I snapped the waist on my backpack closed with a sharp click, jumped up and down a few times to test it and then set off walking. The intensity of the mid-afternoon sun was already drawing beads of sweat out of my face.   My worn, leather boots carried me up the first series of switchbacks and then back down over the first pine-covered ridge. I could see bald rocky peaks ahead of me.

Inspired while having a few beers earlier in the week, Luke and I had schemed over maps and grocery lists. The plan was to have Luke leave ahead of me in the morning and set up camp while I would leave work early and hit the trail by 3:00. That would give me plenty of time to cover the 6 or so miles to Hellroaring Lake by dark.

Following the meandering trail my mind began to wander until I was suddenly brought back to reality.   I could have sworn I heard my name being called. Then I heard it again. It was louder this time. Before I had time to fully process what was going on, Luke appeared on the trail ahead of me, walking in my direction, pack still on his back.

“Well, we’re sure not making it to the lake tonight” I said, looking at the wrinkled map in my hands. “What were we thinking?”
Luke and I decided to take a rest on an old, dry log after exchanging our greetings to take a close look at the map and assess our situation.

“I think that the beer was doing the thinking for us,” Luke replied, pausing to spit out the empty husk of a sunflower seed. The shell landed between Luke’s legs, adding to the growing pile. “Maybe we should look at the map more than once before our next trip,” he said, looking at me with a smile.

“Or at least be sober when we do,” I added. During our planning earlier in the week we had either misread the distance ratio on the map or completely measured the trail incorrectly. Instead of the five or six miles we had planned for the trail was easily over 10 miles long. I began to fold up the map.

That night we camped at a fork in the trail I had passed about a mile earlier that created a wide, flat and, more importantly, rootless surface. After setting up the tent we ate a quick meal of noodles, navigating our forks by the light of our headlamps and then fell asleep to the sound of water rushing past us.

The next morning I woke up before Luke and set about making a coffee. We enjoyed a brief breakfast of oatmeal and dried apricots then packed up and set off back on the trail. After a short time of walking wordlessly through the forest we heard a stream ahead of us. As we neared it, our eyes made out the crossing in greater detail.

“Dang, man, look at that bridge,” I said in wonder.
“Wow, talk about your backcountry luxuries,” Luke said. “Is that guardrail held together with bungee cords?”

I surveyed the rickety bridge as we approached it before bravely declaring, “There’s no way in hell I’m going first. You go.”

Luke just shook his head, unable to look away. “Do you think…Do people actually walk across this? I mean, and make it to the other side?”

“It looks like the base of twigs has remained intact so far.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Luke said, looking at the river bed below us. “That trail leading into the stream looks pretty well worn.”

“How about we flip a coin,” I proposed. “Heads we try the bridge, tails we take the stream.”

“How about this,” Luke countered. “Heads we take the stream, tails we don’t take the bridge.”

Despite the protesting cries of our common sense we both timidly made our way across the bridge. Once or twice I mistakenly tried to put weight on the handle that was tenuously strung parallel to the bridge at elbow level and was nearly treated to a swim as it surrendered to the slightest suggestion of pressure.

We continued to walk, the thin dirt trail crossing streams, sidestepping boulders and weaving through thick pine groves and always climbing up. We finally reached a point where our elevation gain stopped. Although we had been in the mountains for the last day and a half, this was the first time that we actually felt like it. All around us rose a steep amphitheatre of sharp, jagged rock. The pine trees had thinned to isolated groves in a field of grass and rock. To our left sat a small body of water, a slight breeze forming tiny ripples across the surface.

After spending the afternoon fishing (without any success), resting and exploring the new environment we found ourselves in we finally decided that it was time for dinner. We had planned to go all out for dinner that night: polish sausages and a can of baked beans!

Dinner that night was fantastic, and as the sun faded behind the tall peaks we hung our bag full of food on a tall limb and made our way back to the tent.

“Psst!”

“Psst, hey, Justin.”

I felt a shove and sat up straight and startled. I looked around for my bearings. I was in the tent, and it was night time, but it was surprisingly bright outside.
“I totally forgot, tonight is supposed to be the peak of the Perseid shower,” Luke said.

Luke finally convinced me to join him outside for the show. “I can’t believe how good the view is up here,” I said. Shooting stars seemed to blink in and out of existence like strobe lights. We sat there in silence, amazed at by the galaxy around us.
The next morning I was in the process of making coffee when Luke emerged from the tent. Despite it being early August the morning air was brisk and, upon further consideration, Luke returned to the tent to retrieve some gloves and his knit cap.

“Nice morning,” I said to him as he neared the log that was serving as my bench.
“It’s chilly,” he responded. He folded his arms tightly across his chest for emphasis.
“The cold feels nice, though.” My breath escaped visibly into the morning air. “It makes me feel alive.”
“And melodramatic?” Luke asked. “Hey, is that coffee?”

We drank our coffee in silence as we took in the incredible peaks surrounding us one more time before packing our gear into our backpacks once more and beginning the trek back to the trailhead. The walk went quickly, and as we passed the same landmarks and features, streams and dubious bridges, they always looked slightly different. After having succeeded on our trip the boulders and water were still beautiful, but not so formidable and intimidating seeing them the second time around.

Justin van Almelo can be contacted at jvanalm@gmail.com