With today off, the boys and I set off for the Alta road with a packed lunch of rye bread, pepperoni, a wedge of cheese. Divy got buried somewhere between the road and the forest, though we didn’t notice until a mile or so later.
I start to turn around, to commence another Great Trek up the mountain, but Martin stops me. He will make it down after such a good struggle, he says.
We decide he’s right, and we keep on watching.
