#pct missing hikers

[not-forgotton]

Christopher Stephen Sylvia – The Charley Project

PCT Still Missing

David O'SULLIVAN

Kris FOWLER (Sherpa)

Chris SILVIA

[pcttrailsidereader]

Hurricane Helene and the Appalachian Trail

This is an excerpt from a recent NY Times article by Victor Mather. Although the PCT is not so vulnerable as the AT to the ravages of hurricanes, weather extremes can easily have an outsized impact on miles of the ribbon of trail that connects Mexico and Canada. This article serves as a grim reminder about just how fragile these National Scenic Trails are.

As the scope of devastation caused by Hurricane Helene comes into focus, an American landmark that dozens of towns benefit from is facing historic destruction: the Appalachian Trail.

The 2,200-mile trail along the East Coast and the Southeast attracts millions of hikers each year, and brings an economic boost to a host of towns along the route. But last week Hurricane Helene became the most destructive natural disaster the century-old trail had seen, uprooting trees, destroying bridges and washing away rock steps, making large portions impassable, according to the conservancy that manages it.

Damage from flooding, strong winds and tornadoes was present in many of the 14 states the route touches, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy said.

“The scope and scale is historic,” Sandi Marra, the conservancy president, said of the damage. Although it was not yet possible to T

The conservancy plans to assess the damage and prioritize the hardest-hit areas, Ms. Marra said, but the timeline for clearing and rebuilding the trail will not be quick.

“I cannot imagine it will be normal in 2025,” she said.

Some parts of the trail may need to be rerouted, forcing hikers onto roads, she said. Trailhead parking lots may have been washed away, and both small bridges for hikers and highway bridges used to get to the trail may be gone.

The conservancy’s website notes that many of the towns are also encouraging visitors not to come so they can prioritize recovery.

Throughout the region, the hurricane sent water and mud down from mountains. As a result of the deluge, some small towns have been virtually cut off from the outside world.

Some of the places where hikers stay, eat and form communities, can typically expect economic growth and a boost in tourism, the conservancy said.

“Nobody can hike the Appalachian Trail without these communities,” said Gary Sizer, who hiked the trail in 2014 and wrote the book “Where’s the Next Shelter?” about the trip. “The whole experience is a series of three-to-five day backpacking trips. You get to a town, you meet some people. Hikers form a community.”

The conservancy is advising hikers to stay off the trail in some areas. National forests through which the trail passes in North Carolina, Tennessee and southwest Virginia are closed.

Beyond the forests, the conservancy also urged hikers to postpone their trips through a southern stretch between Georgia and Rockfish Gap, Va. That’s more than 800 miles of the trail.

“People will say they’re not officially closed, and that’s true,” Ms. Marra said of the network of trails. But the storm has made parts of the path “precarious and dangerous,” according to Janet Hensley, who follows and helps hikers from a van every year and is known to many of them as Miss Janet.

“On the trail, you may spend half of a day getting through a cluster of trees blocking the path,” Ms. Hensley said of the damage.

For any damage to the trail, there is greater concern about the nearby communities. Ms. Marra cited Damascus, Va.; Hot Springs, N.C., and Erwin, Tenn., as among the hardest-hit places near the trail.

“You have people who are literally struggling for water and food,” Ms. Marra said of the residents around the trail. She suggested hikers travel to places where they would not put pressure on services. “Why strain a system that is already broken?”

For decades, the Appalachian Trail has had a special hold on hikers, with many attempting, and the most intrepid succeeding, in traversing the whole thing.

“It’s a very diverse trail,” Mr. Sizer said, explaining its popularity. “In Georgia, it’s lush and humid with rolling hills, somewhat easy going. North Carolina, that’s your first experience above tree line. By the time you get up North, you’re literally climbing hand over hand, you’re not just hiking.”

Still, the trail and surrounding communities are normally a happy and welcoming environment for enthusiasts like Ms. Hensley. She has become a well-known sight on the trail for 15 years, driving her sticker-covered van with its large smiley face on the roof to bring water, food and replacement equipment to hikers. During a phone interview, she was interrupted for a selfie.

“When they see the van, it makes them happy,” she said.

But the smiles for hikers and the trail community are muted now. “It’s just heartbreaking,” she said.

[toughgirlchallenges]

Arlette Laan aka “Apple Pie”. First woman to hike all 11 National Scenic Trails in USA. 35,000+ miles hiked!

Join us for an exhilarating journey into the world of long-distance hiking with Arlette Laan, affectionately known as "Apple Pie." 

In this episode, Arlette shares her awe-inspiring tale of becoming the first woman to hike all 11 National Scenic Trails in the USA, covering over 35,000 miles on foot. From her childhood adventures in Holland to navigating the rugged terrains of America's most iconic trails, Arlette's story is one of perseverance, passion, and the sheer joy of exploration. 

Tune in as she delves into the essence of long-distance hiking, the challenges she faced along the way, and the profound lessons she learned from her epic adventures. Whether you're an avid hiker or simply someone who loves a good adventure story, this episode is sure to leave you inspired and itching to hit the trails!

***

 Don't miss out on the latest episodes of the Tough Girl Podcast, released every Tuesday at 7am UK time! Be sure to hit the subscribe button to stay updated on the incredible journeys and stories of strong women.

 By supporting the Tough Girl Podcast on Patreon, you can make a difference in increasing the representation of female role models in the media, particularly in the world of adventure and physical challenges. Your contribution helps empower and inspire others. Visit www.patreon.com/toughgirlpodcast to be a part of this important movement. 

Thank you for your invaluable support!

***

Show notes

Who is Arlette?

Being born in Holland

Living in Boston, USA

Getting the trail name ‘Apple Pie’

Growing up in Holland and having a typical childhood

Moving over to California after college 

Visiting Switzerland and getting into backpacking 

The hiking culture in the Netherlands 

Starting with the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) in America in 2003

Learning more about the long distance trails

What she loves about long distance hiking 

Being empowered after reaching her goals

How hiking has changed over the years

The social aspect of hiking

Not being an ultra light fast packer

What a typical day hiking looks like

Having dinner at 5pm and then carrying on hiking 

Finishing up the 11 National Scenic Trails 

Not giving her body the rest she needed 

Pushing harder while hiking 

Dealing with the heat and humidity and struggling to hit the 25 miles per day needed

Advice for recovery and why taking time off is a good thing

Eating well while hiking 

Cooking v cold soaking 

Food chat!

Wearing dresses while hiking 

Hiking through all seasons

Tips for winter hiking 

Feet and shoes for hiking 

Road walking with a pack

Hiking with poles 

Fitting hiking into her life and working as a hiking guide

Hiking all of the 11 National Scenic Trails in the States 

Putting a plan in place in 2018  

Speaking with ‘Buck 30’ (Brian Tanzman)

Planning and preparation for the final few hikes 

Dealing with aggressive barking dogs

North Country Trail (4,600 miles) 

Advice for when it gets tough on a hike 

Making her goals smaller 

Keeping track of expenses while on trail

Paying for breakfast as it’s a better deal than dinner

Advice for hiking the Te Araroa (TA), New Zealand 

Skipping the road walks in New Zealand

Hiking in Nepal

Hiking in Europe

Preferring to hike in the wilderness

Going back to hike the Arizona trail

Wanting to thru-hikes the trails that she section hiked 

Wanting to ‘redlining’ the White Mountains guide book (1,440.4 miles ) 

How to connect with Arlette on social media #ApplePieHikes

Selling sock dolls (only sold/shipped to the US)

Redline Guiding

Final words of advice 

  Social Media

Website:  www.arlettelaan.com

Instagram: @arlette_laan 

  Check out this episode!

[greenconverses]

Recently read: March's unofficial theme is "books I know I'll enjoy once I read them but I'm not going to read them for months because REASONS."

Ugh, the Palace of Rogues series is so perfect and Julie Anne Long remains fabulous. How To Tame a Wild Rogue was another stellar addition to the series and probably my second favorite of the bunch. I love the continued development of all the characters and relationships from previous books on top of introducing a new romance to care about. Can't wait for the next book! (★★★★★)

Trail of the Lost by Andrea Lankford is a non-fiction account of three missing hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail. I liked this as an audiobook. Lots of interesting background about the PCT, hiking culture, and about the individual cases, but the end is a bit unfulfilling because there's no real resolution to said cases. That's nature for you, unfortunately. (★★★★)

I have literally had Forging Silver from Stars on my nightstand for A YEAR and would stare at it guiltily every night before bed before I finally decided to crack it open this month. I WAIT BECAUSE I KNOW I WILL LOVE IT AND THE NEXT ONE IN THE SERIES ISN'T COMING OUT FOR ANOTHER YEAR AGHHHH. Anyway, still love Brigid Kemmerer and her sad, stupid men; love when the middle of her books hit and I get to yell, "It's GAAAAAAAAAY" and startle my cats; love the exciting climaxes and satisfying action scenes. Excellent entertainment, no notes. (★★★★★)

Small Favors by Erin A. Craig is a slow moving, small town horror novel that's a pretty solid read. Craig excels at creating ambience, but some other parts of the story (the romance, characterization) could have used some burnishing. I didn't end up loving this, but it was an engaging read nonetheless. (★★★)

[danvswild]

Day 21 - Day 30

Little Bear Spring Camp to mile 464.0 - 156.1 miles

A bunch of stream crossings in this stretch. I have to dip my shoes underwater which is never satisfying but thankfully they dry out quickly in the desert.

I still have some knee pain but it is getting better every day. The scenery is beautiful and I love taking dips in the creek to cool off. It's been much warmer at night and I couldn't be more thankful.

Oh I also started cold soaking food. I am figuring out the perfect amount of time necessary for food to cook when cold soaking and I am thinking about ditching my stove for a bit to go hardcore ultralight lol

This was the first natural hot springs I've been to and it is the only one on the trail (I believe). The water was indeed HOT and since the springs were next to a creek, I alternated hot and cold to give my muscle some ease. This was an awesome camp spot although I did wake up to a crowd of naked people on the weekend.

We hiked a bit further toward the rim of the world and Silverwood Lake. This lake is huge and it feels like I am no longer in the desert but I'm sure the heat and the dryness will return.

Also some trail magic <3 So trail angels come out to spots on the PCT to offer free food, charging, and other services a hiker may need. They do it completely free and only a handful accept donations so these are just purely good people out there who want to see you succeed. I had a few cokes and beers to quench my thirst and load up on some calories. The nice lady also cooked me 2 veggie burgers, which were delicious after hiking for a while. Honestly I am a bottomless pit when it comes to food these days. I would love to come back to the trail as a trail angel and feed some hikers. PAY IT FORWARD :D

Next up is McDonald's in Cajon Pass. This is the only McDonald's on the trail so I'm pretty excited.

After loading up on some junk food, my trail fam hiked out a bit further. The next day is almost a 20 mile hike uphill with a long water carry so we are going to start early. We also had a family dinner and this was the biggest one by far!

Next up, Wrightwood. I was really missing some town food so I decided to go a bit faster to take a zero day at this lovely hiker town.

And here comes the second mountain challenge, Mt. Baden-Powell. It was actually not too difficult and we were able to do it in one day. The sunset was absolutely gorgeous coming off the summit although I was tired from the steep uphill climb in snow of course.

After Baden-Powell, I pushed back to back marathon days (26 miles +) to get to Acton for a nice shower and laundry at the 49ers Saloon. This spot was epic and I would recommend people camp there for free. The food was pretty good too and we were able to hitch back to the trail easily.

We then cowboy camped (as the weather was nice) and aimed to get to Agua Dulce soon after.

We chilled at the hiker oasis in Agua Dulce for a bit before heading back out onto the trail. I'm actually feeling pretty good now. Most of my leg pain have resolved and I only feel some pain in my feet. Once that goes away, I will be unstoppable.

Oh I also ditched my stove in Wrightwood and sent it forward to Tehachapi. I will be cold soaking only for the next week or so. It's been going great so far but I do miss the hot meals after a long day. I am starting to pick up the miles so I'll have to keep this up to make up for the slow days in the beginning.

I made so many good friends on the trail so far. Although I have really difficult days, I definitely do not want to quit. I guess this is a good sign. I think the next few days might be tough but a town zero day should fix that easily.

[giftedpoison]

Last two books I read were about bad things happening to people in wooded areas (one a horror fiction novel, another a true account of searching for three different PCT hikers and finding other missing people along the way)

Immediately craves walking around outdoors desperately

[hikertrashprincess]

FT Day 6

1/7/24

Once we were up and packed we realized we were quite antsy and didn’t want to wait for the tribal cuisine. I was a bit sad to miss out on it, but the church service was at 11 and then the lunch would start, meaning we wouldn’t be on trail till 2 or 3 probably, and the next stretch was a long road walk with no camping. We left hoping for a last stop at Sadie’s.

It turns out Sadie’s was closed on Sundays but Morpheus grabbed a piece of pink cake and we got a few snacks.

The rest of the day was easy walking along the dikes- large canals filled with cool birds and occasionally alligators. We had lunch near a water treatment plant and talked with Mercury- another thru hiker who had been hiking since retiring and sounded like he’d done pretty much everything including the CDT twice and the PCT four times. He was still so jolly and was just so happy and grateful to be out there hiking. He had also hiked with some famous hikers- Billy Goat, Greybeard, and Nimblewood Nomad (who recently earned the record of oldest AT thru hiker- a title he took from Graybeard.) He was delighted that Morpheus had a magnetic powerbank after his phone declared it had detected moisture and couldn’t charge with a cord.

We moved on and passed Brenda, Hamilton, and Islander. Every mile or so we passed a water treatment station which had metal bars we could take advantage of for stretching. One unfortunately was covered in wet paint and Morpheus ended up with yellow hands.

We kept seeing tracks of little paws with claws. I choose to believe they belonged to otters although we never found out for sure.

We kept passing bones of catfish and eventually I figured out that birds of prey were grabbing them and dropping them. We even saw one taking its last breaths chopping in half- a nature scene out of a Tarantino film.

The were so many cool birds and bones, and the walking was easy. Overall a delightful day. We got to the campsite and decided to eat dinner and continue. I had been cold soaking- which means, instead of heating up your food you set it in a jar and just let it soak in cold water until it’s ready. I need to remember to start this d Dr process at lunch but had forgotten, so I got things ready to eat later. Time Crunch, Brenda, Hamilton, and Islander arrived and set up their tents. I noted a nearby sign stating the Florida panther is only 160 pounds and declared that Morpheus could fight it, but he vehemently disagreed.

We hiked on, a bit spooked by the idea of panthers, but all we found was more flat road walking and a water cache. Although the trail follows dikes full of water, they are polluted by agricultural runoff and we are not supposed to drink it, even with our filtration systems. Collecting it would also be terrifying since they are full of alligators, who aren’t always clearly visible. Amazing volunteers from The Florida Trail Association provide caches of fresh water along this stretch.

We had heard the bugs were terrible on this section and we needed to be in tents by sunset. It was discussed almost like vampires- like it was a life or death situation to be inside by sunset. We flirted with death by setting up at sunset, and the mosquitoes did swarm worse than I’ve seen many other places, but we survived.

We watched an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender and went to sleep.

[livefuntravelposts]

Outdoor Escapes: The Best Hiking Trails in the World

Summer is the perfect time to embrace adventure and reconnect with nature. And what better way to do so than by hitting the trails and exploring the great outdoors? Hiking trails offer a unique opportunity to unleash your adventurous spirit, challenge yourself physically and mentally, and discover the breathtaking beauty of the natural world. Whether you're a seasoned hiker or new to the world of hiking, there is a trail out there that will ignite your passion for exploration. In this blog, we will delve into the joys of summer hiking trails, highlighting some of the most spectacular destinations around the world. We have hiked some parts of these trails.  Not the whole trail but it they are still wonderful.  The Appalachian Trail is close to our cabin in North Carolina and the Inca Trail is wonderful in Peru. So, get ready to lace up your boots, pack your backpack, and embark on an unforgettable journey into the heart of nature.

