White Pine Lake via Tony’s Grove

Sometimes, you just need to get out. Not in the dramatic, slam-the-door kind of way—but in the quiet, soul-stretching kind of way. This trip was exactly that. A gentle rebellion against routine, a reunion with my backpack (which hadn’t seen my shoulders since I was 29), and a chance to chase ridgelines and sketchy faces like I used to when snowboarding and hiking were less about cardio and more about curiosity.

This time, I wasn’t alone. Two neighborhood friends—kindred spirits with a shared love for wandering—joined me. That was a bonus. Usually, I’m the solo type, chasing silence and solitude. But this trio felt right. The night before, I went for a midnight run (because why not?), which turned out to be longer than the trail we were about to hike. So yes, my legs were already whispering complaints, and my hip flexors were throwing tiny tantrums. But the views? Oh, the views. They made every ache worth it.

As we climbed toward the crest, the world opened up. Meadows near White Pine Lake stretched like sleepy green oceans, and the trail was blissfully empty—just us and our meandering conversations, breaking the silence like soft jazz – that was for G!.

Setting up camp was a comedy of instincts and improvisation. Our first spot was right on the trail (oops), but one of my companions—who had spent time in Australia—channeled his inner bushman and led us to a hidden gem off the beaten path. We dodged the open grazing meadow (cattle galore) and found ourselves in a quiet nook that felt like it had been waiting for us.

Dinner was simple, the chatter was rich. We swapped stories, shared gear regrets, and laughed at our collective under-preparedness. It had been a while for all of us, and it showed—in the best way. As we pretended to sleep (because sleeping in the wild is more about trying than succeeding), we also shared dreams of making this a regular thing. Fingers crossed.

In the end, it was a great adventure. Not epic in the Instagram sense, but deeply satisfying in the way only real, raw experiences can be. I hope to do more of this—more wandering, more connecting, more escaping. Because sometimes, getting out is exactly what you need to find your way back in.