During the last few hours of the hike, the weather had really packed in; we were a couple of drowned rats by the time we made it to Ranger Biv. Upon arrival, we were underwhelmed, as it wasn't in great nick. A leaky roof had led to pools of yellow-tinted water on rubber mattress toppers stretched between rotting boards. An old poem was written on the wall suggesting that the local mouse population may have contributed to the yellow tinge. One of the beds was crammed under the other, providing just enough room to slip a bedroll underneath – there would be no rolling around in the night for the unlucky loser of paper scissors rock. The open fireplace gave the biv a nice indoor-outdoor flow, letting in enough wind and rain to remind us of the outside world. Our soaked gear was stacked in the corner, leaving us just enough room to hunch uncomfortably. Despite all that, we were thankful to have a roof over our heads and protection from the downpour outside. That's when the true value of the shelter became apparent, and its issues became its quirks. Who else had sought shelter in this place? What stories does it hold in its rotting walls? (Since then, the BCT has done a lot of work, and by all accounts it's a much more welcoming shelter! It will be finished in March 2024). The next 18 hours were spent shuffling around, trying to discover the most comfortable way to wait out a storm which never cleared. During this exercise of patience,