The Appalachian Trail: East Coast Beauty

Stretching over 2,100 miles along the eastern coast of the United States, the Appalachian Trail is a hiker's paradise. Starting from Springer Mountain in Georgia and ending at Mount Katahdin in Maine, this iconic trail passes through 14 states, offering an incredible variety of landscapes and experiences. Whether you choose to hike a section or challenge yourself to thru-hike the entire trail, the Appalachian Trail will reward you with breathtaking views, tranquil forests, and encounters with wildlife. Don't miss the chance to conquer peaks like Mount Washington, experience the beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains, and embrace the Appalachian culture along the way.

The Inca Trail: Ancient Wonders 

For those seeking a blend of adventure and history, the Inca Trail in Peru is a must-do hiking experience. Following the footsteps of the ancient Incas, this trail takes you through the mesmerizing Andes Mountains, lush cloud forests, and finally, leads to the legendary Machu Picchu. The journey is not only physically rewarding but also culturally enriching as you pass by ancient ruins, stone pathways, and breathtaking landscapes. Immerse yourself in the mystique of the Inca civilization and marvel at the awe-inspiring beauty of this UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is important to note that permits are required to hike the Inca Trail, and they should be secured well in advance due to the trail's popularity.

The Tour du Mont Blanc: Alpine Splendor

If you dream of hiking through picturesque alpine meadows, crossing glistening glaciers, and being surrounded by majestic peaks, the Tour du Mont Blanc is the trail for you. This iconic circuit trail spans approximately 110 miles, passing through France, Italy, and Switzerland, and offers an unforgettable journey through some of the most stunning landscapes in Europe. As you hike along the trail, you'll be rewarded with breathtaking views of Mont Blanc, charming mountain villages, and alpine lakes. Each day brings a new adventure, and each night offers the warmth and hospitality of alpine huts and cosy lodges. Be prepared for varying weather conditions and challenging terrain, but rest assured that the beauty of the Mont Blanc massif will make every step worthwhile.

The Pacific Crest Trail: West Coast Wonder 

The Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) stretches over 2,650 miles from the southern border of California to the northern border of Washington, traversing some of the most diverse and awe-inspiring landscapes in the United States. From the arid deserts of Southern California to the towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada and the lush forests of the Pacific Northwest, the PCT offers a truly epic adventure. Whether you choose to tackle a section or embark on a thru-hike, this trail will test your endurance, expose you to the raw beauty of the West Coast, and allow you to forge lifelong friendships with fellow hikers. Prepare yourself for the stunning beauty of places like the Mojave Desert, the High Sierra, and the Cascade Range. It is important to plan and prepare thoroughly, as the PCT presents various challenges such as water scarcity, extreme temperatures, and demanding terrain. But the rewards of witnessing unforgettable sunsets, encountering wildlife, and experiencing the profound solitude of nature make it all worthwhile.

The Camino de Santiago: Spiritual Journey 

For those seeking a hiking trail with a unique spiritual dimension, the Camino de Santiago in Spain is an incredible pilgrimage route that spans hundreds of miles. The most popular route, the Camino Francés, starts in the French town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and ends in the city of Santiago de Compostela. Along the way, you'll walk through the picturesque Spanish countryside, ancient villages, and historic towns, all while encountering fellow pilgrims from around the world. The Camino de Santiago offers a chance for self-reflection, personal growth, and a deep connection with centuries of history and tradition. Whether you undertake the entire route or choose a shorter section, the Camino de Santiago promises a transformative journey that will leave you with cherished memories and a sense of spiritual fulfilment.

Our Final Word

Hiking trails provide an incredible opportunity to unleash your adventurous spirit and forge a deeper connection with the natural world. Whether you choose to explore the majestic beauty of the Appalachian Trail, immerse yourself in the ancient wonders of the Inca Trail, traverse the alpine splendour of the Tour du Mont Blanc, or challenge yourself on the epic Pacific Crest Trail, each journey will be a transformative experience.   These hiking trails not only offer stunning landscapes but also teach valuable lessons of resilience, self-discovery, and appreciation for the beauty of the Earth. As you hike through diverse terrains, breathe in the crisp mountain air, and witness nature's grandeur, you'll find a renewed sense of wonder and a deeper understanding of your own capabilities.   So, pack your backpack, lace up your hiking boots, and set out on an adventure that will leave an indelible mark on your soul. Unleash your adventurous spirit, embrace the challenges, and let the summer hiking trails be your gateway to exhilaration, self-discovery, and lifelong memories. The great outdoors awaits, ready to reward you with its boundless wonders.  

Related Posts

Read the full article

[awisetoad]

Revisiting this briefly. Given the caloric needs of the company, I have a hard time believing they could just drop to camp anywhere and have some dinner caught on a nightly basis. Also, I've been looking at the travel timeline according to Atlas of Middle Earth, and it shows the average travel distance being roughly ~10 mi/day. Unless I'm egregiously miscalculating or missing something wildly obvious, that translates to roughly 3-4 hours of travel time per day.

I guess that would make sense if they're having to hunt daily? But I think it's more likely they'd travel much further for a few days at a time, followed by an entire day of rest (likely at a spot that has good opportunities for foraging and hunting and access to water).

At least, if you look at AT/PCT thru-hikers today they end up doing legs of the journey with preserved, lightweight foodstuffs for days at a time, and then end up having to stop at some nearby town to resupply every so often.

One factor is definitely how much dried/preserved foodstuff they've packed on their spare ponies (IMO they definitely have more than the 2 spares shown in the film).

So, ideally, they're probably keeping a good eye on terrain, water sources, and evidence of wildlife as well as knowledge of what the upcoming terrain is like to make decisions about where, when, and how often they'll need to set up not only nightly camp but also where it might be worth to stay an extra day or two.

Bombur & Kili are the real wizards of the company.

Bear with me.

There are 3 questions that have plagued me for a while, that have always seemed unrelated:

Why did it take the company so much longer on ponies to travel than it took Frodo & the Gang?

Is Kili really an archer?

What did the company eat?

Now I realize that they are very related, and the first two can pretty much be answered by the last one.

What do dwarves eat?

Meat, obviously, and according to Tolkien Gateway they prefer to trade with Men (and Elves, at times) instead of bothering with agriculture themselves. Also, they don't really mount ponies or have relationships with animals (as in, no pets). But, that doesn't mean they have 0 animal husbandry whatsoever.

It also makes sense that they'd eat mushrooms, and probably cave fish too.

That is, of course, prior to the sacking of Erebor.

Being a wandering people probably fundamentally changed their relationship with food. They now have little to no wealth with which to barter and must rely on skills to trade for food. I don't think it's unreasonable to think that they probably picked up new skills in order to support themselves here.

Fishing they probably had down pretty well, but I'd bet money they had to learn to hunt and trap and forage from Men during their wandering days. This is probably where Thorin learned to shoot, given he's a guy who seems to do literally anything his people need. Makes sense that he'd teach his nephews this valuable skill. Thus, I don't think it's unreasonable that Kili's bow would be used almost exclusively for hunting instead of for war.

By the time they're settled in Ered Luin, I'd wager they are more stable than when they were wandering but still not quite back to the Erebor days. We know the Blue Mountains are poor in precious metals and gems, and there doesn't really appear to be as many settlements of Men nearby to trade with (and we know Thorin hates Elves, so they're probably out).

Thus, the caravans Kili spoke of during his conversations with Tauriel probably come into play. I imagine caravans of working dwarves crossed Eriador regularly with wagons full of what they have to sell, trading their skills, maybe doing "thrift flips" with unwanted junk, all in hopes of being able to stock up Thorin's Halls before the winter. Hunting to feed the caravans as well as trading whatever pelts and animal products or foraged goods from these learned skills is probably helping them a lot, and wouldn't be a skill to scoff at. I bet lots of dwarves who couldn't practice their old trade would pick up one of these new skills as a side-gig.

It also is a handy skill when feeding 13 dwarves on a months-long secret journey across the planet. Because, oh boy, Kili has his work cut out for him.

How much does a dwarf eat?

I'm using the Dwarrow Scholar numbers for height & weight. The average Longboard is 5' 1" and weighs ~170lbs. I am also ignoring Bilbo and Gandalf for the purposes of these calculations.

I'm looking for nutritional requirements for a strongman or powerlifter, thinking that would equate to the kind of lifestyle the average dwarf lives. Bodybuilder.com suggested lifters should aim for 1.2 grams of protein per pound of body weight, 1.4 grams per pound of carbs on training days (half that on rest days), and 0.24 grams per pound of fats (which I don't really care about for our purposes).

Using those numbers, we're looking at 204g of protein and anywhere between 119–238g of carbs (I'm picking 175g as a nice middle ground), and 40g fats (which again I don't really care about) for a single dwarf, per day.

This means that the entire company needs to come up with 2652g of protein and 2275g of carbs daily.

…which is a totally meaningless number until you put it in perspective.

A Quick Baseline*:

*these numbers are from a half-assed google

Beef & Chicken have roughly 8g of protein per oz, which we'll use as a rough guideline to follow for various types of game

Your average potato has 25g of carbs, while a carrot only has 6g

There are 45g of carbs in 1 cup of brown rice

This recipe for whole wheat sourdough has 36 servings, and at 18g of carbs per serving, totals 648g of carbs for the loaf

A Guide to Game:

I got these numbers by googling around on some hunting sites to see how many pounds of edible meat are produced by various types of game, which I then converted to ounces.

the average squirrel has roughly 8oz of edible meat

a rabbit might have anywhere from 16-32oz of edible meat

ducks produce 48-80oz of edible meat

it's not unreasonable for a buck to yield 58lbs of meat and a doe to yield 44, which translates to 928 & 704oz respectively

a wild hog that weighs 100lbs might yield 35lbs (or 560oz of meat)

the weight of an adult bass is 12lbs, and the internet says a 1lb trout produces ~7oz of meat so maybe we can bullshit that an adult fish is 96oz of edible meat?

IN CONCLUSION

So let's put all of this into theoretical perspective, shall we?

> Kili would need to hunt at least 41 squirrels, 10 rabbits, 4-7 ducks, 1 deer, 1 boar, or 4 good-sized fish every single day. > Bombur has to cook all of that, and either bake 6 loaves of bread, cook 26 cups of rice, or 65 potatoes.

Holy shit, no wonder it took them so long to get anywhere.

Keep in mind that these quantities assume we have enough to maintain their weight, and I only calculated edible meat. Game has a bunch of other valuable parts like pelts, carcasses to make stock, and organs that are either useful or edible.

Also, remember that at many points in the story the dwarves come close to starving (I can see why, god damn). They better be really good at foraging for some kind of carb, starch, veggie, what-have-you because they need a lot of it.

I intend to follow up with an exploration of what they might've foraged to supplement, as well as a few likely meals or menus that take these things into account. So, stay tuned.

[not-forgotton]

Remembering The Missing PCT Hiker's

Kris Fowler (Sherpa)

David O'Sullivan

Chris Silvia

[pcttrailsidereader]

It's Been a While

In 1981 my hiking parters, Jim Peacock, Rees Hughes and I were just past about half way on our first PCT hike. We had started at the Columbia River and were heading to Rainy Pass. We had given ourselves thirty days to get there. By today's standards we sound like snails. Then, it felt just fine, if not more than enough, to walk anywhere from twelve to fifteen miles a day.

Just past our halfway point we came to Waptus Lake in what was then the newly christened Alpine Lakes Wilderness. The trail out of Snoqualmie Pass was marked by numerous clearcuts and a fair amount of rain and low clouds. Eventually we walked around a bend into welcome sunshine to dry out and buoy my flagging spirits. By this point we had our hiking legs and we had found our routines.

From my journal entry, July 15, 1981, "Upon reaching Dutch Miller Gap trail, which is essentially at the bottom [of a long descent of 26 switchbacks] we had a decision to make. Camp here or nearby Waptus Lake. We could see the lake from the beginning of our descent- it looked very inviting. Consequently we reluctantly pushed on..."

Arriving at Waptus lake we started at one campsite and eventually moved to a second site. Unfortunately we didn't get much time to catch up on journals, washing up, etc. since we arrived late in the day. We did enjoy a fire even though it was still a relatively warm evening. As a full moon rose over the lake this served as one of the high (no pun intended) points of our day. That full moon made me ponder where I would be at the next full moon.

The next full moon I was back home fully recovered from a case of Giardia I had picked up on the hike. Little did I know that it would be forty four years later before I would see another full moon rising above Waptus Lake. My friend Dick Simpson and I had planned another backpacking trip together for this late summer. We have gone on several over the years. One is described in 'Crossing Paths', Rees and my book of hiker/writer stories entitled 'The Pleasure of Your Company'. This time Dick suggested we hike to Waptus Lake going in at the Salmon La Sac trailhead. The trail is just over nine miles long with some minimal elevation gain and loss eventually following the Waptus River to the lake.

When we arrived at the lake I was completely caught off guard by the stunning view of Summit Chief and Bear's Breast mountains rising on the south end of Waptus lake. How could we have missed this in 1981? Well for one thing it was apparent from my journal that we were wiped out from a long day of hiking and for another from where you descend to the lake shore off the the PCT you are in ancient woods that block views to the south. That was a relief to realize all this time later since this view is unforgettable.

Summit Chief and Bear's Breast peaks...the PCT traverses the right side of the lake shore in this picture.

Being at Waptus lake in late September is different from visiting in mid July. We did have sunshine but the air was cool and the nights cooler still. The late morning and through the day brought a steady wind down lake from the south and west. Even with the wind Dick went for swims every day while I was less motivated and only waded knee deep. Revisiting Waptus with Dick was everything I had wanted. Time with Dick, a return to a part of the PCT I had not been on in a very long time, and three days of getting around on day hikes both south and north on the PCT. We didn't go real far in either direction but seeing Cathedral Peak in the not too far distance brought up more memories from 1981. There was a lot of story telling on my part to share with Dick.

How often do we experience something in our lives and it is seemingly a one off? A box ticked, an experience that makes up a long list in one's life. That is often the case for some of my life experiences. Not so true of the PCT. I doubt I will re-walk the entire PCT again but going to Waptus Lake and a few other memorable spots along the trail motivate me to not put off those visits. For me the hikes I have experienced on the PCT have clearly been life changing and continue to reward me with rich dividends. Going back to Waptus transported me back to a time when I was much younger, maybe a bit more naive, while learning about my self and where I was headed in this one short life. I am still learning and still finding my way, hopefully less naive and just a bit older. It's been a while...

Dick along the Waptus River

[toughgirlchallenges]

Kristin Thue: Thru-Hiker and Human Rights Activist from Norway, Sharing Adventures on Her Blog 'Let’s Trek It' to Inspire Others to Undertake Their Own Wilderness Journeys.

Kristin is a thru-hiker, climber, and human rights activist from Norway currently living in London. Despite her outdoorsy upbringing in snowy Norway, it was only in her 20s that she discovered her own adventure journey. 

After going through a very tough time at university, Kristin decided to hike the Te Araroa across New Zealand’s South Island as an existential journey to shed her depression when she was 22. 

Her thru-hiking journey has taken her across the world on trails such as the John Muir Trail, the GR11 Spain, the GR20 Corsica, and The Haute Route in Switzerland. 

She founded her blog, Let’s Trek It, to share her adventures, tips, and inspire others to undertake their own wilderness journeys. 

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Show notes

Who is Kristin

Originally from Norway but living in London now

Being a thru-hiker for the past 9 years

Growing up in Norway and spending a lot of time outdoors in the mountains

Discovering thru hiking

The struggles during her undergrad years

Dealing with bullying and feeling of being loneliness

Struggling with depression 

Searching for purpose

Being inspired by the book: Wild - By Cheryl Strayed

Cheryl Strayed - Tough Girl Podcast May 2, 2017

Knowing that the Te Araroa Trail was the key to making her life better

Deciding to start with a smaller trail - The West Highland Way - for her first thru0hike

The kindness of strangers on the trails 

Being 22 and ready to go

The reasons for deciding to hike in New Zealand

Concerns before thru-hiking

Expecting thru-hiking to make everything better 

Walking into her life

Why it’s the journey and not the destination

Favourite sections on the South Island, New Zealand

The Nelson Lakes and the Two Thumb Range

Feeling so happy while being on the trail 

The challenging days on a thru-hike

Struggling with a lack of sleep 

Thunderstorms on the GR20 (Corsica)

Dealing with challenging situation on a thru-hike

Balancing her love of hiking with her London lifestyle

Post trail/adventure blues and dealing with them

Filling your life with fun things

Hiking the GR11(walking across the Pyrenees, on the Spanish side) 

Future walks/thruhikes 

Heading to America to section hike part of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT)

Trail name - “white blaze”

How to connect with Kristin 

Believing in the power of inspiration 

Final words of advice and wisdom for you - “ Dare to act on an idea because there is no reason why it can’t be you”

  Social Media

Website: www.letstrekit.com

Instagram: @lets.trek.it 

Facebook: @letstrekit

  Check out this episode!

