One advantage of living in the boondocks is that places like this are pretty easy to get to. The trailhead for this adventure is about an hour from my front door.

I got out of work later than expected on Friday and so did not start up this trail until 8:10 pm local time. And I hadn’t got far into the climb before I ran out of switchback.

The souls who built these trails did not believe in switchbacks. Perhaps it was native impatience, or indifference, or just the effort to inflict maximum pain on the barmy souls who dared to use their trails. Whatever the cause, this trail quickly dispensed with switchbacks and headed directly upslope, heartlessly, relentlessly, while the sun glowed low and orange behind me. With a 40-pound pack on my back and a disgustingly cheerful dog underfoot, I trudged my way up the mountain, up and up and up, stopping every hundred feet to gain my breath.

But once on the ridge, this is the view that unfolded. I love this stuff. It’s why I’m daft enough to head alone into unknown wilderness at sundown.

Well, the cartographers were in cahoots with the trail-builders, and the trail along this ridge went a lot longer than it was welcome to do. It moseyed along, up and down, here and there, right along into dark. The lake I sought was four hundred feet below the ridge, and when I finally attained the rock slope when it was so dark I could barely make out the trail. It was a pitch-black line ahead of me in the darkness. I only found it because my family and I were both praying for me.

Well, next morning I cooked breakfast, explored some, then strapped on my pack and came out. Sad, but I can’t do much climbing and rock-hopping; I can’t afford the risk of getting hurt when I’m alone. Besides, I wanted to get back up the rock slope before the day got hot, and on a summer Saturday I always have plenty to do at home.

But the mountains are close. I’ll be back in a few weeks.