Imagine this...
Our Wrangler bounces to a stop under the spreading branches of a stately sycamore along the banks of the stream we have been following. Almost five miles back we left the forest service road to follow this old logging trail. The trail ahead has been blocked by a very old landslide. "End of the road?" you ask with a smile as I look at you, soliciting your comments. "We'll just leave it here?" I ask, setting the emergency brake firmly. "As good a place as any...high enough from the water...the tree looks healthy enough" you reply as an experienced eye evaluates our parking place. Nodding my head in agreement, I swing my legs out of the driver's seat and stand on the grassy bank, stretching. The sun is still climbing and has yet to reach half it's zenith. The mountain air here is so crisp and clear you can almost drink it. You come up behind me and slip your arms around me gently, resting your chin on my shoulder. "It is so beautiful up here" you whisper in my ear. "Mmmmm" is my only response as my hands cover yours.
Fifteen minutes later, we have replaced the top on the jeep and shouldered our backpacks. The remains of the logging road veer from the stream a little ways ahead and the trailhead is yet beyond that. I watch your thighs and hips from behind as you climb over the landslide, admiring the smooth motions of your sleek muscles. We walk silently...observantly...up the overgrown road. The mountain wildlife scatters about us with our approach only to resettle a safe distance away, watching these invaders of their domain. They can't know we love their home as much as they do. A couple miles further, the broad white paint on the side of the old elm marks the trail head and we pause. A small rest here then we adjust our straps and tighten our boots before ascending the trail. Farther and higher and steeper, the trail winds along the mountain slope, snaking back and forth up the steep ascents. Deer are everywhere here in this undisturbed country. Wild turkeys break cover at our approach and fly noisily over the ridgeline. A young red fox darts up the hill in a flash of gold and rust. And ahead of me, quietly, almost reverently, my dark haired beauty drinks all of this in.
Four hours later, we have made camp on a small rounded ridgeline. A rocky mountain brook nearby falls from a limestone shelf and plunges into a deep pool it has taken eons to carve. Around us, tall Douglas pines mix with the aspen to shelter us from wind and sun. This will be home for a few days so we take the time to make it comfortable. I build a clothes rack near the pool yet far enough from the spray to allow drying to occur and rig a bear line from which we will suspend our food. You carefully prepare our ground bed with soft twigs and pine needles, covered by swathes of thick moss. By late afternoon, all is well in hand and I begin our meal. Our conversation is light and carefree, the world of worries and concerns is a mile below us. After dinner, you do the dishes in the stream while I refill our water bottles. The water is crystal clear and ice cold.