My first cast was stiff and awkward, the fly snagging a low-hanging branch. I felt a pang of embarrassment and frustration at the creek’s smallness. Beside me, Jeff worked his 3-weight with ease, a bow-and-arrow cast sending his fly effortlessly beneath the tangled rhododendron. I couldn’t help but smile. The fishing wasn’t the point—not really. Being here, finally at home—in the place I love most, sharing this time with an old friend—that was the point.

A snowshoe trip to Mirror Lake on Mt. Hood in Oregon.

We arrived at our ‘connecting trail’ in good spirits and sat for a second drinking water and snacking on granola bars. Refueled and motivated to get down the mountain for a pint of cold beer we started to hike again. Worry set in as the ‘trail’ quickly transformed into…

“It’s been a mixed bag to say the least. Starting with the positives: the weather has been phenomenal, highs in the eighty’s and nights hovering around sixty-five. Perfect for sleeping. And we haven’t seen or felt a single mosquito. The trail is gradual but challenging and ends at the river each night making it easy to bathe. The negatives: The campgrounds are public. No vacancy across the board. Not to mention there’s a strange and unwelcome juxtaposition from quiet trail time to rowdy river party, at least in my opinion. However, falling somewhere on the positive end of the spectrum, we’ve benefited each night from dumb luck and/or the kindness of strangers. Our campsites have been better than any we could’ve paid for. I guess overall we’ll call it a toss up. 7/10 for the wilson river trail.”

My right ski slips and all at once I’m tangled up like a baby deer on ice. I topple into a snow hill. My camera slings around my neck and lands, lens first, in the powder. “Dammit!”

I glance over to the dash clock. 12:42pm; we’re getting into the heat of the high desert afternoon now. Another bump in the gravel road jars the truck…

A hot tortilla, a heap of seasoned meat, some cilantro, some onion, a squeeze of lime, and cheap beer to wax finish. Devine.

My right foot is starting to tingle and so I readjust a few inches to the left. Ahhh, relief. I’m happily crammed into the back, bench seat, of an access cab Tacoma. Two of my best friends ride shotgun telling stories and laughing.