call. It's one of the stupidest things I do (that's saying something), but it often does the job. It did today, as a Virginia Rail (145) grunted back from the marsh. 

It was nice getting to make this connection for an hour or so. There had been quite a few over the course of the last couple of days - crossing paths with birders I've known for many years in Renton (where a Pacific Golden Plover dropped in for a visit!), and with a birder that I have not seen in many years in Tacoma. In the pursuit of bird species, we keep track of life lists and year lists. I added some birders to both of my lists this week. 

Getting there - Upper Big Quilcene Trail (Cross words)

A backpack from the beforetimes

I swear I tried to figure out my route to the trailhead in advance. But my GPS system. . . it had to have been built in 1984. It's missing locations, and many of the forest roads have completely different names. I had many cross words for this thing. But in the end, I got to the trailhead, ten or more miles from the highway on 2750. 

The meandering lost me some time, and I took a little more time to do my final bits of knots and whatnots on my pack. I started the hike at a quarter to three, with sunset about four and a half hours away. I had 4.8 miles to hike. I did the math on this in my head and hit the trail. 

First off, I literally cannot tell you how many different kinds of mushrooms I saw on the trail. (I don't think I've used literally before in any of my blogs?? Either way, enjoy that fully intentional use of it). It's not just that it was a hand-wavingly large number. I just don't know what I'm looking at. But here's a quick gallery.

 

Better dinner idea!
Blueberries on the trail

Interestingly, the neutral Cascadia forest smell gave way to a distinctly mushroomy smell after about a mile. They were everywhere. If I knew just a little bit more about mushrooms, I could almost certainly have poisoned myself. If I knew a lot more. . . maybe I could have had some for dinner? I have no idea.

Stopping to take mushroom pictures was one of my dedicated strategies for surviving this hike. I think on hikes where I've pushed things, it gets a little sketchy. I still had sunset on my mind but wanted to make sure I still had gas in the tank by the end. 

The trail was pretty reasonable, all in all. Steep at times, but this always seemed to be followed by stretches of flatter hiking. The more challenging pieces were ones where I had to cross streams. Most pretty easy, but one more challenging. I got almost all the way over and decided to grab hold of some foliage to steady myself. Oops. Devil's Club. It drew a tiny bit of blood, but nothing I couldn't survive. I was just glad to have not ended up in the stream. 

Some things I *did* know I could eat, and I did: Thimbleberry, huckleberry (red and purple) and salal. There were also some birds on the hike! Dark-eyed Juncos, Varied Thrush, Red Crossbills (above the canopy), and even a pair of American Dippers in the Big Quilcene. 

American Dipper

One of the wider crossings

I stopped several times, making a longer stop at Shelter Rock - a camping area just past a sign "Stoves only beyond this point". I hit this after exactly two hours - for 2.7 miles. My map told me I had 2.1 remaining. This seemed like a good bit of news, as far as getting to camp by sunset, although the last stretch would be a bit steeper than the first. 

In addition to my pack, I was carrying my camera case. This felt a *little* silly, but there were some benefits. I didn't have to worry about cramming my camera into the pack or worry for its safety if I did a serious topple. The camera case provides some good padding. I'd also used the little compartments in it for other things. One held a nalgene bottle. One had my snacks. The zip pocket held a map. It was a good use of the small case, at any rate. I still may seek out options for reducing things on future trips. Not if these things become inaccessible!

Around an hour later (5:45) I heard a flicker call. I don't know why I noted it. I just knew, as the forest opened up a lot and I looked across the valley to the ridge opposite of the trail, that I *had* to be getting close. There were some more cross words as I kept running into yet another long ascent along the open ridge. On some stops of this steep section, I took off the pack, and even my shirt, just to let the shirt dry a little and to let my body cool down. It may only have been 60 degrees or so, but I was heated up enough for this to be pretty comfortable. 

So much relief

Another hour later (longer than I had hoped!) I finally got to Camp Mystery. I let out a good whoop - one that was not returned, as I had the camp all to myself on a Thursday evening. In twenty minutes, I had my tent up, a new change of clothes on, and water was boiling for dinner. Here, I'd splurged and gotten a ten-dollar backpackers' meal from REI. Zero point zero repeating regrets with this decision. It was so tasty. 

I drank some of my water with it, carefully looking at the amount I'd brought, and thinking through the trip. One of several smaller purchases I made for this trip was a life straw filter and water bag. It was getting a little dark to fill it up right now, and I still had plenty of water, I thought. I knew that, ultimately, I'd want to use the large plastic bottles for things like coffee and oatmeal. I was unsure at the time about getting water into the pouch, filtered, and into a pot. Either way, I was good for the trip, given the fast-moving stream right next to my tent. 

After dinner, it was getting dark. My friend had loaned me a bear bag for hanging my food. . . I just hadn't had much time to practice. Any. And the site didn't have the tree. In my head, I'd imagined a tree with a nice, long, bare branch sticking out about ten feet, for me to toss this bag over. So, gosh I did a bad job with the bag that night! 

I got into my tent and fell asleep to the babbling creek. My brain kept telling me that I was hearing kind of crunchy sounds sometimes. In my head, I imagined the crunching of branches as the bear climbed the short distance up the tree. . . the crunching of my food as it tore open the bear bag. I tried to just stay relaxed about it. The bear spray sat outside of my tent, but. . .I was not going to clamber out of my tent and startle a happy bear in hopes of having a little confrontation. I just tried to sleep and stepped through Plan A (with food) and Plan B (without).

I did eventually drift off, warm in my sleeping bag on a cool night. I awoke once with moonlight bright against the foot end of my tent, then drifted back to sleep.