When your toddler asks not to go back in the carrier and wants to use a trekking pole with you, you say yes and guide them during every step down the mountain... resulting in his first successful hike not being carried.
📷 Canon 6D
Have you ever stood at the world's end?
Have you ever seen the ashes fall?
Have you ever felt the silence of last light?
It's the way that summer surprises you with forbidden love, naive and hopeful and drunk with saltwater and nostalgia. A nostalgia for something you know will end, even before it ever was. A wistfulness for a past that has yet to be, the present so fleetingly fickle, so elusive to hands seeking to hold it.
We grasp for fireflies like wishes fallen from the sky, running and dancing through them as they fade into night. Memory is like that, isn't it? To what do we cling if it was never ours? In what do we believe if it was different, then, from what haunts us still? Do they still shine, do they still remain what they are if we capture and trap them in our bitter, bottled minds?
I remember what it was like to feel the intoxication of you, of us, of the whole damn affair. The explosion of light and color, the smell of sweat and sex and resurrected dreams. The fire burning within my smoldering heart, kindled by carnival lust and starburst and the fever pitch of chemistry.
We always assume that we will never die, that death is but a cruel joke told by a starving comedian. That we will continue on as we always have, the familiarity of blankets warming us in fields and pickups cooled by the moon. Chilled by the end that we never see coming. As if we can stave off the sun if we cling more tightly to the stars.
We feign shock when we finally notice the leaves breaking off their engagement with the trees, those gnarled, weathered fingers clutching at yesterday. The ghost of what once filled its palms with promises and so much fucking life. The emptiness that follows, and the embrace of loss.
We still believe that they will return, and so often they do. But it is never quite the same as it was before. Perhaps more vibrant, more truthful and profound if we let it, but it cannot bring back what it left behind. What we were. What we shared in the moments we thought would always last, fearing that they were the last we'd ever have. **Continued in comment section⬇️**
From Day 2 - We took a “rest day” this trip where we stayed at Red Eagle Lake for 2 nights in a row. This gave us one day where we didn’t have to wake up and pack up, so we went exploring down the Continental Divide Trail. We spent a lot of time at this location where we picked berries and went swimming in the creek (very briefly) 🏊♂️🍓🏔 #glaciernationalpark#glaciernps#continentaldividetrail#redeaglecreek
📷 Reposted from: @backpackingviews_
A crazy of a hike would this be around the Grand Canyon area? Would you do it? 🤙🏽🎒 For more of the best content on Instagram —> @backpackingviews_ @backpackingviews_ ✌🏽❤️
📷: @minayounglee -
We are getting ready to go backpacking and I was trying to think of something profound and inspiring to say about backpacking, but I honestly can't think of anything. So here's what I got.
To me backpacking means being dirty and gross, and crying in the wilderness because I'm so tired, but also feeling like a badass for finishing the trail.
So if you need me I'll be here overstuffing my pack and eating potato chips.