Recently me and my cranky wornout rattletrap of a Subaru, Yolo McFukitol, spent a few days camping in an undisclosed location on a lovely hilltop overlooking the Arkansas River valley.
I'm not disclosing this location because it's one of the few places left in this entire valley that nobody seems to know about.
Everything from Leadville in the north, to Salida in the south, is now crowded out with tourists and wealthy out-of-state invaders bent on buying up everything they can get their bloody hands on and forcing the less well-to-do locals out. And they are succeeding.
I find myself feeling a bit discouraged when I compare the current situation to what it was like when I first moved here in 2015. So I won't go there, and instead I'll just be grateful that there are still places like this one available, if you know where to look.
But let me say this: They are going to ruin this valley, just like they ruined the Front Range.
People seeing the beauty of this valley will want to stay, and their staying will be the undoing of the beauty. – Chief Left Hand
Anyway!
One fine evening after driving up the steep-ass road we really had no business driving up to our undisclosed campsite location for like the third day in a row, we got ourselves all good and liquored up, and then we got to the trash collectin'.
It was a box wine kind of night for me, and I'd wined my way through about six boxes and was feeling exceptionally healthy for putting so much wonderful nutritious fruit inside me. I was also kicking myself a little for forgetting to purchase cheese at the general store down in [REDACTED] before fleeing to the hills for the night.
YMF usually sticks to fossil fuel based alcohols, but on this particular evening he too was partaking in box wine. Pouring it directly into his radiator, he was. I think it keeps him from overheating or something?
Well that's enough foolish blathering for now, let's get on with the garbage show shall we?
After the godawfully gigantic haul in my last campsite cleanup, this current report will seem tame by comparison. And I for one am quite content with that. "Satisfy your hankering for hearty"… by throwing a Campbell's can on the ground when you're done sucking out its lifeblood? Sure.
Looks like they gave this beer can a trial by fire. Fire: 1, beer can: 0.
Well. Fire: 2, beer cans: 0. They never had a chance.
A bunch of brown bottle bones. The poor bastard. Hope it was quick.
And there's the rest of him. Bud Light, the finest sparkling water money can buy. Rest in pieces, friend.
Those right there are garbage words if I ever saw 'em. Who even wrote that? Taste point ode inside r chance to? That doesn't even make sense. What a terrible excuse for writing. Garbage.
Uniformed bottle cap.
Plainclothes bottle cap.
Cigarette ass. So sexy!
An article of the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution, I believe.
Round worthless pieces of metal you can exchange for things of actual value, at least until the government says you can't anymore.
And there you have it, the whole haul from Campsite Cleanup #7. Sponsored by Mission tortillas. Barely a drop in the bucket compared to last time, eh?
Who ever would have thought, that finding so little trash, would make me feel so happy?
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