After their disappearance the previous night, I had guessed that Vick and Ronan might have camped at the next water source up the trail. But there was no sign of them at the rushing stream around the bend, nor did they appear at the next creek, or the next. With no way to contact them, there was nothing to do but hike on alone. The prospect saddened me, as I had gotten used to enjoying the jovial spirit and light-hearted conversation of my new friends. It is very easy to lose a hiking buddy on the trail (one wrong turn at the wrong time and they’re gone), but it would not be the last I saw of Vick and Ronan.
I climbed up in the cool shade of morning past the Castle Crags, a jagged granite rock formation jutting out of the surrounding forest. The weather was hot and water scarce. To fill my bottles I had to trek a third of a mile off-trail to scoop from a stagnant-looking pool ironically named “Heavens Spring”. As I walked along the ridgeline, majestic views of Mount Shasta helped my mollify my melancholy at losing Vick and Ronan. Dusk approached and I found the perfect tentsite to watch the sunset paint the volcanic peak in deep shades of pink and purple, filling my heart with a sense of peace.
Russell on the Road 