I LEFT MY TENT AT 8 AM AND HIKED QUICKLY AND EASILY TO THE POWER LINE WHERE I FOUND THE TRAILHEAD.

The clouds seemed bright enough to have hope for a clear sky at the summit, and I had all the energy of the morning forest. Within minutes my pants were wet from dew and my heart was pumping, but I kept my eyes on the sky above me.

Before long, I found myself in a grove of old-growth cedars that towered over the sparse undergrowth. The trail wound between old logs and moss-covered boulders. Blood coursed through my legs as I climbed higher in elevation and realized I was entering the clouds that I had seen from the trailhead. Light fog clung to the mountainside, drifting quietly through the trees and towards the path below. I tried talking out loud, just to hear my voice dampened by the air.

Water was everywhere. I could hear it in the distance; I could feel it against my legs. Instead of taking off my backpack and drinking from my water bottle, I opened my mouth as wide as I could and closed it overtop of the ends of fir branches along the trail, sucking in the water between the needles.

Gradually, the fog grew thinner and the light of the sun started to reach through the air. I grinned with that hope for a clear sky at the summit.

The fjords of Norway

The light of the Faroes

The highlands of Iceland