Narrator

He'd slept in a hammock through a thunderstorm like it was a spa treatment.

And he had that particular brand of confidence you only get from being uncomfortable often enough that you stop fearing it.

Luke was also the one who kept pushing for real wilderness, which meant less traffic, fewer shelters, fewer people with Bluetooth speakers, more quiet.

The third person, because there was a third even though people always assume it was just two, was Luke's cousin, Tessa.

She wasn't his cousin-cousin, it was one of those my-mom-calls-your-mom-cousin kind of family ties.

Tessa was local to the region, or close enough to call it local.

She'd grown up a couple counties over, and she was the one who suggested the loop.

She said it like a favor.

If you want quiet, I can show you quiet.

That should have been my first warning.

Anyone who talks about the woods like it's a thing they can show you, like a museum exhibit, either doesn't respect it or knows something you don't.

Our packs weren't ridiculous.

Two-person tents split between Luke and me, a small tarp as backup, three-season bags, inflatable pads.

Sawyer filters and backup tablets.

A single canister stove and two fuel cans.

A bear canister we hated but used anyway because we weren't idiots.

Food for seven days.

Dehydrated meals.

Oatmeal.

Jerky.