Pacific Crest Trail - Prepositions Cloze

First read the text and type the correct answer into each text box. Then, listen to the text and check your answers. The list of possible prepositions is at the bottom of the page.
Primero lee el texto y teclea la respuesta correcta en cada espacio. Luego, escucha el texto y comprueba tus respuestas. La lista de preposiciones posibles se encuentra al final de la página.

Despite being a nearly ten-year old adventure, it seems just yesterday that I was backpacking the spectacular mountains of the United States West. Starting from the U.S.-Mexico border, my sister and I departed the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail (PCT), which stretches 2,650 miles its northernmost point, the U.S.-Canada frontier. The trail, officially completed in 1993, runs through three the most scenic States in The Union (California, Oregon, and Washington), and countless national forests, national parks, and wilderness areas. It’s possible to encounter every conceivable type of vegetation and natural landscape the PCT; it wanders through arid and barren land like the Mojave desert; it traverses through California’s awesome and breathtaking high Sierra Nevada, which reaches 13,000 feet; it winds the picturesque Cascade mountain range that forms the spine of both Washington and Oregon. Suffice it to say, the thru-hiker (a term used for those spending months hiking "" the Pacific Crest) will spend his/her days climbing at various altitudes, the likes which will present awe-inspiring high-desert flora/fauna and breathtaking subalpine terrain.
In addition the trail’s beautiful natural surroundings, I also reminisce the number of amiable thru-hikers we encountered the way. In fact, we were joined by another pair when we set from the U.S.-Mexico border. Like most people who adopted monikers for the unique world of the PCT (Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail), our colleagues were no different; one was named “Mouse-Trap” and the other went “Papi.” The latter was from Eastern Europe and had come to the U.S. to spend his time the wide open spaces of the West. He wasn’t the lone individual outside the U.S. either; based the folks we met, the trail seemed to be quite well-known all the world, at least in the outdoor enthusiast community. We were quickly given the nickname “The Librarians” because in my ambition to do a lot of reading on the trail, I’d brought a wide-array of books. In light the fact that we spent the majority of our time hiking (18-30 miles/day), I realized I had a very unrealistic reading objective. Moreover, the extra book weight was an unnecessary burden that was impossible to ignore once we started accumulating mileage. This was all on top the freshly weighted down backpacks we found ourselves carrying after ‘refueling’ stops. Similar to other thru-hikers, we had boxes of non-perishable food sent to various post-offices the way. In other words, when we set to hike anywhere from 80 to 180 miles after a given food pick-up, every last ounce mattered, so an extra pound or two of books was the last thing we desired.
the many memories of that first month, none stick out as much as the recollection of my sister’s feet. Although it may not seem like much of a memory, it’s hard to forget a hiking partner who spent hundreds of miles just trying to grin and bear her way a barrage of blisters. The thought them on almost every last inch of my sister’s feet still to this day makes me cringe pain. Luckily, she valiantly overcame the agony and the soles of her feet eventually transformed into hardened callouses.
In addition to feet, my memory also includes many backpacks. Whether because one wore out or it simply didn’t fit well, I went through three different packs in total. This actually turned into one of those good-Samaritan stories because upon arriving to a food pick-up in the southern California town of Idyllwild, we met a saint of a man, who all his selflessness, drove us to just outside Los Angeles in order for me to buy a new backpack. I could fill pages-and-pages with stories of the kind, good-hearted people we met the way. In fact, I have often said that if you lose your faith mankind, then hiking the PCT (Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail) is a sure-fire way to revive your positive feelings for humanity. the many characters was a fellow who wasn’t hiking the trail per se. Rather, he simply drove various points so as provide people with provisions, moral support and good cheer. Apparently, he had been doing this years and his fame amongst thru-hikers could not have been -estimated.
While the trail certainly didn’t lack personalities, it’s also worth pointing out that there were times when we felt quite removed from civilization. Unlike the Appalachian Trail, which runs Maine to Georgia on the East Coast of the U.S., the PCT (Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail) is a much more rugged, isolated stretch, so you are often left to your own thoughts for days a time. It was during this time of solitude that I naturally developed a new relationship the outdoors, especially the wide-ranging variety of trees that inhabit the Earth. Accompanied a tree-identification book as we moved northward through different altitudes, I would take time to study and examine all the trees we encountered. This new relationship was reinforced in California’s Yosemite Park, where we admired the mammoth Giant Sequoias - what an indescribable presence these trees are!
However, before skipping too far forward, I must mention that this was 1998 and since it was the year of El Niño weather patterns, the weather, specifically the snow, proved be much, much more a factor than most years. We enjoyed dealing the elements at times and even spent 15-20 miles a time in snow-covered paths, but because the snow accumulated to such large degrees in the Sierra Nevada, we decided to skip ahead in order avoid spending literally hundreds of miles in North-Pole-like conditions. What we did was jump ahead to Northern California, near Mount Shasta and Mount Lassen. This was one the most scenic parts of the whole trail, but the weather conditions hadn’t changed much Southern California. In other words, we were forced to trek snowy conditions, not to mention the countless obstacles, specifically trees, that had fallen the trail and thus prevented us from easily navigating northward. It actually got a little dicey at times, i.e. we were worried we’d lost our way, but we were traveling some capable companions who helped us figure out how to reach the next stop off point. the way, we encountered our first black bear and even came another hiker who stopped to play us a tune on the guitar he toted him. Perhaps most notable of all was my unfortunate trail mishap; I got caught in Poison Oak, and if you don’t know, it’s a nasty plant that makes you itch / ooze for weeks at a time when you get tangled in it.
Because this fiasco in Northern California, we headed to the PCT’s (Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail) northern terminus, the U.S.-Canada border. We had had enough the snow and weren’t interested or prepared to deal such conditions, especially long periods of time. We hoped that the northern portion of the trail was going to be a change, and while we ended up finding occasional patches snow, we were relieved find a much more navigable trail. Since I’m from Washington State I may be biased, but the portion the PCT (Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail) in the Washington Cascades was my favorite part. all, I have fond memories of an area in the northernmost portion of the State, The Paysaten Wilderness; this stretch is full subalpine flowers, glacier lakes, and the breathtaking views the Pacific Crest. All your worries and thoughts vanish when you hike a ridge bordering lush meadows and wild flowers overlooking a panorama of neighboring snow-capped mountains and far-below valleys.
That spring we wound hiking approximately 1,300 miles. Like most experiences, when you’re done and look it’s sometimes hard to believe they ever happened. While I’ll certainly never forget the majestic and solemn nature the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail, I always try forget the food of those months; we ate corn pasta nearly every day and in my lifetime I can only hope I never cross its path again.
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