[quaranmine]

AO3 Link and notes below the cut:

So, this is the chapter. Sorry, but also not sorry. It was truly going to be like this from the beginning. The scene where Grian finds Mumbo was the first one I ever wrote, and when I started from the beginning I just put in a page break. So every bit of new writing was only ever a quick scroll to his death—one of the most literal ways someone can haunt the narrative. I didn’t really intend for there to be as much suicidal ideation (I decided to add it as a main tag because it came up so much more often) in there but it just happened, and seemed like the most logical thing to happen given how Grian’s mental state would have been. However, this entire chapter I’m walking a tightrope between Grian’s very dismal mental state and lack of care towards his own life, and his natural survival instinct. He kind of wants to die, but he’s actually also very scared of dying in practice. The fear is stronger. 

I rewrote the first section to really drive in the fact that the end of Chapter 10 was the first time in the fic that Grian let himself actually consider the idea that Mumbo was dead seriously. He’s aware (and resentful) that other people think that, but he doesn’t let himself think about it…until now. I was worried about him finding the body accidentally—is it a cop out to have the conclusion happen by accident? But I think it also kind of enforces the theme in this fic of parts of life being out of Grian’s control. He also did correctly piece together the information to backtrack where Mumbo went and create an idea of what happened to him. 

And I’m sorry, but Mumbo was always going to be dead. This story isn’t a conspiracy or a survival-adventure. Mumbo’s just a normal guy. And tragically, statistically…cases of missing hikers do not magically get found a year later. I’m not saying it’s never happened or that it’s inherently unbelievable, but in my research for this fic I never came across any case (that matched the circumstances of Mumbo’s) where the person survived long periods of time. I found people who survived for three weeks, a month even, but not longer. But also, fundamentally, I didn’t set out to write that type of story. I set out to write a story about grief. My goal was for this outcome to make itself clear as readers got further and further into the story. 

Somewhere early in the fic, when I was still working on chapter two or three, I decided that I wanted there to be more Risk and Danger in the fic. I already had the ending mostly planned, but wanted the climax to have more tension. And I thought…this is a story about fire, so let’s really make it about fire. Anyway I think I succeeded in adding a bunch of extra urgency to the plot LOL

Here’s a selection of just a resources about fire I looked at: (1) How to Escape a Wildfire - Atlas and Boots (2) Pagami Creek Fire Survivors’ Account (3) PCT How to react to Wildfires (4) Time - What’s Like to Fight Wildfires (5) MSU - The Sound of Wildfire (6) Yellowstone NP Sound Library - Fire (7) NatGeo Wildfire Safety (8) Wendover - How Fighting a Wildfire works video (9) 10% wind speed rule of thumb for wildfire spread I also looked up many accounts of wildfire disasters and blowups, such as the Yarnell fire of 2013 and the Mann Gulch fire of 1949 (I need to read Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire ...)

Sulphur Creek is real, but its real location in Shoshone NF isn’t meant to BE the location Grian was in. I just borrowed its name, as I’ve done for most landmarks. I have a strong idea of "where" the fic is set and have been taking cues from landmarks in the area, but making no effort to make sure things fully match real life.

I originally had a much more dull version of this chapter where Grian kind of just…outran it. Which was a cop-out because every source ever is like “no you can’t outrun it.” So then I had to figure out how to tread the fine line of believability to have this happen, but not. You know. Kill him. I toyed with Grian sheltering in the same place Mumbo’s body was, and how Significant that would feel, but I scrapped that too because I felt like it undermined what I had already written about Grian choosing to move forward. 

The theme about going forward in the chapter was very important for me.  It’s a theme I wrote about because I think of it often. Life goes on, even relentlessly. Even if you feel like you’re just being dragged along against your will, even if you’re drowning in a strong current, it goes on. That can be terrifying. But it also guarantees that there <em> will </em> be change, and that circumstances are temporary. I like the idea and imagery of Grian choosing to take that step forward voluntarily. 

I’ll see you in the final chapter. Please don’t kill me.

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Eleven)

This is a story about grief and fire.

Chapter eleven: 13,460 words

<< Chapter Ten | Masterpost | Chapter Twelve >>

Hello everyone! I’m so sorry for the wait. But chapter 11 and 12 together add almost 20k words to this fic, and I actually ended up redrafting and restructuring parts of these chapters a lot. I wanted them to be as perfect as possible, because these chapters are it: the core of the plot paying off. The bad news is it’ll probably devastate you, the good news is that I will be releasing chapter 12 a few days after this so there won’t be a wait.

There's several content warnings that apply to this chapter. It's not obvious because this is the tumblr copy of this fic, but it's marked as CNTW on AO3. CWs: general mental health/breakdown, dissociation, vomiting, death, suicidal ideation (of the abstract kind), fires/burn/injury. I don't think it's too graphic but it is…unpleasant imo.

July 1989

Grian hangs up on Scar with a flick of a button. It’s a lot less dramatic than the satisfying clack of slamming a telephone receiver down into its base, but the effect is just as instant. With a press of a button, he silences the faint static of the radio and Scar’s worried voice forever, bathing him in nothing but the silence of the forest. 

There’s him, the wind in the leaves above him, and the way his hands tremble as he sets the handheld radio down. Nothing else. 

He’s unsteady. It’s a good thing he’s already sitting on the forest floor. He clamps a hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. He sits there for a moment, trying to regain control of his ragged breathing, as if he can by just breathing through his nose instead. It’s not working. His thoughts are racing. He breathes faster instead. 

He feels—

Broken. Betrayed. Bitter. Burning himself over and over with the same mistakes, pitfalls, and dangerous hopes as always. 

He feels like an idiot. 

He feels like an idiot, because why should he assume someone was in his corner? Why did he ever say anything to Scar? Why didn’t he shut up? Why did he trust that when Scar helped him, it was because Scar believed him? Why did he fall for it? 

He should have known better. He’s alone out here. It’s been like that since the beginning. It was kind of the point, actually. To come out here and be alone, because that’s the only way he’ll fix anything. He failed that goal by making friends with a stranger instead and now he’s suffering for it. It hurts too much.

But perhaps worse, perhaps the most insidious thought that keeps snaking around his mind is—

What if Scar is right? 

The thought is like a giant, flashing billboard in his mind. He can turn away from it, but he knows it’s behind him. He can close his eyes against it, but the lights still blink against his eyelids. When he opens his eyes, he sees the stark truth of it all in each miserable outline of leaves against the sky. There’s some sort of wave crashing over him, and he isn’t sure which way is up anymore. 

Everything is unavoidable, constantly present. Unpleasant. 

He tries to find his logic again, but the bright, clear throughline he’s been following since day one is frayed. It shouldn’t matter what Scar thinks, in the same way it doesn’t matter what Pearl or Jimmy or any of his other friends think. It shouldn’t matter that Mumbo hasn’t been back to collect his things, because this is not proof that anything happened to him. This is only proof that Mumbo got lost, and that’s something Grian has known since day one. There is nothing new here, except proof that Mumbo was in this location at some point. That should be good news, a new puzzle piece for him to worry over.  

It shouldn’t matter, but—

He feels very small in the forest suddenly. The trees around him have no stake in who lives and dies. They stand tall, a witness to the happenings of everything beneath them, but they cannot interfere. There are miles and miles of wilderness around Grian. There are mountain streams and creeks and gullies and canyons and caves that no human has seen for years. There is an almost infinite number of trees and flowers and grasses and shrubs and mammals and birds and bugs that populate this little world, and Grian is but one tiny speck in the midst of this. So is Mumbo. 

He can’t find meaning in this. He can’t dig up some special exception, some reason that Mumbo is uniquely special in this ecosystem and it will all solve itself happily because the very ground itself will vow to keep him alive. This is a place filled with life and death and cutting wind and sharp stones. This is a place where fires raze down forests, mountain lions kill straggling deer, and people go missing. 

These thoughts send him spiraling again. 

So instead he tries to bury the feeling again, with desperate shaky hands. Like a zombie apocalypse, it just won’t stay dead. He’s dizzy. He stands up suddenly, leaving his own pack on the ground next to Mumbo’s, and takes a staggering step backwards to gain some distance from it all.

He has to find the rest of Mumbo’s camp before he moves on.

He tells himself not to dwell on it, but every other thought is punctuated by it. He tells himself to stop freaking out, to keep going, to just move forward, to keep his feet on the ground, but his laser focus is burnt out. These are all the things he’s told himself before, and it worked then. Why won’t it work now? 

He finds Mumbo’s campsite easily through the trees, since it’s only a few hundred feet from where he left his food. The campsite is totally empty. Mumbo clearly packed everything up before he left to make sure he didn’t tempt any curious wildlife. 

It’s rather anticlimactic, really, the way nothing is left here. There is an open space on the ground begging to have a tent set up on it, and a ring of stones encircling the ashes of an old campfire. Maybe Mumbo made that fire. When he went camping in early June of last year there wouldn’t have been any fire restrictions in place yet, at least not until the disastrous Yellowstone fires started shortly afterward. Or maybe it’s just as likely that someone else made it, since this campsite has clearly been used by other people in the past. 

It’s a beautiful place, he realizes. For some reason the realization puts a lump in his throat. Mumbo chose this spot because it was beautiful, and it is beautiful. It is beautiful. 

They’re in an aspen grove, surrounded by stark white trunks and bright green leaves. The aspens always have the brightest green leaves, compared to the darker green of the spruce trees. Grian has learned their colors well after spending so long examining the landscape from his tower. He loves how the different types of trees form a patchwork of different colors on the slopes. These trees will glow even brighter in autumn, when they paint the hillside in gorgeous golden yellow. 

Scar told him once that aspen groves are actually all one tree. An aspen can reproduce by essentially cloning itself and sending up shoots to sprout as a new sapling. All of the clones share a root system, and their leaves will turn color at the same time. But to the person standing in the middle like Grian, it looks like an endless amount of trees instead of a single entity. It looks like eternity, just like the mountains and hills look like eternity from the high point of his lookout tower. 

Aspens also like to grow in recently burned areas. This one, though, hasn’t seen fire for some time. The colony is mature, and from Grian’s perspective the trees are uncountable. He’s surrounded by them, and he’s alone, but the trees aren’t alone. They’ve got all their twins next to them. But there’s nobody to stand next to him. There’s nobody here but him. 

He turns around, and stares at the pair of backpacks on the ground. He needs to figure out what to do with Mumbo’s pack. There isn’t any way he can carry it. He has his own weight to carry, and he has no room to add anything else. For the distances he needs to travel, he can’t afford to add more weight. He chokes a little on this realization. This is just another thing he’s going to have to leave behind. 

There’s a hierarchy of things, and finding Mumbo himself is more important than keeping his belongings. 

Finding Mumbo—

In any way. 

Grian said that once earlier in the summer, about another missing person. He hoped they were found, in any way. For some reason, he remembers saying this now. He remembers finding the poster for that missing person, and thinking so fiercely how much it hurt that nobody was still in his corner after all these years. He remembers the ache that settles in around lost causes, and the deep sadness in Scar’s voice when he talked about how long that man’s case had been unsolved. 

He’s becoming that person who gives up on lost causes. 

No! 

He shakes his head sharply, like it’s going to rattle the thoughts right out. He isn’t going to do that. He can’t do that. He isn’t like that. He isn’t giving up on Mumbo, because there is nothing to give up. This is just the test of faith at the eleventh hour. He needs to press further, because this is just the next step in his case. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. 

What evidence is there, really, of Mumbo being dead? A missing persons report? The endless months on the calendar? The harsh winters? The abandoned survival equipment? None of that is physical, tangible proof. None of that is, is—

None of that is a body. That means he needs to keep going. That means he needs to keep going, even if he hikes until his feet bleed. 

But…what evidence is there, really, of Mumbo still being alive? 

This thought is a cliff, and Grian is stumbling over the edge into the abyss. At the last moment he turns back, flinging out a hand and grasping whatever he can find to keep himself from falling. Going over the edge means opening up a world of possibilities Grian doesn’t know how to deal with, or even begin to approach. It violently resets every facet of his life into something completely different. Something that can’t, and won’t, ever be the same. He doesn’t know how to live with that, and so before the yawning maw of these thoughts can eat him, he shoves them away. 

He scrambles away from the edge into safety.

But once you know the edge is there, it never leaves. 

He has to go somewhere else. He must go forward. The thing about life is that everyone must always go forward. When Grian couldn’t get out of bed last year, he still woke up the next day even if he didn’t remember falling asleep. When he skipped work, the bills still arrived. When Grian took this job, every mile he walked was another piece of the mystery shaved down into something slightly more manageable. 

No matter if Grian is being dragged there or not, all he knows how to do is move forward. The only way to stop is to be dead. Did Mumbo stop? Did Mumbo stop going forward? 

Where would Mumbo have gone? What would his goal have been? 

He must have hiked further upward. The Pinnacles trail is named for its interesting rock formations, and this trail gets much more difficult the further one hikes. There is a pass at the top where it dips down the other side of the mountain and joins the old river trail that fur trappers used to use. Mumbo would have had to hike this trail instead of ride it. That's obviously why he left his bike. There’s too many steps and too many rocks to do anything else. 

So, up he goes. Before he leaves, he places Mumbo’s pack against the tree it was strung up in, upright like a crude headstone. It’s a brightly colored, out of place marker in this natural setting—something crafted and sewn by human hands, carried by human bodies, and left behind consciously by a human mind. 

Grian leaves. 

He barely thinks about where he puts his feet, even when the trail starts to get fainter beyond the pinnacles it is named for. He barely thinks about anything grounded in reality at all with the way his thoughts circle relentlessly. He stumbles a few times, missing steps, but it doesn’t matter. 

The Pinnacles trail is not actually just an out-and-back trail; it’s a spur trail that connects into a larger network of wilderness routes. It’s as well-traveled as a highway up until it reaches the main landmark, and after that it drops off to a route only marked by the occasional cairn. It is clear that most hikers turn around after reaching the stones. Grian knows Mumbo kept going, because Grian knows Mumbo. 

The top of the mountain is not far from here.  It seems like something that would have drawn Mumbo to keep going further. It’s some sort of tangible achievement, with a view to match. Since Mumbo was camped along the trail, it wouldn’t have taken him long to reach the pinnacles, unlike visitors who likely started much farther down by Jonesy Lake. Why stop and waste the rest of the day? 

Mumbo had taken this time off last year to get a break from his job. He used to come home from it looking hunted—chased down with too many demands for too little reward. He used to talk about quitting. He had wondered if it had been worth it to even take the job. He moved to another country for it, after all. 

Whether it was worth it or not wasn’t something Grian could answer for him. He’d just listen to Mumbo complain instead, and then maybe change the subject to something more fun, something distracting. It always bothered him to listen to Mumbo speak like that. 

The answer to the problem was more complicated than just quitting, though. Grian could stay in the country as long as he wanted thanks to his dual citizenship. He was essentially there at a whim, following Mumbo so that he didn’t have to move to another country alone. Mumbo, however, was on a working visa that required him to keep a job in order to legally stay. His job was sponsoring him, allowing him to apply for the visa in the first place. As such, it wasn’t as simple as merely quitting. 

Maybe he just wanted some sort of achievement to take back home, like climbing a mountain. Something he could think about when his boss tried to make him feel worthless. 

Grian keeps going, and carries the pain and the pointlessness of it all as heavily as his bag that bites into his collarbones. 

»»———-　　———-««

It isn’t until Grian is forced to stop, coughing and hacking so violently he feels like he may break his own ribs, that he even remembers Scar’s plaintive admonition. 

Keep your radio on. Switch to the main frequency. Be aware. Come back, please. Be safe.

This message was lost to him in the noise his brain filled with as soon as he tried to think about Mumbo’s fate, but the more he coughs the more his mind is brought sharply back into physical reality. He coughs painfully and keeps coughing, unable to stop at all, until finally he is gasping for breath and fumbling with the water bottle he keeps in the side pocket of his backpack. He drinks half of it down in large, greedy gulps. 

