I don't usually post. I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything weird.

This is just what happened to me and my boyfriend

on a two-day backpacking trip last fall. It wasn't our first overnight, but we're not hardcore either.

We do weekend loops close to home, keep our gear simple, and stick to marked trails. We picked a long

but moderately popular trail because the reviews said it had reliable water,

decent campsites, and one stretch with good views across a valley.

Nothing about it felt like a gamble.

The weather was clear, the high was in the low 70s with a breeze,

and the forecast mentioned a bright moon after dark.

We left a simple plan with my sister, where we'd park, our loop direction, when we expected

to be back, and we carried a small first aid kit, a whistle, a PLB we rarely use, and the usual

overnight stuff.

I say all of that because we weren't winging it.

We did it the way you're supposed to. We started

late morning and took it slow. The trail climbed in gentle switchbacks through mixed forest

and then settled into a long contour around the shoulder of a ridge. We saw two day hikers and a

trail runner in the first few miles, then no one. The path was obvious, a little dusty from

a dry spell, and the wind came through in soft pushes that moved the tops of the trees, and then

passed on like a wave. We didn't talk much. We just fell into the rhythm of stepping over routes,

checking the map in the way-finding posts at junctions,

and keeping an eye on our water. The stream crossings were as advertised, knee-high at worst,

mostly ankle, and the water was clear but left a mineral taste on the tongue. We stopped twice

...