The backside of the note read "October 10th, 1986." So Gary Snyder returned to the top. Not only was I shocked that I was a holding an artifact of American literature, I had always figured that Snyder was sick of all the attention that Kerouac and the beats had been receiving as of late. After all, he was one of the most prestigious living poets and they were long-dead, no-talent drunks.
With much hesitation, I took the note down from the mountain and vowed I would return it when my story was told and preserved for posterity.
And now it has been. What started as an interest in the Matterhorn and Gary Snyder years ago, further piqued by meeting him face to face, was now complete. Mr. Snyder, if you are out there, I will be returning the note to its appropriate place soon (read: in less than 31 years)
I signed the register laughing to myself with a clear stream of mucus running from my nose like a faucet, understandably disgusting Father.
We de-peaked at 2:00pm and rolled down the mountain, arriving back in our car at 7:30pm, in the dark, just over a 14 hour hike. We drove straight to Reno, I woke up about four hours later, and flew back home.