He’s above the treeline now. Somewhat alarmingly, he barely remembers getting here, but the pain in his throat has brought him squarely back into the unfortunate land of the living. He leans against a nearby rock, head spinning from the sudden clarity. 

It’s the smoke that is the problem. It seems everywhere now, even though earlier it was just the faintest scent on the wind now and then. Now it clings everywhere in his nose and mouth and throat and lungs. 

This also dawns on him with slow horror: He can’t see his tower from here. 

Given the elevation he’s at now, there shouldn’t be any reason that he can’t look across the horizon and find the tiny man-made angles of his former home. He’s far enough away that it will be extremely small, but it should still be visible to the trained eye. The entire point of a lookout, of course, is its visibility. He cannot see it, however. Even more worryingly, he can’t even properly see the mountain it sits on. 

Instead he sees nothing but haze. The air to the east is dense and orange. Before, the smoke was in a specific direction. Now, it seems like it’s everywhere. 

The air itself seems to have an orange cast to it right now. It feels like a dusty sunset, where the light is intensely copper, and thus Grian’s mind keeps trying to tell him it’s later in the day than it actually is. It’s somewhere around 6 PM in reality. In the middle of summer like this, the sun won’t set for another three hours. And still, the light is so exceptionally orange. 

Dread grows in the pit of his stomach as he tries to pick out where the fire is, and realizes he can’t. Alarm flares in him. This fire is not like the leisurely slow-burn of the Trout Fire last month. It is a behemoth of thick billowing smoke that seems like it has doubled since Grian first spotted it this morning. The intense smoke right now is what keeps Grian from seeing its edges.

How big is that thing, actually? And what direction is the wind blowing? 

The answer settles over him like the particulate matter he’s already inhaling: the wind is most likely blowing towards him. He smells the smoke now. He couldn’t smell it earlier. 

For good measure, he starts coughing again and hangs his head while he does, waiting for the fit to pass. When he finally stops, he digs a bandana from somewhere in the depths of his bag and ties it around his face. It’s a poor excuse for any sort of proper protection, but it limits the amount of smoke making its way into his lungs the best it can. At the absolute minimum, he has a placebo effect working for him. 

He pulls out his radio again, and stares at it for a moment, before caving and turning it on. He dials it into the main Forest frequency, at least the one for the Wapiti District. For some reason, it’s full of static. Is it the distance? He isn’t sure. He knows his tower serves as a repeater, but he doesn’t understand how it all works. This only adds to the mounting dread and he fiddles around, trying to make it sound stronger. He can pick out about half of what is being said, and tries to fill in every few words by context clues alone. Dispatch is clear. The ground crew is garbled. He’s only really getting one side of the picture, and not the side he needs the most. 

While he listens, he watches. 

Jonesy Lake is part of the Two Forks district, his district, and it’s to the west of his tower. The Thorofare district, Scar’s lookout, is north of his tower. This fire had started somewhere on the other side of Jonesy Lake, a little southwest. Pinnacles is further northwest, out of Grian’s district and into someone else’s. 

What is concerning is that this fire, the southwesterly fire, has grown. It is more of a northwesterly fire now. He can no longer see where his trail originated, and he should be able to see it given how high he is on the mountain. His view is unobstructed by trees or hills, and he still can’t see it. He started in a meadow far below, and now he’s at the top. He can’t see the meadow anymore. 

Grian falls back onto habit, and begins to watch the fire like he was trained. His heart beats in his chest like a hammer though—it is far more exhilarating and terrifying than it is from the safety of his tower. He’s going through the motions in his head, listening to reports and checking the wind speed the best he can and tallying the daylight hours remaining and the cardinal directions and running the mental calculations. He’s—

He’s scared. He’s utterly terrified. 

This is a new type of panic, distinct from the call of the abyss he felt earlier. That panic had been earth-shattering. This panic is primal, but it creeps over him slowly. 

The man from dispatch is directing a fire crew on the ground that must have either been flown in or hiked in after Grian did. He says the fire is moving deeper into the backcountry, away from Jonesy Lake. This is both a blessing and curse. A blessing, as it protects the main tourist attraction of the area and historic structures such as Grian’s lookout. A curse, because the deeper a fire is in the backcountry the more difficult and expensive it is to fight. 

It’s also a curse because Grian is on the wrong side of the fire. It’s between him and getting back out. It wasn’t like that earlier in the day, or maybe he wouldn’t have bothered to try to find Mumbo’s campsite after all. He’s not that crazy, he swears he isn’t. He would have waited another day, he would’ve figured something out. He wouldn’t have walked purposefully toward a wildfire. 

The wind has changed direction.

“I can’t go back the way I came,” he realizes, and it’s this spoken-out-loud sentence that finally snaps him into action. It’s like a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head.

He snatches up his bag. He can’t stay here and wait to figure it out. He needs to go now.

Immediately, he turns his back on the fire, looking at the steep final pitch he needs to scramble up in order to cross the mountain pass. If he can make it to the other side, he’ll be deeper in the backcountry and away from the fire. Maybe Mumbo went over there too at one point—further into the beyond that Grian can’t save him from. Lost in the hills of a different set of valleys. 

He takes one step forward, but this isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. He feels information come to him like an uneasy prickle on the back of his neck. It’s a barely uncovered thought, something he heard once while Scar was talking about the Trout Fire and filed away somewhere in his brain ever since. 

Wildfires move faster uphill than they do downhill. 

Like, insanely faster. Deadly faster. 

Scar had told him this, and then he’d made some sort of joke about the irony of their lookouts being perched on the highest hills in the area. He told Grian that sometimes lookouts needed to be evacuated from wildfires via helicopter, and that if a fire reached the base of either of their mountains they would be in imminent danger. Grian, of course, reacted to this much in the same way he did when thinking about lightning striking his tower or meeting a grizzly bear on the trail: fear. Scar laughed in that infuriating way he did sometimes, where danger didn’t really exist and risk seemed to be something he played with ease. 

The danger does exist. Grian’s run his allotment of risk-taking dry. Scar wasn’t laughing anymore about this on the radio earlier today. It’s not just his elevation at play, here. It’s also the wind blowing toward him. 

His heart pounds. 

He should go…down. That’s something people do in these situations. He should go down, and away, as far as he can and as fast as he can. 

He nearly makes a move to switch his radio back to the frequency he and Scar share, just so he can ask. He doesn’t though, stopping himself at the last second. His finger hovers over the button, but he doesn’t press it. It stings more than it should. Right, he’s—

Failing at finding Mumbo. An idiot. In danger. 

—going to have to go downhill. 

His brain snaps onto a new plan immediately: valleys. 

Water runs downhill. Every valley and canyon was carved by water. The snowmelt off these peaks form hundreds of ephemeral streams each spring, most of which flow downhill into a bigger stream. Those bigger streams often flow between the mountains and form the tributaries of the Yellowstone River. He’d crossed a stream earlier in the meadow, a nice little makeshift log bridge covering it. 

Water and fire don’t mix. If he goes downhill, he’ll probably find that stream at some point—nearly a sure bet in this type of topography. He’ll be safe if he goes down. He’ll be safer if he’s next to water. He needs to find water. 

Don’t they use streams as temporary fire lines? Could the fire cross that? He isn’t sure, but he’ll take the unknown over the certain danger he does know. 

Grian picks a direction away from the fire as far away as he can possibly angle himself, gives it a long final look, and nearly flees downhill. 

The route is, to put it lightly, rough. The trail was already steep, but at least it was cut into the mountainside and worn from many feet crossing it. At least it was marked, tried, and tested. The open slope of the mountain is more random under his feet, and every time he steps onto loose scree he nearly falls as it rolls under his boots. He does end up falling one or two times, and it’s more like his feet gently sliding out from under him. He doesn’t run, for fear of tripping, but he lightly hops down and over rocks and pushes past bushes. As he drops in elevation, the amount of vegetation surrounding him increases and the hiking gets more difficult. 

Soon he’s back into the forest, disoriented again. He can’t really see the fire anymore—all he knows is that he was going this way, this way, so he keeps going that way. The air is thick and burnt, heavy with haze. He knows he’s still going the right direction by picking whichever way the air is the clearest. Still, every time he has to go around an obstacle, there’s a fear in his chest that he won’t find his chosen direction again.

The mountain is getting steeper the further he goes down. It is not leveling out like he expected it to. There was a meadow at the bottom, wasn’t there? Or was that—was that more to the southeast? After scrambling down a short drop he stops again to catch his breath, wheezing through the bandana. He pulls out the topo map he took out of Mumbo’s file, tries to look at the lines to find the safest way down, and—oh. 

He doesn’t know where he is anymore. 

He knows what direction he went when he left the trail, and what direction the fire was in, but there’s no way for him to tell which little ripple and bump in the topography has his current location. He doesn’t know how far he has gone, or where on the slope he is. This is concerning, but truthfully it barely registers in his mind. He’s still smelling smoke. He can sort his location out afterwards if necessary. 

He puts the map back into his bag. Right, this isn’t good, but he just needs to keep going down. He needs to keep going down. He shouldn’t think about the smoke he can smell, or the lack of visibility, or his own stupidity. Does it feel hotter or is his mind playing tricks on him? Is he having a heart attack or is he just out of breath? Is he going to die?

Is he going to die? 

The way this question takes over his brain is almost fascinating. He hasn’t—he hasn’t focused so much on himself in a long time. He’s focused every ounce of energy he has into finding Mumbo. And Mumbo—Mumbo isn’t here, but he is, and is he going to die?

Does he mind?

No, of course he minds. The fire might as well be lit beneath his feet instead of further down the mountain with the way he’s running. 

Grian is so busy contemplating if he is going to die or not—and really, his brain shouldn’t be running these two scripts at once, he should be fully focused in the moment, but even now there’s that string of panicked thoughts—that he almost misses it when the ground goes from kind-of-steep to dangerously steep. He scrambles to a stop, disoriented, and finds himself looking over an edge. 

Calling it a cliff is generous. It’s not really a cliff, not in the “hundred foot straight drop” sense. He looks to the side, but there isn’t a clear way to avoid the drop by going down the side. It’s rocky, and he can probably climb his way down if he’s careful about it. 

He swings his legs out of over the drop with the intention of lowering himself a little slower to the next spot to put his feet. He lets the gravity take him, but the backpack he’s carrying is heavy and unwieldy enough to throw off his balance, so—

“Ah!” he shouts, and then lands sharply on his ankles. There’s a split-second of pain before he’s falling to the side, the weight on his back dragging him down when his feet don’t stick the landing. 

And he’s going down again, much faster than intended. 

He’s sliding now, taking dirt and gravel with him, because the rock he’d been intending to land on wasn’t really that stable of a spot to begin with, it was just one piece of a controlled descent, but he’s out of control now. And he can’t stop. 

The rocks tear at his clothes, his limbs, his backpack. 

He lands several feet down, stopped by the merciful branches of a prickly bush. 

He’s okay. He’s actually okay. His heart beats wildly, and he takes a moment to tip his neck back, resting his head on the top of the pack that still sits on his shoulders. He doesn’t even extract himself from the branches immediately. He just sits, and pants for a minute.

There’s another drop just in front of him, a lot further than the one he just fell from. A little less “second story window” and a little more “probable severe injury.”  He stares at it. He could’ve fallen down that. The more he starts to come down from the adrenaline rush, the more his ankle starts to throb. It doesn’t seem to be broken though, just sore. It’s just background noise to him at this point. 

He balls his hands into fists, fingernails cutting into his palms. This is just—this is just adding insult to injury, at this point. This is all stupid. He’s making stupid decisions, stupid lapses in judgement, and he doesn’t know how to stop.  

Can’t he do anything right? Can’t he just do this one, one thing? After all this time, all this effort?

Can’t he just find his best friend? Can’t he do this without damaging all his other relationships, with the people at home who care about his well being? Can’t he do this without upsetting Scar? Can’t he do this without hurting himself, or putting himself in danger, or hurting everyone else? Can’t it just stop?

He just wants it all to stop. 

Something picks him up off the ground, anyway. 

He dusts off his pants, a futile motion for a person who’s been hiking for a day and a half straight. He tests his weight on his ankle which, while definitely feeling weak, holds him. He takes stock of his new location: still somewhere on the side of this mountain, still lost. He dropped from a further height than planned, and the only thing that awaits him is more rock scrambling. Above him are rocks, and below him are…rocks, with maybe a tree or two. 

He thinks he spies some sort of ledge, or at least something he can walk laterally down, so he heads for it. Hopefully he’ll find a spot that’s easier to go down than the one he landed in. He doesn’t really have a choice to figure something out. 

There’s something off about this location though, and he doesn’t know what it is. He almost feels silly for noticing it, and writes it off as his head still spinning from the overwhelming amount of input he’s parsing. His heart still hasn’t calmed yet, and there’s no way he’s getting a good amount of oxygen for his exertion with all the smoke in the air.

He reaches the ledge, and realizes it is part of an overhang. At one point in time, this rock shelter weathered when the softer stone eroded faster than the harder layer of stone above it. Today, it’s just one more feature in the steep northeastern slope of the Pinnacles mountain. 

He looks to the left, and then—

That’s when he spies it. 

He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the day he told Mumbo it was a good idea to go on his trip alone. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the day the ranger told him Mumbo never made it back to his car. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers when the search was finally suspended after three weeks. He’ll remember it, just like he remembers lying in bed in a daze, thinking about how deep the snow gets in Shoshone National Forest over the winter. 

He’ll remember it, just like he remembers the first time someone told him Mumbo was probably dead. 

There is a figure under the overhanging rock. It’s so random it almost seems comical, if it weren’t for the way Grian immediately feels sick. There’s a figure curled in this tiny spot of shelter on the mountainside, as far as one could possibly get away from the rain or sun or cold.

It is not another rock, or a tree branch, or an animal. It’s—it’s a person. Every contour and slightest variation in shape matches. Grian knows what a person is shaped like, he knows it deep in his DNA, where he’s programmed from the inside out into knowing what another human looks like. It’s instinctual. It’s something he was born with. 

This isn’t an animal, this is something much more important. This is a human. 

And just as instinctually, he also knows that this is no longer a human. It’s a corpse. What once was no longer is, and what lies before him on the stone is something he’s not meant to see. There is a primeval part of his brain, concerned with survival and avoiding danger—concerned with avoiding disease and all those other medieval problems—that tells him he should avoid this at all costs. It’s danger. It was human, but it’s not anymore. He should go, but he’s rooted to the ground. 

It’s—

He’s—

Time stops. The thick scent of smoke still hangs in the air, just as it has all evening, but the wind doesn’t blow in the treetops. The flames in the forest don’t lick any higher. Time folds in on itself until it’s this one, small moment, incapable of folding any further and bursting with unreleased potential energy as everything else holds still. Nothing else matters. There is nothing else but this and this and this, and this and this and this. 

This isn’t Mumbo. 

Mumbo doesn’t exist anymore, and the person Mumbo was before doesn’t exist anymore, because the person in front of him was alive once but is no longer, and the person in front of him is a corpse. It’s a thing, it’s an object, it’s disgusting, it’s—it isn’t Mumbo. Mumbo isn’t like this. Mumbo has endless potential. He’s smart. He’s nervous. He’s kind. He’s silly.

And yet—he knows it’s Mumbo. It is him. It cannot be anyone else. He knows it better than anything he has known before, and he recognizes it immediately even when Mumbo is unrecognizable. He knows Mumbo well enough that he can recognize him even when he isn’t himself anymore, even when he’s something else. 

Even when he’s dead. 

That’s all. It’s a horrifying, horrifying, finality. He’s dead. Two words, one sentence, everything. It’s not real, because it can’t be. It cannot be true, because if it is, then nothing else is true either.  

He’s dead and, and, this is it isn’t it? This is it. This is all there is and all there was this entire time. This is the breaking of everything he believes in, split down the middle, carving into his chest with a sharp knife, cracking open his ribs until there’s blood spattered on the floor. The world sort of spins in his purview, dizzying, and he drops to his knees without noticing or caring about it. 

