LGBT Stories

The trip has taken weeks of planning, and we were finally on our way. After dropping one car off at the trailhead near the crest of Carson Pass on Highway 88, we drove around to the Sonora Pass trailhead on Highway 104. We had allowed two weeks to hike the 75 or so miles back along the Pacific Crest Trail. The stretch we were hiking is well maintained and lies between 7,500 and 10,000 feet elevation. At a pace of seven to ten miles a day we could have shorter hiking days and enjoy the beautiful scenery without the need to hurry. The trail is well used, but even at peak season you might see only one or two other parties a day.

The weather was beautiful with crisp, cool nights and balmy warm days. Though they are quite weighty, we pack a dome tent and double sleeping bags. The extra comfort would pay for the added work, and we allowed for short hiking days. There are many small lakes along the trail, and we hoped to augment our trail rations with native golden trout and berries.

By the time we got on the trail the first day it was already past 2 PM, so we hiked only a couple of miles before we looking for a camp sight. About 4:30 we found a rock outcropping with a grassy basin that looked out toward the west. It was beautifully clear, and we could see Mount Diablo and the Coast Range poking up through the haze over the central valley. We ate dinner watching a spectacular sunset and slept under the stars and nearly full moon.

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Chapter 1

At last Peter and I had found our dream cottage. It was a super little place set in 5 acres just outside the small village. It had been built around 1850 and was a double story country house with three bedrooms, three living rooms a long dining room, plus the usual utilities. It required some renovation but the essential items would be restored quickly.

I loved the walled garden and the small grassed area just beyond separating the house from the orchard. We were supremely happy until Peter’s company in the city decided that he was urgently needed in their office in Singapore. I had accepted a part time position teaching at an exclusive school for young ladies just a bicycle ride down the winding road to the next village. That was pleasant on fine sunny days, but a real chore when the clouds rolled by and rain spoilt the day.

The Easter break that year was the latest the calendar could calculate, so I was pleased to hear on the radio that bright summer weather could be expected.

It was shortly after breakfast, whilst idly weeding some of the rose garden that I was surprised by the presence of five young scouts chatting on my grassed area. The biggest of the lads, a fine looking, indeed handsome youth made himself known to me. He sort permission for his troupe to set up their two tents on my grass as part of the training for their Baden Powell medals, or something such.

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