Smoke has filled in the Howe Sound almost to the brim. A small marine layer of cooler, denser air has prevailed for a while throughout the forest, no doubt made possible by the insulation of the hemlock, cedar, and fir canopy, but seems to be dwindling.
Tales come to us of thicker smoke up high on the wall, reminding us to stay put as long as we can under our evergreen umbrella. Mornings are still 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.
We held our own for a few days, but clearer skies down south beckon and finally win us over.