He wants to touch him, but he can’t. He wants to hug him one last time, or hold him, and tell him it’s alright, but he can’t. He recoils at the sight and stops just short, still kneeling on the ground. It’s been months. It’s been—a year, because Grian knows what he’s always known, what he’s always ignored, what other people have told him over and over again, which is that Mumbo never had much of a chance anyway. He was dead long ago. He didn’t hang in there for a few months and succumb to the winter. He didn’t survive the winter and then fail to find the resources to live through the spring. 

He’s been dead this whole time. 

He’s been—

Grian has been so stupid. And yet, he’d rather be stupid than look at this now. He’d rather not know what he knows now. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t want to be here at all.

Mumbo might have already been dead when Grian walked the trails by Cloud Lake last summer. He might have already been dead by the time the helicopters were sent out. He was likely already dead by the time the searches were suspended, just like the incident commander had regretfully informed him. He was probably still alive when Grian reported him missing, though. 

He was dead this entire summer, and most of last summer. Grian’s stomach lurches.

It’s been months. It’s…obviously been months. The elements aren’t kind. The winters are harsh and the summer sun is cruel, even in the mild shelter this overhang offers. Rocks can’t protect from everything. The animals haven’t been kind, either. None of the elements know. The wilderness doesn’t know. They don’t know—they don’t know that this is Mumbo, Grian’s best friend, his everything. They just don’t see—

Grian sees. 

Bones. Insects. Desiccated flesh. Eye sockets. No hair, no face, stained ripped clothes, broken and gnawed bones—

He turns to the side and vomits, barely yanking the bandana off his head in time. He nearly chokes on it, spitting miserable bile and unable to take a breath, and thinks, I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be gone, like he is, so that I don’t have to see this, or feel this, anymore. 

When he’s done he drops his head between his knees and screams. And with that, something breaks inside him, and he’s no longer kneeling but laying on his side, curled in the fetal position. It’s the same position Mumbo was in. His entire body trembles.

The air is thick with too many scents. There’s the ever-present smell of burning, and the smell of his vomit next to him, and the smell of other things he’s never wanted to put a name to. He gags again, and somewhere along the way that heave turns into a cry. 

He sobs. He sobs so hard his whole body shakes with the effort. He sobs so hard that he can’t breathe, and he starts to feel a little dizzy, until that primeval part of his brain concerned with survival takes over once again and drags the breath from his lungs. He wants to, though. He wants to cry so hard he actually passes out. He doesn’t want his brain to force him to take a breath when he doesn’t think he can. He wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to be gone. He wants to be dead.

He can’t live with this. 

He doesn’t want to live with this. 

There’s no point to it, is there?

There’s no point to anything, is there?

His sobs turn into coughing after a while, his throat and lungs dry from the large gulps of air he’s been taking in. It’s painful deep in his chest, but it eventually subsides leaving him exhausted. 

He lies still. His body still shakes. With every shallow inhale and exhale he trembles. His face feels waxy and foreign and his limbs like lead. He uncurls slightly. No part of his body feels like it’s attached to his mind anymore. 

There is him, and there is his body, and there is Mumbo, and none of them are in the same place right now. 

He watches the light move imperceptibly on the cave wall, as the sun slowly gets dragged back down the horizon and the shadows lengthen and bend. Darkness comes early to the mountain hollows, when the trees and the rocks and hills block the sun from view. It was late afternoon when he found Mumbo’s camp. It was early evening when he started back down the mountain for his own safety.

Does his safety matter anymore? Does he want it to matter? Does he even care? He doesn’t know what time it is anymore, but still the sun moves slowly along the walls. 

He watches the light get dragged away from him. 

Grian stays there for a period of time he can’t measure. The shadow drifts along the wall as the light fades more, but the light in the cave doesn't necessarily dim, it just grows more golden. He shuts his eyes against this. Orange might just be his least favorite color, the way it permeates everything from the setting sun to the hazy evening air. 

But—it’s Scar’s favorite color, isn’t it? 

He still has his radio. His pack might be discarded up top, but he has kept the radio in his pocket no matter what. Its yellow light was blinking earlier, back when he was at his towers this morning, hours ago, lifetimes ago. It’s still alive, however. It’s there, just a button press away. He could do it, but it’s like the radio doesn’t even belong to him anymore. 

He fumbles in his pocket with a hand that’s not his. He brings the radio up to his face, dirty and scraped and resting on the rocky cave floor. It’s a foreign object. Slowly, with a thumb that’s not his own, he depresses the side button and hears a voice that’s not his own rasp a single name. His lifeline. 

“Scar.”

The effect is immediate. “Grian!” the radio crackles, but Grian’s head is still funny and none of this is happening in the real world, so he loses most of the next sentence to the growing static in his mind. The connection is clear, but the words are not. “I was trying . . . ages ago, are . . . still . . . Do you . . .”

“Scar,” Grian says again, and this time the voice sounds more like his, and he says it because it’s all he can say. 

“Are you okay?” Scar says. “Please tell me you’re okay, please, you stopped responding hours ago and I—I’m worried, I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation. What’s going on?”

Grian drifts again. He stares at the delineation between light and shadow on the wall, and contemplates the smell of smoke. It’s more acrid than the smell of a normal campfire. It smells like plastic, which is crazy, because shouldn’t the only thing that’s burning be wood and leaves? It’s so strong it threatens to suffocate him. He wishes it would.  

Finally, he formulates something else. “He’s here,” he says, and his voice breaks. 

“Who’s here?” Scar says. 

“It’s Mumbo,” Grian says, with a strangled noise. “He’s here,” and the present tense sounds so wrong and right in his mouth, because he’s not really here but he should be. He’s not a person anymore and Grian is. He’s sitting right next to Grian, but Grian is here and he isn’t.

Nothing about this is fair. It shouldn’t have been like this. It shouldn’t have been like this. 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar says, and his voice is infinitely gentle. Grian could lose himself in that voice, let it cover him and sweep him away to a place where he doesn’t have to think about this anymore. His voice is a facsimile of reality, though. The real world hurts more. It doesn’t mean Grian wants to listen to him any less. 

Scar is still speaking. He somehow knows the things Grian doesn’t say. He knows the things that linger in the air and smoke between them. All he says is, “Oh no.”

Scar’s voice is—Scar’s voice is familiar in a way that breaks Grian all over again. It’s this little bit of sympathy, this person who might come even the slightest bit to understanding, that makes him feel like he can’t handle it anymore. What little he’s doing to compose himself in this situation needs to be handed over to Scar completely, because Scar knows. He can understand. 

Grian breaks at the sound of Scar’s voice. He starts crying again, as hard as before, and he depresses the button on his radio again, nearly delirious and unintelligible, and starts talking to Scar. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this, Scar,” he cries. “I was su-supposed to be here too. He asked me to go with him, and I said no, so he came out here alone, and it’s—it’s my fault. And I never found him in time, and it’s my fault, he’s dead now, and he’s been dead for months, and, and, this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

He doesn’t say You were right. He doesn’t say The search and rescue team was right. He doesn’t say Jimmy and Pearl were right. He doesn’t say any of that at all. He just cries. 

“Shh,” Scar says. “It’s okay, it’s okay. No, it isn’t. I would never lie to you, G. Nothing is okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t take this, I can’t take this, I can’t take this,” Grian babbles. “I need to—I can’t—I can’t take this. This isn’t real.”

“Grian—” he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. He lets go of his radio’s button, turning control of the tragedy back over to Grian. 

“He was everything, Scar!” 

Grian feels like his chest is a black hole, sucking his body into itself and rending it apart into shattered pieces. There is nothing left. There is nothing left but this, and there is nothing more important than this. 

He’s silent for a long time, with tears slipping down his face and a body too tired to sob any longer. He’s silent for probably too long, because his radio incessantly crackles and warbles, but the words Scar is speaking don’t make sense any longer. It might as well be white noise, like logs burning in a fire on a cozy evening. Grian’s checked out. 

He hears nothing but the distant rush in his ears.

He’s too tired to engage, so he turns the radio off and stares at the light moving across the wall again. In the time he’s spoken to Scar, the shadow has made it to the next crack in the stone. For a while there is nothing but him and the fading light, and the corpse just outside his peripheral. 

There’s him, his best friend, that thick artificially golden light, and the smell of vomit-inducing failure. 

He deserves to die here next to Mumbo. It’s how it should have been, if he’d just gone with Mumbo like he was supposed to have, instead of working instead. Whatever issue Mumbo experienced, Grian should have experienced it alongside him. This is all his fault. It’s all his fault, and he deserves nothing more than to spend the rest of his days right here. 

How could he be so selfish? How could he let his best friend in the world go? How could he know his best friend so little that he couldn’t even find him when he was in trouble? How could he do anything right now except stay?

The air in the overhang is stuffy, and Grian wraps a hand around his nose and mouth like it will help. He expected there to be more of a smell—but that implies he suspected Mumbo’s death at all. Maybe the smoke has wrapped itself around the smell and overpowered it. Or maybe he’s always smelled this, the pungent odor of his failure. The scent of a future he refused to acknowledge. It’s hard work having to breathe when the air is hot and acrid. 

He wants to vomit again, but he doesn’t. Instead his mouth runs wet with extra saliva, a mild comfort to his raw throat, if he ignores the way his stomach twists. 

Eventually that silence rings in his pounding head just a little too loudly, and Grian flicks the radio on again, because he selfishly needs more. He needs that voice again with its promises of something being okay in the end. After all this time, he still can’t accept that this is completely his fault and that he deserves whatever punishment happens. He needs more, like he needs air to breathe. 

 “Scar,” he says again, and it's a plea. It is a life preserver thrown into the dark, inhospitable waters. 

Scar is miles away. He’s always been miles away. He has never been, and will never be, a comforting presence to wrap his arms around Grian. But his voice is familiar and warm. His voice is a constant Grian hasn’t had for months until he took this job. His voice is a constant that might save Grian right now, if he’s lucky enough. 

“Thank god, Grian, when I saw you turned off your radio—are you okay—” the rest of Scar’s sentence dissolves into static once more. 

“No,” he whispers. 

“I know,” Scar says kindly. “That was a silly question, huh? Grian, I’m going to help you. Do you know where you are? I can send someone out. They’ll come help you, and, and—Mumbo.”

“Okay,” he says. Help sounds good. He’s so tired of being alone. 

“Are you hurt?” Scar asks. 

Grian’s ankle smarts from where he fell on it earlier, right before finding Mumbo. It’s the first time he’s even noticed the pain, because the moment he saw Mumbo everything else on his mind was wiped clean. He doesn’t think it’s important, though, so he responds, “No.”

“Where are you?” Scar asks. 

“I don’t know.”

Scar prods gently. “You found Mumbo’s bag and campsite up on Pinnacles.” He says the sentence precisely, and doesn’t mention the way Grian fought with him. He also does not say I told you so, or criticize Grian’s decision. “Are you still on Pinnacles?”

“No,” he says. “No, I left the trail. I went—”

Grian tries to think, but his brain is sieve, leaking information out onto the floor. It’s as dense and unrelenting as the tan smoke blanketing the sky. He remembers being told he lost his job, but that seems so pointless now. He remembers finding Mumbo’s campsite, but he doesn’t remember how high he hiked on the trail beyond it. He remembers the searing jolt of fear he felt when he saw the wildfire’s new positions, but he doesn’t remember a single step he took off trail. 

It’s all a blur of rushing and blankness until he’s here. He can’t think of anything else, because there isn’t anything else. There is nothing else to define about the day, except for the presence lying on the cold stone next to him. This is the only thing Grian will remember about today, and he wishes it was all blank too. There is nothing and there will be nothing else for the end of time. 

Grian can’t think.

The radio crackles again. “Grian, are you still with me?”

“Mm,” he says, because full words are hard. 

“Do you remember the way you came?”

“I was running,” he says. “I went…away. I went down. It’s really steep.”

Scar’s voice is suddenly much more serious. “Grian, what made you leave the trail? Why were you running?”

“The fire,” he responds. “I saw the fire. I went downhill. I wanted to get to the water.”

The Nitwit fire, named for the idiots who started it, is rapidly growing in area and risk. The memory of it trickles eerily back into Grian’s brain. When he’d been closer to the top of the mountain and realized the danger he was in, he’d been absolutely terrified. He knew he needed to move or it would kill him. Depending on the environmental factors, outrunning a fire is impossible.

He doesn’t think he can move anymore, though. Fleeing doesn’t sound so appealing, not when there’s nothing left to run towards. He turns over this thought with detachedness. It’s over now, so what’s the point?

“The fire? Are you in a safe spot right now?” Scar demands. “How close was it when you saw it?”

Grian doesn’t really process this question. Scar is being insistent, urgent, but nothing seems that way to him anymore. He didn’t see the fire at all, just its smoke. He doesn’t care about a safe spot. This is the only spot he needs to be in. He doesn’t respond. 

At his silence, Scar continues. “I’m guessing you went northwest,” he says. “That’s the opposite direction of the fire and there’s a creek in the valley on that side.” There is a rustle of paper on the other end, like he’s pulled out a map. “Does that sound right? I need to figure out exactly where you are.”

Scar asks a lot of questions.

“Grian,” he says sharply, almost rudely. “Grian, come on. Talk to me.” 

Where is he? That doesn’t matter. 

The internal compass in his brain isn’t working particularly hard right now, since every time he tries to stretch his consciousness beyond this overhang he gets snapped right back. Mumbo is just lying there, slightly out of his peripheral vision. He can’t even turn his head without catching a glimpse of it, and it feels like dying every time. How could he think of anything else?

Mumbo is just lying there. 

“Scar,” he says, ignoring everything he was just asked. “Scar, I don’t get it. What is he doing here? Why did he come here? Why is he here? Why isn’t it me? Why wasn’t I here? I think he fell Scar, I think he fell just like I did. I think he hurt himself and couldn’t get back to his camp. And I wasn’t even there to help him.” 

“You fell?” Scar urges, like all his attention is zapped on that word. “You didn’t say that, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says automatically. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Kind of hard not to, G.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I’m just—Scar, I can’t go anywhere! I can’t leave him. What if I never find it again? What if this is it? I don’t want to go anywhere else, I’m staying here! Next to him!”

“But you need to go,” Scar says. “Come on, I need to know where you are. Help me figure it out.”

“No, no, no, no,” Grian says. “I can’t leave. I—if I go, what if I can’t come back? What if I can’t find it? What if I lose this place, and he’s really gone forever?”

“I won’t let that happen! Hey, if I figure out where you are, then I’ll know where he is too. We can tell the rangers, and, and the search and rescue people or whatever. They’ll find him again. It’s okay. You did your part. You found him. I wanna do mine.”

“I can’t leave him again,” Grian says. “I never should have in the first place.”

“I don’t think you ever left him,” Scar says softly. “He always had someone who believed in him this whole time. Some people don’t have that.”

“I can’t leave.”

“I need you to.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

And it’s difficult to keep arguing the matter when there’s someone in his ear who won’t take no for an answer. Someone who is desperately pleading with him over his own life and his safety. Maybe Grian is to Scar what Mumbo is to Grian. Maybe Grian can’t inflict that type of pain on someone else, even if he’s perfectly willing to inflict it on himself. Maybe if he does this he’ll be guilty of hurting one less person. 

Grian screws his eyes shut. “It hurts,” he says finally. “It feels like everything hurts.”

“I know,” Scar says and—

Grian knows that he does know. 

Somehow, at that point he makes a decision. His brain still feels slightly untethered and foggy. He isn’t himself anymore, not really. He doesn’t care about that person, the one who was a best friend and an architect and then a fire lookout, anymore. He doesn’t care about that person’s outcome. But he does care about not causing any more harm than he already has, even if it means keeping that person alive. 

For once more, and the beginning many more once mores in his life, he rallies himself to go forward again. 

“I don’t know where I am,” he says to Scar. “Or how close the fire is. I think I was going northwest, but…I got lost. I don’t know if I always went that direction, because I had to move around things sometimes. I just went down.”

He sits up. It’s a monumental effort, and his head spins again like the world is tipping instead of becoming right-side up. He has his back to Mumbo and it sends prickles down his neck.  

“It’s really steep here,” he continues. “Like a cliff below me, maybe. If I fall I would get really hurt. It’s rocky above me too but not as bad. I’m sort of in the middle of it. I was—I was looking for a safer way to get down when I…” He trails off. He can’t finish that sentence. 

