Matteo agrees to stay behind with them; there’s a little rest stop with picnic tables and a (currently closed) building called the Valerie Portal Store where they’ll hang out in the meantime. It apparently has incredible cheeseburgers and fries we can look forward to after we get back approximately seven hours from now.
Which leaves only six of us braving Mount Valerie’s 9,872 feet of steep, rocky trails: Silas, Hunter, Trey, Parker, Thorn, and me.
We pare down our packs to only the essentials. And I mean thebareessentials—I empty mine of everything but my water supplies, snacks, a lightweight long-sleeved shirt, sunscreen, and my disposable camera.
“You’re leaving your phone?” Zoe asks, watching as I transfer it into the tote bag of deadweight that’ll hang back with them here at the picnic tables. “Don’t you want to get vlog footage from the top?”
I feel Thorn’s gaze land on me as I answer, but I hold mine steady on Zoe.
“That’s what this is for,” I say, holding up my disposable camera. “I just, you know…thought it might be better to see it through my own eyes. Not a screen.”
It’s more than just that, though I keep this part to myself: the whole reason I started filming vlog footage in the first place was so I could show Caden how wrong he was to underestimate me, and that I not only didn’t die, but passed the wilderness test with flying colors.
Now that the only person I’m trying to prove something to is myself, the entire vlog just feels…pointless. I might still post everything someday since I have so much footage, but it’ll be more travel documentary than anything else, and for better reasons.
When I finally glance Thorn’s way, I can see it written all over his face: he’s proud of me.
“Hey, Sadie,” Emma says, just before the six of us head up. “Maybe you should take these? I definitely won’t be needing them while you’re gone.”
She’s pointing down to her hiking boots.
My poor, battered Ultraboosts have carried me this far—barely—but I’d be foolish to reject her offer.
“What size are you?” I ask, already pretty confident they’ll fit just from looking at them.
“Seven and a half,” she says.
We trade shoes as Thorn passes out hiking poles, and as suspected, they’re a perfect fit. A little stiff compared to what I’m used to, but what they lack in comfort, they make up for in support and traction.
“Everybody good?” Thorn asks, looking from the coffee bros to Parker to me, and then over to the group that’ll be staying behind. “Matty? You good?”
Matteo nods. “Milkshakes on me for the three of us whenever they open,” he says, tilting his head toward the shop. And probably because he can hear everything Thorn isn’t saying—Can I trust you to stay put? Can I trust you at all?—he adds, “We’re good. We’ll be right here when you get back.”
Seven hours is a long time to stay put, I can’t help but think.
Seven hours is also a long time to hike.
“Let’s go, then,” Thorn says, and he leads the way.
We follow, ducklings in a row, with Trey bringing up the rear. It isn’t too steep—not at first. We’ll be covering roughly two miles every hour, Thorn tells us, and it’s around seven miles to the top.
It starts feeling like a mountain around mile two.
The incline grows gradually steeper with every step, and I’m thankful for so many things: Emma’s hiking boots (there’s a ton of loose gravel,waymore than any trails we’ve hiked so far), the hiking poles (for balance), sunscreen (the sun feels extra potent up here), and the long-sleeved shirt I packed (it’s June, but it’s already a little chilly, and I see snow higher up on the mountain).
We take our first break at an alpine lake about three miles up. The water is so glassy and clear you can easily see every tiny pebble at the bottom.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the scenery. “This isincredible.”
But Thorn’s not looking at the lake or the huge jagged rocks at its edges—he’s looking atme.
“This is only the beginning,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Just wait.”
We press on.
I have nothing good to say about miles four and five. Nothing good at all, except that Thorn was right, and the view from the lake was only just the beginning. From this vantage point—past the mountain’s halfway point, and not a moment too soon!—I can see forever, far out over all the land we’ve covered these last ten days.
It’s a little dizzying, honestly.
