I retired six weeks ago, just shy of my 62nd birthday.

My husband Tom left the fire department a month later, and we celebrated by buying a used 24-foot

Winnebago. Our idea was simple, point the nose of the rig at the cascades, and learn what it meant to relax.

Gifford Pinchot National Forest seemed like the right first test, plenty of dispersed sights,

clear summer air, and the promise of Tucklock Lake's mirror-smooth view of Mount Adams.

We turned off State Route 12 onto Forest Road 25 late on a Tuesday morning,

confident we had found the perfect stretch of wilderness to mark the beginning of our new,

unscheduled life. Tom handled the driving while I watched the elevation creep past 3,000 feet

on the dash display. Cell service flickered but never quite disappeared. Aside from one

logging truck, and a lone silver Chevrolet C-10 pickup heading north, we had the road to ourselves.

The trees on either side were second-growth Douglas fir and cedar, tall enough to hide the sky,

until a sharp bend suddenly framed the snow cap of Mount

Adams in the windshield. I took a photograph, even though we were both sure we would see better

angles later. By mid-afternoon we had rattled across a narrow bridge spanning Taku Creek

and spotted a cleared knoll about 30 yards off the pavement.

A faded wooden post confirmed it was legal to camp for up to 14 days.

Tom leveled the RV, and I climbed down the bank to fetch water filtered through pumice-colored gravel.

The air smelled of wet needles and wood smoke from someone's distant fire.

We set our chairs facing west, poured two

fingers of bourbon, and toasted the quiet. A low rumble in the evening reminded me that

these mountains are alive in a very literal way. Small rock slides are common along Road 25, especially

when the temperature swings at dusk. We heard one thud, then another, somewhere up

...