“Okay,” Scar says. “That’s helpful. I can—I can probably find that a little easier, it’ll show up on the topo map that there is a big change in elevation. Can you see any other landmarks?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Too smoky.” 

“How smoky?” Scar asks, and that edge is back in his voice. It’s worry.

He swallows. “Worse than earlier.”

Scar doesn’t respond for a long time. Grian regards his radio while he waits. Its light is red now. It blinks. That’s not good. He has no idea how long it’ll last before it dies. This reality still seems sort of distant though, like he can’t quite muster up the energy to care about it. Oh look, there’s a little blinking light. Oh look, there’s a fire. Oh look, his best friend is dead. Oh look, he might die too. It’s all just…pointless. There is so much potential danger in his situation and he’s numb to all of it. 

He just watches the little light blink over and over again. He feels like a statue. 

Grian doesn’t really like the silence Scar has left him, nor does he really understand why. Except it’s not really silence right now, is it? He tilts his head. There’s been sound this entire time. What he assumed was just the blood rushing in his ears is actually a very real roar. 

He pieces together what it is the moment Scar gets back. 

“I found it!” Scar cries suddenly, the radio exploding into noise again. “I found you, on the map I mean, which I guess means I also found…him. But I know where you’re at! I think!”

And Grian simply says, “I think I hear the fire.”

“What?”

“They’re loud, aren’t they?” he says. “Wildfires.”

“What—yes, they are, they’re super loud,” Scar says something that gets a little lost in interference, “you need to go now.”

Despite making the decision to go, Grian somehow feels rushed about it, like he said he was ready but he wasn’t actually ready. He stands up, and nearly stumbles back down again. When he goes to put a hand out to support him, it’s shaking. “Which way?” he whispers into the radio.

“Anywhere,” Scar says. “Um, down. I’m gonna—” he sounds distant like he’s leaning away from the radio’s mic again, and it occurs to Grian that this is what has been happening with his voice the whole time now. “—gonna try to see if I can relay your information to the hot shot crew. Like, uh, a nava—navi—whatever they’re called.”

Grian realizes, abruptly, that he has to leave his pack as well. There isn’t any way he can move quickly while carrying it, it’s far too heavy. He holds his radio, and looks out into the smoky air and trees. Then, pulled back by forces unseen, he looks back behind him. This place they’re located, it isn’t even a cave. It’s hardly an overhang, too. It wouldn’t have been a comfortable place to shelter. 

He wants to say that he can’t leave again, because his boots might as well be filled with lead. But they’ve already had that argument, haven’t they? He made his decision to leave without even looking at Mumbo. It’s the least he could do to spare him the courtesy of looking at him now. 

He lays his bag down closer to him. Then he pulls out his jacket and, carefully, gently, reverently, the closest he’s gotten to Mumbo so far, lays it over his head. 

With tears slipping down his face, he steps back into the harsh warm light.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian fights his way down the hillside, and fight really does feel like the applicable word. 

The first thing he has to do is a fair bit of boulder scrambling, since there was not, in fact, a good way down the cliff. It’s a maneuver that would have been greatly impeded by his backpack, so it’s a good thing he left it behind. Grian’s apathy actually does him favors for speed: he hops onto a rock he isn’t sure will hold him before testing it. He uses worse handholds in favor of spending more time finding safe ones. He doesn’t falter even when he slips; he leans into it instead. He’s down after only a few minutes, leaning on a tree, wheezing in the smoke, wishing he hadn’t abandoned his water bottle along with everything else. 

The noise continues to rage around him. 

Scar tells him to keep going down. Scar tells him that there is a temporary fire line at Sulphur Creek and that the hot shot crew is focused on manually digging a line on the other side of the valley. Scar tells him that they’re aware he’s trying to evacuate. Scar tells him it will be okay, because a lot of people are working on this now. Grian isn’t even sure where Sulphur Creek is. It’s not like he can see anything, after all. 

“Run,” he says, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

Grian looks back up to where Mumbo is, and realizes he can’t see him either. It all blends into the rocks and bushes and trees. How was anyone supposed to have ever spotted him? His heart clenches at this, stuttering for just a moment. None of those helicopters would have been able to see him. People on the ground could barely see him. He’s being swallowed into nature again, a final resting place to entomb him. 

Then, he glances up to the left and realizes that for the first time all day, and in fact all summer, he can see actual flames. 

They’re weirdly beautiful. He watches them lick up around the trees, greedily eating up the brush. He fell down there earlier, and now everything he touched is being steadily converted to ash. He sees the flames in the tops of the trees forming bright halos. There’s little, if any, separation from the fire on the ground and the fire in the sky. Active crown fires are the most dangerous, he remembers. No wonder it’s so loud. How much combustion energy is happening right now, as these trees ignite?

He tells Scar. 

Scar tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to be going the opposite direction as fast as he can right about now. He urges him to run. 

Grian obeys, but the heat and sound licks at his heels anyway. 

How fast do wildfires run? How many miles can they cover in an hour? How many meters high can the flames go?  The units mix in his head as he tries to work it out, but the calculations are mostly a background narration to the sound of his boots crunching gravel. Scar wants him to run, so he will. 

He stays ahead of the fire, or at least he thinks he does, until suddenly a spark is thrown onto a tree in front of him. The needles, dry from weeks without rain, catch instantly. And Grian just…stops in his tracks, and watches it ignite. He watches the baby flame grow, greedily sucking in oxygen and new found fuel. 

He thought he’d been going opposite the wind. 

He can’t help but wonder if Mumbo felt like this. If he felt this same sudden door slamming shut in front of him, trapping him somewhere he had no hope of escaping by himself. If he had, when he’d found himself stuck and lost, had this realization that he wasn’t going to be able to make it out. The thought resonates through his body, aching in every part. It’s the fear. It’s the hopelessness. 

Grian can’t outrun this anymore. 

He goes to call Scar on the radio, to ask him for any advice or even to just talk to him again, but when he presses the button on the radio it does nothing. He presses it, again and again and again, but there’s nothing. No lights. No transmissions. 

It’s dead, because he didn’t bother to charge it since before he left for the District Ranger’s Station, three days ago. 

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, “idiot, idiot, idiot!” He hits the button again and again and again, as if that’ll somehow work. Then, he hits the entire radio hard into his other hand, hard, as if he’ll shake and abuse the thing into submission, but it still doesn’t work. The screen is black. The lights don’t turn on. 

The fire is even louder now, and even hotter. It’s howling. He’s losing his sense of direction. The trees and rocks around him are only shadowy figures in the smoke. 

And maybe, in his deepest thoughts and miseries, Grian doesn’t want to live. Maybe, if you asked him, he’d say that he was fine with this, because there was nothing left for him here. There is no Mumbo, so there is no point. He’s okay with that—at least, he’d say he was okay with it if there were anyone around in the world to ask. But there’s Scar listening in on a dead radio miles away, who can’t even know if he’s safe right now, or why he isn’t responding anymore. And there’s something deep within Grian that isn’t his dark thoughts, something written into his very cells, that pushes him to look for shelter anyway. 

Because he’s scared. Because this is a truly terrible way to die. 

The only things around him are rocks and more trees. He goes for the rocks. Instinctively, they feel like a more solid option: surely something that’s already millions of years old can survive another million years.  

He finds a spot beneath a boulder, and wedges himself as close as possible between it and the ground. It lies between the fire and him, but his eyes already burn so badly it might as well already be here. He pulls his shirt up so that it covers his nose and mouth, but that does little, so he tucks his head in near the ground, near the rock, like it’ll be protected in this tiny space he’s carved out of nothing. He inhales dirt anyway. 

He screws his eyes shut, as if it’ll help, and waits. 

It isn’t hard to tell when it’s here. 

Everything feels like eternity. When he tries to breathe, there’s nothing there—no air at all to fill his lungs. Instead, everything is hot and stuffy, suffocating, astringent, wringing all the oxygen from the air. His chest burns like he’s being squeezed. It makes his head feel funny, his thoughts slipping right out before he can register them. The heat is overwhelming. It’s like being baked in an oven. It’s like the first time he got a sunburn as a child, his mother wringing her hands in dismay and guilt over his face. It’s like he’s being strangled and peeled and stripped and decimated at once.

He wonders if maybe the concept of hell was just written up by someone who’d walked through fire themselves.

It feels like it’s been hours, but eventually the white-hot heat fades into something warm and passive. It can’t have been hours, because he’s still here and feeling all of it. Grian twitches his foot, and then tries to curl in on himself afterward. The movement seems to trigger something in his body, something that says I’m not dead yet so now it’s your problem, and he begins to cough again, violent motions that shake every part of his being. He coughs for a while, choking on the ash and lack of air, before finally controlling it enough to breathe. His nose and throat feel raw. 

He opens an eye. It immediately waters in the presence of thick smoke and heat, so he closes it again, the feeling burning hot beneath his lid. His cheeks are sticky with the feeling of tears from his watering eyes that dried just as quickly as they were produced. His teeth are gritty, even though he never even remembers opening his mouth. He runs a tongue over them, tasting the char. Every minute change of facial expression causes the grit to rub against his teeth. 

A few minutes later, he stirs again, this time pushing himself up off the ground in one motion until he is sitting up—he’s not a quitter like that. 

The world spins for a moment, and then swings back into place. 

He opens his eyes again, looks at his hands. They’re red, but not badly burned. Of course, how would he know that? How would he be able to tell? He clenches them once, twice, three times, and his fingers stiffly and painfully move to obey him. The rock next to him is singed and blackened. The vegetation immediately next to him is sparse, but burned completely through. The pine needles are gone. The area is thick with dark smoke. Somewhere ahead of him, the air glows orange still, a beaming, glowing beacon in the gathering darkness of evening. 

He’s…

Still here. 

On the other side of the fire. 

Alive. 

Alone.

His brain works sluggishly, taking several moments to take in the information around him before it computes. Then, without any ceremony, he bursts into ugly tears. Or, there would be tears, if tears were falling from his eyes. He’s so dehydrated now that nothing is being produced anymore. Instead he just sits there, sobs wracking his body, taking deep gulping breaths of dry, dry air that keep his already sore throat rubbed raw. He cries until he’s too tired to do it anymore, and everything is just rough and painful.

Some people would rather be brave. They’d rather face each challenge head on, and not let it get to them. They’d rather never cry in order to save face. 

But Grian? Grian just wants it all to stop. Who does he have to be brave for? He wants to not have to deal with this anymore. He wants to be safe. He wants his best friend to be safe. He wants his best friend to be alive. He wants someone, a real person, to place a hand on his shoulder and tell him he’s okay, it’ll be alright. It won’t be alright, of course, but he wants to be told that. It’ll make things, at least, a little easier. 

He’s tired of it being hard. He’s so, so, tired of it being hard.

Grian stands finally. It takes a lot of energy to do so, and there’s a faint feeling of pain that radiates through his body like a high fever, coming in waves every time he moves. His fingers smart as they brush the fabric of his pants, the barest hint of a touch sending needles along his nerves. At least he’s got nerves. 

The forest is gray. 

The greenness is gone, and what has settled in its wake is white and gray ash. There’s a still, grim curtain that hangs over everything. There is no sound except the fire’s roar—not even a single bird. Grian pushes the dirt with his boot a little, and everything crumbles and flakes apart into fine dust. A glowing ember is uncovered beneath it. It looks vibrant against the pale death of all his other surroundings. 

The bottom of his feet feel hot. These boots will be trashed by the time he gets back. He’s sure their rubber soles are all messed up now. He’ll have to buy a new pair. 

The real meaning of the thought hits him just a moment after. When he gets back. Like he’s already accepted that it’s part of his plan, that he’s going to leave here. And then what? He doesn’t really know but…he’s going to have to get back. He will. 

He heads toward the fire line. 

He isn’t sure where it is, but the fire being in front of him now affords him the time to make mistakes. Down is still the best direction to head, so he goes that way, kicking up fine ash and dust as he goes. The trees are blackened husks, rising into the sky. Some of them still have leaves at the top, but some were less fortunate. All the ground brush has been burned away. 

The forest looks like a wasteland. He knows it’ll be green again in a year. 

It doesn’t actually take that long for him to walk into an unburned area. He wonders if this is a mosaic, like Scar taught him all those weeks ago, but he doesn’t find another burned area just beyond this. It’s full of green trees. He can hear the distant roar of the fire, but now he can hear birds again, too. 

It’s twilight when he sees movement in the forest ahead of him, and he squints to identify it. He steps a little closer and—yeah, it’s a person. It’s another person. It’s actually another person out here, dressed in eye-shocking yellow. 

He raises a hand, and starts to call out to them, but he doesn’t make any sound. His throat is completely hoarse. He’s not sure he could make a sound if he tried. 

The person spots him anyway. The next few events sort of blur in his memory. The other man shouts something to his colleagues, whom Grian hadn’t seen in the trees around him. They call someone over to him. They say something to Grian. He doesn’t respond. They ask if he’s Grian, and he nods. They tell him that someone on the radio had said to be on the lookout for him. They give him water. They assess his injuries. 

Grian thinks he’s fine, but they seem to think otherwise. 

He’s still standing. His heart is still beating. That’s more than he can say of Mumbo. The thought of it makes him want to crumple and curl into a tiny ball, but he stays standing still. As long he’s upright, he’s okay.  

“Martinez is going to walk you out,” one of them says and Grian nods. Martinez is a guy with a kind-looking face and broad shoulders. He doesn’t even seem phased by the idea of saving a stupid civilian who got caught out in all this mess. He looks like it’d be his pleasure to help Grian out. 

This plan does not, for some reason, happen. Maybe it’s because Grian stumbles when they try to make him walk again, his ankle that he fell on hours earlier finally deciding to revolt. Maybe it’s his utter exhaustion. Maybe it’s because one of the wildland firefighters is especially concerned about Grian’s breathing, and the way his chest sounds funny. Maybe it’s his cough. Maybe it’s because he can barely speak to them, only hoarsely answering their simple questions. 

Night falls fully while they talk it over. The sky is dark, no stars, all blocked out from smoke, but a glow still sits on the horizon. Most of the other members of the hotshot crew have moved on, continuing their jobs in the noble quest to keep the fire from spreading to this side of the valley. 

Grian hears the radio crackle at various intervals, but none of the voices talking are Scar’s. At first he strains to try to hear him, trying to listen with his entire body. He hears nothing but strangers. His own radio is heavy in his pocket. It’s just a paperweight right now. 

The firefighters are probably giving information about him to someone else back at the dispatch office. They’re probably asking for some outside evaluation on what his condition is, or an order on what to do next. He zones out while they speak. He finds it difficult to care about anything else that happens to him now, least of all to him. 

Instead, two of them—Martinez included—walk him to a meadow, and tell him that one of the helicopters is going to pick him up and take him back to town. 

“It’s the fastest way to get you back, that’s all,” Martinez says brightly. He keeps trying to cheer Grian up, which is sweet of him, but failing. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fun!”

“I think we have different definitions of fun,” Grian rasps. 

He doesn’t tell them about Mumbo. Right now it feels like his own little burden to carry, an anchor suspended around his neck for him and him alone to drag. He’ll have to tell someone, as soon as he’s back in town. He’s sure that Scar has already told someone. But right now, at this moment, he carries the weight by himself. Alone. One last private moment with it all, waiting in the dark meadow with two strangers. 

He closes his eyes.

He thinks about the first time he and Mumbo met, when they were not even preteens yet. Grian was a new kid in a new school and a new town, and mad at everything in his life. Mumbo was the partner his teacher assigned for him to work on a project with. But more importantly, Mumbo was kind.

He thinks about evenings spent at Mumbo’s house, or the times they spent roaming around the town doing errands for Grian’s mom. He thinks about the time they both got detention because Mumbo—not Grian!—had a terrible plan to prank one of their teachers. He thinks about the miserable two years that they went to different colleges that led into a purposeful coordination of which university they would study at. He thinks about the emptiness of their apartment the week they arrived in Colorado, and how they ate takeout together while sitting on the boxes. 

The helicopter arrives some indeterminate time later, and Grian blinks his eyes back open to rushing wind chapping his face and lips. The noise is loud, but it’s not as loud as the fire was. Nothing will ever be greater than that sound. He’ll never forget that sound. 

