Mason

That's the part that still gets me.

We did all the good boy outdoorsman stuff, and it still didn't matter.

There were two of us.

Me, and my friend Mason.

We'd been talking all year about doing a long Washington hike once the weather turned and the crowds thinned out.

Not a summit race.

Not a highlight real day hike.

Then climb a ridge and suddenly you're staring at nothing but distance and cloud.

We chose a route that was long enough to feel like a commitment and remote enough to feel like an accomplishment, but not so remote that it was stupid.

That's what we told ourselves.

A multi-day loop in a stretch of forest where the maps showed plenty of established trail, a few designated camps, and a couple junctions that made it easy to adjust if we got behind.

We were planning on five nights, maybe six if we slowed down.

We had paper maps in plastic.

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.