The rain was steady, as I strained to see the next waymark on the climb up Mount Brandon.
The black marker posts did not identify an obvious footpath, but instead indicated the general direction—uphill through a marshy field of rubble. The markers stood every hundred yards or so, but were sometimes too far ahead to be seen.
I had been climbing for about two hours. The footing was difficult. Rivulets of rainwater ran down the mountainside through channels that had to be circumvented. A vertical swamp. Each step, I slipped on a rock or plunged into an ankle-deep puddle. My shoes were soaked.
Looking up, I could not measure my progress toward the shoulder of the mountain. Dark rain clouds obscured Brandon’s summit. Once inside the cloud bank, I could see only the dim shapes of boulders and scrubby trees. The markers faded from view.
I wasn’t exactly lost, but I was stranded. Somewhere ahead was a trail that would lead me down the other side of the mountain, but in the fog I couldn’t find it. Continue reading