The firefighters bid him farewell. He only knows one of their names, but he waves back. He’s taken into the helicopter. 

As it takes off, he looks through the window straight past a woman who is talking to him, but he isn’t able to see the forest like he anticipated. This forest, this wilderness he’s spent half a summer living in, isn’t visible. Instead the total darkness of night wipes it into a blank slate of inky blackness, punctuated only by the Nitwit Fire in the distance. No other lights. 

Miles and miles of nothing, and Mumbo. 

<< Chapter Ten | Masterpost | Chapter Twelve >>

[oreoambitions]

I think we're alone now for supercorp! :)

If you'd asked Lena this time yesterday whether there was anything she wasn't prepared to do for friendship, she'd have said no. Certainly there was nothing she wasn't prepared to do for Andrea, best friend and roommate, social mentor, fellow genius entrepreneur-to-be. But if you ask Lena today, she'll tell you there's precisely one thing she's not willing to do for friendship, no not even for Andrea, not even if the fate of the world depends on it, and that's hiking.

Specifically backpacking. More specifically, multi day backpacking trips with a gaggle of fellow undergraduates who want to behave like they're hiking the PCT and not trundling down some 60 miles of backwater footpaths just a few hours away from NCU in what was allegedly supposed to be an attempt to form long lasting social bonds but which appears to be in fact a thinly disguised mating ritual. This, in retrospect, is something that Lena should have seen coming. But she was blinded by friendship -  or perhaps by Andrea's pouty face - and so here they are some 16 miles from civilization and Lena has come to the conclusion that hiking is in fact literal hell.

By which she means that everything is burning. Her legs are burning. Her lungs are burning. Her throat is burning. Her lips are chapped and there is a distinctly red tinge to her cheeks which is either going to be a whole new generation of freckles or else it's the beginning of a skin cancer which will lead her to an untimely death and leave the Luthor legacy in Lex's questionably capable hands.

But more than any of those things it's Lena's pride which feels burnt to crisp, and it's the fault of the woman marching along in front of her like none of this is the slightest physical inconvenience. The woman who turns around and, walking backwards without missing a step, fixes Lena with a goofy smile.

"Hey Grumpy," she says, "You doing okay?"

Lena doesn't have the breath in her lungs to protest that Grumpy isn't her name, so she fixes the energetic woman in front of her with a deadpan stare and hopes that's going to do the trick. Ahead of them, Tech Support is talking too loudly about something that would be mildly interesting to Lena if they were, say, chatting over beers in a building with air conditioning and not courting death and mosquitos in the middle of nowhere and calling it fun.

"You need to take a break?"

Potsticker. That's the name Lena knows this woman by. Because everyone agreed ahead of time to go by trail names, and it's ridiculous, and Lena hates it, not only because she somehow got saddled with Grumpy, but because her eyes fall to those lips, those shoulders, and she wants to think some kind of semi-horny thought, and here's the thing: it's difficult to have semi-horny thoughts about someone whose name evokes the image of Chinese takeout. Lena tears her eyes away from long fingers wrapped securely around a backpack strap and tries to arrange her expression into something other than pure exhausted despair.

"I'm good," she gets out. "It's just. A lot."

And it is. Tech Support and Playboy are both vying for Andrea's attention, which is not in and of itself particularly strange since Andrea always seems to have a half dozen boys wrapped around her finger, but it is... annoying. Annoying because Andrea's trail name is Blowjob and it makes Lena uncomfortable in a way she can't quite put her finger on. And Potsticker's sister, Shades, has been falling all over a woman who has been unironically going by Daddy since she met up with them at the trailhead yesterday. Lena isn't sure if that's a sex thing or a gender thing and at this point she's afraid to ask.

Potsticker squints up the trail at their gaggle of hikers and smiles. Somewhere ahead, Dreamer is shouting about stopping to crack a beer, and Short Stuff is shouting something back about needing to check the GPS. 

"They're a little... rowdy," Potsticker admits. "Probably not what you picture when you think of a wilderness trip. But they'll grow on you."

Privately Lena thinks not. "Undergrad is where you make the best friends of your life, that's what Andrea told me," Lena huffs.

"Blowjob?"

"I spend all my time in the lab. Trying to graduate early. Two degrees. Lot of ground to cover. World isn't going to change itself. Not for the better, anyway. So we thought. Join a hiking group. NCU has a. Group for-"

Lena almost smacks into Potsticker where she's halted right in the middle of the trail. "I think we should take a break," Potsticker says.

"But the others-"

"Do you trust me?"

The answer to that question is an easy and obvious no. Lena didn't know any of these people a week ago and they're all going by assumed and frankly borderline obscene names and now that she thinks of it there's no way to be sure that any of these people actually attend NCU in the first place. But Potsticker is standing there in that tanktop with those deep blue eyes and her head cocked to the side and "no" doesn't feel like an appropriate answer.

So Lena says, "Of course."

"You want me to get your water off your pack for you?"

They stand together wordlessly in the middle of the trail, Lena taking sips from the HydroFlask she's schlepped all the way out there and Potsticker nibbling on the water valve looped through her pack straps. After a long moment, Potsticker cocks her head to one side again.

"You hear that?" she asks.

Lena listens. The wind brushes through the tops of the trees and nearby an insect is buzzing. The roar of the river they followed for some time this morning has long since faded into nothingness. "I don't hear anything," Lena says.

Posticker nods. "Exactly. I think we're alone now." And then, hastily, "I know where we're going though; we aren't lost. Alex - Shades - and I, we've done this trail a hundred times. Usually just us. But she's got this thing going with Sam, and Sam likes to do the hiking groups, so. What I'm saying is, it's a lot for me too. I come out here for the quiet. The group is nice; they really do grow on you. But it's... they're out here for something else. It's a more social experience."

"We were looking for a social experience," Lena says. Her eyes are drawn suddenly, intensely, to the rim of her water bottle. "Just not... just..."

"You weren't looking for 60 miles of frat party."

"That's a little on the nose."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong."

Lena looks her in the eye. No words come out. Potsticker is suddenly very close, or maybe Lena is suddenly too aware of her proximity.

"That might be what Andrea came out here for," Lena says. "And there's no shame in that. But I think if I had known I would have stayed home. I'm not- I don't think Andrea and I are looking for the same things."

"And what are you looking for?"

Lena is definitely not imagining it; Potsticker is absolutely getting closer to her and it's absolutely on purpose. And those deep blue eyes have fallen to Lena's mouth and Lena, who has spent the last 24hrs annoyed with her best friend for flirting with everything on the trail with a male pronoun, who is out here actively complaining about how she came looking for community and found a wilderness matchmaking service, is seriously considering whether it's hygienic or legal to rail someone right here in the middle of the trail.

Lena clears her throat. "I am, against my better judgment, going to kiss you now," she announces. "And I'd really like it if before I did you could give me something to call you that isn't so... greasy."

Potsticker laughs. She ducks her head to capture Lena's mouth and for a long, glorious moment, grease is the furthest thing from Lena's mind. It's a clumsy kiss, and the backpacks are not conducive to really holding one another, and it mostly hurts when Potsticker brushes a thumb over Lena's cheek because of that damn sunburn. But Lena smiles anyway.

It’s another 6 miles before she realizes that Potsticker never gave up her name.

///

Thank you for the prompt, Anon! 

Shout-out to @mrsluthordanvers for Sam's trail name

[writingpuddle]

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Nicky asked, digging in his pack for a chocolate bar. To their left, the cliff dropped away precipitously, sheer granite cliffs like sentinels at the end of the world.

Neil stared at Nicky. “No,” he said.

“What, never?”

Neil looked out across the sweeping vista of mountains before them. A speck that could have been a hawk or a raven or a sparrow spun against the sky, too small and distant to judge. He’d stood in the middle of busy cities; he’d gone to school with hundreds; he’d even tried out for a track and field team once. He’d been surrounded by people, and he had been so ferociously lonely it had been like a knife in his chest.

