Mason

We had compasses.

Mason had a handheld GPS and a satellite messenger clipped where it wouldn't get buried.

We told my sister the trailhead, the dates, and the general route.

Mason told his girlfriend the same.

The first day felt like every other good first day.

That early optimism where your pack feels heavy but manageable, and your legs are excited instead of tired.

The trailhead was damp, the kind of damp that isn't rain exactly, but still soaks you if you stand still.

There were a few cars in the lot, but not many.

We signed the register, shouldered our packs, and started into the trees.

The forest swallowed sound the way it always does.

Everything was muted, footsteps and breath in the occasional bird call that felt too sharp because everything else was soft.

We hiked steady and talked a lot at first, the way you do when you're still in that bright mood.

Then the grade changed, and our talking turned into shorter bursts.

The trail ran along a creek for a while, then climbed away from it, and we settled into the pattern.

Walk, check the map at junctions, drink water, keep moving.

Late in the afternoon, when the light was already draining out of the trees, we reached our first camp.

It was one of those designated sites that isn't really a campground, just a flat space with a ring of rocks and a log for sitting.

There were old fire scars on the stones.

The ground was packed down.

Whoever had last stayed there had been tidy.