South hole
Just beyond the rim of the valley the trail skirts a small round meadow with a tiny lake. The lake has shrunken until it doesn't seem like much more than a large puddle. The meadow is rimmed by sheer limestone cliffs. I don't remember if this place is named "fourth hole" or "first hole". Perhaps it carries some other name. It's a popular camping spot for those who choose to spend the night on the mountain and don't want their camp to be walked through by every hiker on the trail.
For some reason the air in this tiny valley seems more smoky than the area I just left. I just shrug and continue. By now I am resigned to taking whatever air the world chooses to give me. That's another part of being on a mountain. You can bring all the attitudes and requirements you want to carry, but be prepared to pack them back out unused. The mountain is what it is; it doesn't do requests.
As I leave this small valley I see a flash of white in a clump of trees ahead. I can't tell what it is, but I stop and dig out my camera just in case.