A long hunk of rock (sorry for the technical jargon) across the river from our first night's camp at Tent Bottom.
My journal entry (yes, the D-blog sometimes indulges in the ladylike habit on these trips) says: "Sitting up here in the wind and rain [sic], eating my freeze-dried [word missing--I think it's "feces"] and looking at the SUPER CHIEF OF GOD [DON'T KNOW WHY I USED CAPS HERE]. I try to think deep thoughts but--no luck. All that comes is, 'It was a dork and Stormy Knight, the ex-porn star, who murdered my
brother . . .'"
My river-running buddies say journaling keeps me safely out of the way!