“No,” he said, because he didn’t know how to explain—didn’t even want to, really. He’d felt more alone back in the so-called real world than he’d ever felt in the wilderness, miles from any other person. When there was no one around, there was no one to miss.

~~~The Long-Distance Hiker AU (A Bullet Point Fic)~~~

So after Neil’s mom died he kinda of ghosted around for a while and eventually ended up in a small hiking town in California

He met a bunch of thru hikers and figured, hey, my dad probably won’t find me if I’ve fucked off into the wilderness

So he starts hiking

And pretty soon he realizes it’s the best thing he could imagine

He spends all summer in the mountains and when winter rolls around he finds a temporary job in a skiing town working in a second hand gear shop

He’s an ultralighter in the most accidental sense possible

His gear is weird and cobbled together and his shoes are held together with dental floss

He sleeps under a tarp with a down blanket and a thin foam mat and he’ll eat the same shit day in day out without even registering it while he covers frankly obscene distances every single day

It basically gives Kevin an ulcer

Kevin’s an ultralighter, but in the stuck up, rich bitch way; his gear is probably worth thousands of dollars and he’ll lecture anyone who listens about ripstop nylon and is super snobby and elitist about who is a so-called “real” thru hiker (hint: anyone who doesn’t do it his way isn’t a real thru hiker)

(don’t worry he’ll get smacked around a little by people like Dan and stop being such a little bitch about it but he grew up rich so even though it might’ve been shit living with Riko he really doesn’t always take into consideration the context of how much fucking money gear costs when he’s preaching about ultralighting)

(yes I’m taking out my dislike for pretentious rich ultralighters on him, okay, but the difference is he’ll have character growth versus the people I met are probably still being preachy and self-important to this day)

Andrew’s like the exact opposite

His pack weighs like seventy pounds and he’ll pull a six-inch knife (a gross misuse of smart gear weight management) at anyone who comments

He has a completely contained single person tent that’s big enough to sit up in and a four-inch inflatable mattress

His sleeping bag is rated to like -20 even when he’s hiking in the summer

Nicky swears he once saw him pull a full-sized chocolate cake out of his backpack three days down the trail and everyone says that’s stupid and made up but secretly think its totally true

Andrew likes to hike alone but somehow he’s never more than a day away from Aaron and Nicky and when he keeps showing up near them it gets harder and harder to pretend like he doesn’t actually care about them

Nobody says anything, obviously, but Nicky gets a little teary when he starts to notice the pattern

It was Nicky’s idea; in this universe Erik got him into hiking when he was in Germany so he got the cousins into it as a bonding exercise and then it turned out it was the best family activity they had ever found

This is several years after they graduated and they’ve scrounged together enough time and money to hike the Pacific Crest Trail

Now the upperclassmen:

So Stephanie Walker is a trail angel: one of those people who lives near a long trail and provides snacks and rides and somewhere to stay and basically helps out anyone who comes by with whatever’s going on; she’s pulled a lot of people out of frankly dangerous situations and she’s not afraid of anything the trail has to offer

So Renee finds herself and her faith while living this life of meeting new hikers every day and it’s almost inevitable that she starts to hike and find solace in the wilderness

Allison is one of those Wild types: she’s done some hiking (much to her parents’ chagrin) but she’s never done a thru trail or even much overnighting before, but she’s ready to throw herself into it and doesn’t care how dirty she gets

She totally carries a tiny spa package though

The other women are very skeptical because they take pride in being free from societies expectations and make up and shaving but they come around after Allison pulls it out one time when they’re seven days into a ten day section and gives them face masks and they all have a little pedicure pampering session (so, so needed when your feet are being beaten and bruised by hard terrain all day)

She has a lot of new, expensive gear and is super touchy about people trying to help her (because a beautiful woman absolutely gets people trying to “help” all the time and it’s infuriating and condescending) but she learns to accept help from her closest friends

She was showing off near the beginning of the trail drinking with a bunch of guys and probably got too sloshed trying to act tough (alcohol hits you waaaay harder at high elevations dude, if you’re not expecting it you can get Fucked Up really fast)

It’s Seth who realizes things are getting out of control and pulls her out before the guys can do anything shitty which is how their friendship and eventually their relationship gets started

They piss everyone off with their constant breaking up and getting back together on the trail, sometimes hiking together for days and then splitting up and going to hike with other people but they find a lot of healing out there in the woods

Seth’s mom is totally dismissive and condescending of his hiking, she thinks it’s a stupid waste of time, but she thinks everything he does is a stupid waste of time so at least when he’s out there without cell service he has an excuse to not respond to her

Now Dan

Dan’s trailer trash, right

She’s got no fucking cash but she has this dream in her head to hike the PCT and she’s going to fucking well do it

Her gear is probably most similar to Neil’s except where his is a mess of weird priorities and held together by spit and twine

Hers is meticulously planned

It’s cheap, some of it’s over forty years old, but it’s hers

It’s probably the only stuff in the world that’s actually hers

She accumulated it over about four years, hitting all the second-hand gear events, saving up every penny, packing and repacking and writing everything out in great detail until David Wymack got wind of her plans at a gear event

He’s one of those guys who hiked the PCT thirty years ago back before anyone knew what it was except instead of feeling superior about that it means he knows exactly how much impact experiencing the wilderness can have for disenfranchised people

He approaches Dan and offers to sponsor her hike

She’s resistant at first; she planned this hike, she got all the stuff together, she was going to do it without anyone’s help

But he comes back and says he just wants her to write about her experiences and publish it on his website

He’ll pay her for the work, of course

And she wavers and finally caves because this will move her plans up by about two years if she can make money while she’s hiking instead of having to hoard up enough cash to take six whole months off

Her blog posts are a huge hit

She doesn’t preach about how the mountains saved her, or get too metaphorical about hiking or anything like that

She just talks about the real, raw experience of hiking

The friendships, the trials, the triumphs

The infuriating people whose mental image of the hiking community doesn’t include poor black girls who grew up in a trailer park, who say she’s an inspiration like they actually mean something else

She talks about the days that she flies up the mountains and the days that she can barely drag herself out of her tent and the day she realizes that Allison and Renee, these women she thought could not be more different from her, are the best friends she’s ever had in the world

And she’s takes fucking amazing pictures

She’s also very determined not to have a trail romance

That’s stupid and cliché

Look that guy Matt might be hot but she’s not interested

He’s clearly working through some stuff and she’s not here to be some guys savior or whatever

So Matt then

His mom helped him get sober a couple years ago and he’s been struggling with it ever since

She got him into hiking as an outlet and a healthy hobby and he took to it like a fish to water

He’s got legs for days and he doesn’t mind carrying a heavy pack, he can hike for hours without stopping

(The fact that he’s faster than her pisses Dan off a bit, but sometimes you gotta accept that you’ve got short legs and just hike your own hike, there aren’t any prizes for speed)

He relapsed again a couple months before his hike started and he and Randy weren’t even sure if he was going to be able to do it but he’s damned well going to try

So anyway

Pretty much everyone is trying to actually hike the PCT except Neil

He drives everyone bonkers

His motivation isn’t really about the trail so much as staying out in the wilderness where there are no gangsters to murder you

So he just does whatever he wants and keeps showing up at random points

He’s technically got one of the thru hiker permits but he frequently goes off on side trails not on the PCT and ends up hiding out in the woods so rangers won’t find him

He’ll just hitchhike straight through boring sections or anywhere that you pass through too many towns where he’d rather not be remembered

He keeps coming back to the PCT but it’s more like it’s a rough guideline of where to go than an actual route he’s taking

He’s got his natural colouring back because who’s dying their hair or wearing fucking contacts on the trail?

But also

Who would ever associate a runaway mafia kid with a guy with overgrown hair and a stained t-shirt who’s sitting serenely on a mountain pass in a photo on David Wymack’s website?

Nobody

That’s right kids, Nathan doesn’t have a role in this one because he doesn’t find Neil

Maybe he gets killed in a shoot out or something and some other gangster steps up and takes over, and in the shuffle Neil’s just kinda forgotten

Maybe he finds out months later and he just stares at the computer in shock because he should have known, shouldn’t he? He should have felt it when his father died

He should have realized that he was free

That happens later though

Who fucking cares what Riko’s doing honestly

Kevin has somehow attached himself to Andrew and is driving him up the wall with advice to improve his hiking/base weight/distance/etc and he sees this guy (Neil) who regularly covers like thirty or forty miles a day (obscene!) and is like YES this guy is my people!

Except when he starts talking to Neil he realizes he’s this total weirdo who doesn’t even have a cook set he just eats cold food (a common enough thing among ultralighters, but not like this. Oh god, not like this)

Neil’s just sitting there gnawing on a pack of uncooked ramen like a fucking animal

And he’s not! Even! Hiking! Properly!

You’ll never finish the trail if you hike like this!

Neil just gives him a blank look

He’s got no interest on getting on some “verified” list of people who hiked the PCT, he just likes hiking

Andrew likes him

I mean obviously he despises him what the hell is with that janky ass setup but also he’s so unconventional and unapologetic how could Andrew not be into that?

They’re the kind of people who give wilderness rescue personnel grey hair, but for completely opposite reasons

Neil keeps running into them because even though he covers so much ground every day, his meandering route means he doesn’t actually move down the trail very fast

They’ll be like wait weren’t you like a week ahead of us and he’s like oh yeah I heard about this cool waterfall and took a sixty mile side trail to visit it and nearly ran into a momma bear with two cubs, it was awesome

And they all start to grow on him, and each other, almost accidentally

Look none of them are out there romanticizing the trail as some kind of magical place where the problems of the real world disappear and the people are somehow more pure and true or whatever

People are people and they bring their issues wherever they go

But there is a paring down

When your daily concerns are just mileage and shoes and food and weather, a lot of other stuff fades into the background

And well the truth is a lot of people are on those trails to work through stuff

And they find each other

Gradually, without even really noticing

They team up in June, groups of three or four with crampons and ice axes to get over the Sierra’s.

Neil was planning to just do side hikes and wait for the snow to melt—he isn’t so reckless he wants to go over the ice alone, but Kevin insists he join them and for the first time he hikes in a group with Kevin and the cousins all together.

It’s weird

He’s not used to people talking to him when he’s hiking and he frequently doesn’t respond and it’s not because he’s being rude he’s just so focussed on what he’s doing and what’s around him that he literally doesn’t hear them

And then

Nicky slips

It’s not his fault, they did nearly everything right (Kevin may be a pretentious ass, but he does know his shit) but sometimes shit just happens for no reason

And they’re at the edge of the ice sheet so Nicky’s just untying himself from the rope that links them together, he’s not even moving, and the snow beneath him shifts and he doesn’t even have time to scream before he’s hurtling down the snow below the trail towards the cliff at the bottom of the ice sheet

Neil doesn’t even hesitate

He dives after him, ice axe in one hand like a fucking gladiator and gets his arm wrapped around Nicky’s waist

He slams the ice axe into the snow and it drags behind them, and it looks like it’s not going to catch, and the edge is getting closer and closer—

Until the axe catches something, and Nicky and Neil lurch to a halt, clinging to each other, hanging off of Neil’s one arm and the axe.

Neil looks up and sees Andrew, Aaron and Kevin in various places on the slope above them, their axes dug in and long gouge marks in the snow beneath their heels, strung together by a ropeline that’s still attached to Neil’s waist

That rope is probably the only thing that slowed them down enough that Neil could stop them without ripping his arm clean off

It’s hardly a by-the-book rescue, and in fact it was pretty stupid, but they’re okay, they’re okay, that’s all that matters

That night they light a fire down by a lake and Nicky cries on Aaron’s shoulder and Andrew keeps clenching his fists because he’s never felt so helpless in his life and it was Neil that jumped, not him

He knows that he was at the far end of the line and he would’ve made it worse if he had, but doing nothing while Neil risked his life to save Nicky

They don’t really talk about it

But you kind of can’t help being friends after that

And even after they’re out of the high mountains and back on solid trails Neil keeps tabs on them

And Nicky befriends the others and without even meaning to they start to develop a sort of loose trail family vibe

They’re not hiking together all the time like some of the groups they meet, but they check on each other all the time and wait up in resupply villages and bond over firepits and shitty hot chocolate mixes and swap tips on how to keep the butt-chafing at bay

Neil sticks to the outskirts, mostly, but he starts to open up a little, in fits and spurts, tiny non-specific things that wouldn’t even register to most people but that this particular group knows means more than that

He’s slowing down, too, sometimes hiking entire days with people and covering half his usual distance even when there’s no cliffs or glaciers threatening him

He likes hiking with Andrew the most, though

Because neither of them are big talkers when they’re hiking and Andrew’s pack might be absurdly heavy but he’s got legs the size of tree trunks and endurance to match, so he might not be fast but he can outwalk half the people on the trail by sheer relentlessness

They both like to camp up high, near treeline (so Neil can set up his tarp) and in the places that it’s legal they’ll start a small fire and Andrew will loan Neil his pot so he can actually cook his fucking ramen for once and sometimes they’ll watch the Milky Way rise and share secrets under the open sky, not looking at each other so they don’t break the illusion, and sometimes they won’t say anything at all but it’s okay, because they’re saying nothing together.

It’s nice

It’s maybe more than nice

The summer draws to a close and Neil is starting to realize that he doesn’t want it to

He never wants the hiking season to end but this time it’s different

This summer has been perfect

And he knows deep in his bones that once they leave the trail things will change

The others have lives to return to, and Neil…

The trail is all he has

And if he’s barely hiking alone at all these days, well, who’s going to call him out on it?

The others like having him around because he stops them from getting too fixated on the Trail to see the trail

He still takes side trips but now sometimes people will come along and he’ll stand at the base of a canyon staring up at the glossy white walls and Dan will snap a photo for her blog and smile, because the PCT is just a line on a map, but the hike is all of them; together

He’s hiking with Andrew in September when a storm hits, this time vicious

Neil huddles under his tarp in resignation

Storms suck, he always gets wet, no matter how much he lowers the tarp, but he’s used to it; he just waits it out

But it’s just getting worse

Hail lashing at the tarp and pummelling the ground and maybe for once he regrets camping so high up

And Andrew has to shout to be heard but finally Neil realizes he’s offering to let Neil come into his tent

You’re going fucking freeze, just get in here

Neil goes

It’s weird

It’s instantly weird

The tent is not built for two people, so they’re both sitting cross legged with their heads ducked to not press against the roof

The storms probably not going to let up soon, Andrew says

Yeah, Neil says.

Andrew sighs

Lie down, he says, and Neil does, and Andrew lies down next to him, shoulder to shoulder

It barely works, only because neither of them are very big people

Neil’s pack is outside wrapped in his tarp and all he has is his damp down blanket but he’s not cold anymore, not with Andrew bundled up in his ridiculous sleeping bag right next to him

The storm rages for nearly two days and what passes between them in that tent, nobody knows

If they’re barely ever seen apart after it, well. You only see people so often on the trail. It could easily be a coincidence

And if Neil doesn’t even set his tarp up on rainy nights anymore, well. They never camp near other people anyway, so who’s to know?

In early October the snow blows in, blocking the route to the finish.

They drift around a resupply village for almost two weeks, waiting for the trail to reopen, but finally even Kevin accepts that it isn’t going to

After all of that, none of them are going to finish the trail

It’s a disappointment—of course it is. For most of them, the end of their trip is now a nondescript exit into a village, no fanfare, no closure; they didn’t even know they were done for days

Still, it’s not so bad

They’re all together

Allison suggests Vegas, but they all laugh it down; they wouldn’t even know how right now, bearded and hairy and ravenous as they are

They go to South Carolina instead

It’s not really even discussed that they’ll stay together, they just all go; Allison hosts them at her resort and they laugh at the incongruous weirdness of seeing each other in real clothes, and it’s different, but it’s also okay

They stay for another two weeks, and they don’t hike another fucking inch

We should try the Continental Divide Trail sometime, Dan says

Her blog is so popular now that she’s got sponsorships from more than just Wymack waiting for her

She could make a career out of hiking and blogging and doing gear reviews and it’s a dream she’d never even realized she wanted until she had it

And if she accidentally fucked up and ended up with a hot trail boyfriend? Well, nobody’s perfect

And he has a great butt

(she has photos of it on her blog, from when they jumped into a glacier lake naked back in August)

Everyone is jealous

How about that trek in Iceland? Matt suggests

Or the whats-it-called in New Zealand, Allison says

Oh, I bet there’s some good ones in Europe! Nicky says. You guys can all meet Erik!

And it’s going to be different, but it’s not going away, and Neil feels calm in a way he never has at the end of a hiking season before

Eventually everyone has to start making plans to return to their lives, and jobs, and Neil sneaks out to the back of the house to sit in crisp fall air and watch leaves spiral down out of the trees

Andrew follows him

They sit together, watching the moon rise over the hills, and when Andrew asks Neil to come home, Neil says yes

[tuellertrails]

We’re 3 weeks into our hike so far, here are a few things I have learned

- Wake up EARLY in the desert. Because it will get hotter than hell and you will die of heatstroke if you hike in the heat of the day.

- Take your shoes (foot prisons) off at every opportunity. Your feet will thank you

- The higher you go in elevation, the harder the hiking is, the less hot it becomes and the more beautiful the scenery is. The desert has its own kind of beauty, but being in an alpine environment with lots of trees and the smell of sun warmed pine needles is my favorite place to be (besides a comfortable bed watching TV and eating snacks, of course). We’ve had several days of hiking where we’ve done over 5k feet of elevation, and I find that I am particularly prone to swearing and exhaustion on those days 😂. But the incredible views do make up for it somewhat! It’s all part of the experience.

- Ibuprofen (Vitamin I) and Benadryl are a hikers best friend.

- Pack out fresh food whenever you can. Vegetables and fruit have never tasted so good.

- Kindness is EVERYWHERE. We’ve received food, cold drinks, rides, camp chairs to sit in and many other kindnesses from trail angels, other hikers, family members and random people. Everything is appreciated.

Speaking of kindness, we spent several hours one day waiting out the heat of the day in a small hut next to the wind farm made for hot, suffering PCT hikers, with a cooler of cold water for us to enjoy. It was 95* even in the shade 🥵. We did not leave early enough that day, but it gave me the chance to wait out the heat and look at my phone 😂.

Here’s some highlights/points of interest from the last 100+ miles

- We heard a great story from Trail Angel who gave us a ride out of Julian, who heard it from a different hiker that she gave a ride to. So the hiker was hiking down the trail (early on, around mile 15) when he hears a voice say "hello". He looks down and sees a guy laying in the bushes in a sleeping bag with mud on his face. "Oh, uh... hello" the hiker says. The man responds "Would you like to be blessed with magic sand?" And holds up a pile of sand in his hand. The guy wasn't sure if this dude was on drugs, was going to throw the sand in his face or what, and he's contemplating how to side step this very weird man when the dude stands up and reveals that he is completely naked and says "You should really use mud. It makes the best sunscreen". Glad that it wasn’t me, poor guy.

- We went through a small town in Warner Springs who had a gas station and some picnic tables, so basically a hiker haven. We spent a couple of hours eating gas station food, and I gave another hiker a shot in the butt 😂. Nursing skills always coming in handy out here. Landon consistently says that the gas station hot dog was one of the highlights of the trail.

- My feet are MUCH better than they were. Getting inserts and some foot compression socks were a game changer for me. I now can walk many more miles without having to stop so often to roll out the golf balls on my feet. Despite this, hiking is still hard and we still find new soreness, aches and pains every day. But I do think that we are toughening up and able to do more miles than we did the first week. My blisters are mostly hardened now, and we have done as many as 18 miles in a day at this point.

- Water can be very scarce, and you have to plan out your water carries very carefully. One water source in this last stretch was a big water tank a few hundred feet from “Mikes Place”. Mikes Place is near the trail and has a big water cistern for hikers to go and get water, but they also let hikers camp and party there and sometimes feed them. There were some comments on Guthooks (the hiking navigation app we use) about how Mikes Place was kind of sketchy and borderline sexist, but we went down there with our hiker friends Sarah and Clyde, hoping for some food. Mikes place was interesting to say the least. It was a run down one story house that looked rather shabbily built, with a blanket as a wall in one section. It’s in a few acres of property, and there are all sorts of random things in front of the house. An assortment of stools and chairs, some lawn games like croquet and darts, a fire pit, a few coolers, and then even more random things like a sword stuck in a stone (a replica like in the movie). There was also an old painted car on one end, a shabby outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and a greasy grill and lots of bowls and plates and utensils, and lots of other items spread out across the property. It seemed a little hoarder-y to us. They had Johnny cash playing in the background which kind of fit the vibe of the place. There were a few hikers there eating already, and a more stout gentleman wearing a t shirt, shorts and flip flops whose name was Scott. He said that there was no food left but that we could cook our own if we wanted, and we were like "ummm, sure?" 
So he brought out the ingredients for breakfast burritos and we got to cracking eggs and slicing veggies and fired up the very greasy outdoor grill, and within about 15 minutes we were eating breakfast burritos. Scott was a little weird. He would pop in and out of where we were cooking and then disappear again, I guess he was nice enough but he just gave off a bit of a weird vibe. Apparently Mike lives in San Diego and Scott is a caretaker of his place for now, along with another guy named Spirit who we met a little later as we ate. He was a older guy, with long white hair in a ponytail and beard, wearing a dirty green zip hoodie with what looked to be a hand painted "VVR" on it, jeans and chacos. He chatted with us briefly, he is a hiker who has hiked the John Muir Trail every year since 2014 and then decided to go work at VVR, a resort in the Sierras, after visiting it so many times. He said he was headed up there in a few weeks. Anyways, we are our burritos, washed our plates, said thank you and left to go filter water from the tank up above, leaving some money in the donation box as a thank you. The food was good but I definitely wouldn't have felt comfortable being there by myself, Mike’s Place was a little...dirt baggy, but I’m glad I got to experience it all the same. Apparently Scott is hiking now, and showed up at the campground in Idyllwild a few days later, drunk as a skunk and vomited all over 😂.

- We’re 10% done with the trail! Which really puts into perspective how long this hike actually is 😂. We had heard that our trail legs would start to come in after 3 weeks, but both Landon and I agree that we’re still quite sore and wake up with different aches and pains every day. We are definitely running a major calorie deficit at this point, burning upwards of 4K calories per day, burning much more than we are eating. This is ok with us, as we could both lose 30 Lbs or more and still be in a healthy weight range! Our friend Jamie, who hiked the trail years ago with her husband, says that we are losing our “town fat”. But we both agree that our clothes are feeling a bit looser than they were before. Who knew that 3 weeks of near continuous intense exercise would do that? We are slowly getting more fit, so hopefully those trail legs will come in soon here in the next few weeks.

- Remember the girl I talked about in our last post a few weeks ago, who woke up our friend at 5 AM and told him that she had no pants? Well, he came across her again a few days ago. She was topless, sitting in a stream in her underwear, playing a ukelele. And much to his chagrin, she remembered him! 😂 Not exactly a meet cute.

- Though there are definitely some eccentric people out here, 95% of the hikers and people we meet are wonderful. We have met the most incredible people as we hike, and are grateful to have made some good friends. They say that trauma bonds you, and all of the hikers have similar trauma out on trail 😂. We all know how hard this is, how beautiful, and have experienced first hand the heavy packs we carry after filling up our food and water, and the different aches and pains that accompany hiking day after day. Ive seen some pretty gnarly feet 🦶among the hikers out here, covered in blisters and cuts, with blackened toenails and foot fungus. Our feet are constantly getting beaten up! I’m glad to know that it isn’t just us experiencing the aches and pains. Ive always been a bit of a social butterfly, and after a year of isolation due to the Covid pandemic, the extrovert in me is absolutely loving the social aspect of our hike.

We will be getting off trail for four days this next weekend to go to a family wedding and sadly, a funeral as well. We were saddened to hear that Landon’s Grandfather has passed away, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for many years in the last years of his life. I never knew him before the Alzheimer’s had affected him, but I was told that he was smart as a whip, very funny, and a great story teller. Landon has fond memories of his grandfather, going on family trips and hearing his many stories. Even after the disease progression, Arlin was a very sweet and gentle man who was happy to give you a hug and listen to you talk, even if he didn’t quite remember who you were. We feel very lucky to have been able to spend some time with him and with Landon’s Grandmother the week before the trail, and he will be greatly missed by all. We are looking forward to getting off trail for a few days to reunite with our family to both celebrate and mourn together.

Thanks to everyone for the love and support in our PCT journey so far, this has been the most incredible experience of our lives so far and we’re grateful for every second, no matter how tough, of this great adventure.

- The Tueller’s