Page 12 of Tracked By the Mountain Man
The drive to the trailhead passes in comfortable silence. Leah clutches her coffee mug, watching the dark landscape roll past. When we reach the parking area where this all started three days ago, she takes a deep breath.
"Different this time," she says, more to herself than to me.
"Very different." I check my watch. “We've got this, Leah."
The trail begins the same way it did three days ago, but everything feels changed. Instead of blind panic and emotional chaos, Leah moves with purpose. She's memorized the route, understands the challenges ahead, knows exactly where we're going and why.
"North Ridge approach," she says as we reach the first trail junction. No hesitation this time.
"North Ridge approach," I confirm, following her onto the more challenging path.
The first few miles climb steadily through dense forest of pine and fir, following switchbacks that gain elevation at a manageable pace. Leah sets a good rhythm, breathing steadily, stopping at regular intervals to hydrate and check our progress against the map.
"You're a different hiker than you were three days ago," I observe during one of our breaks.
"I had a good teacher." She adjusts her pack straps. "And I'm not running from anything this time. I'm hiking toward something."
"What's that?"
She looks up at the peaks visible through the canopy above us. "Understanding. Closure. Katie."
As we climb higher, the forest begins to thin, giving way to alpine meadows dotted with late-season wildflowers. Indian paintbrush and mountain avens carpet the slopes, the samespecies that surrounded Katie when we found her, but today they look beautiful rather than tragic.
"She would have loved this," Leah says, stopping to photograph a particularly vibrant cluster. "The light, the way the mountains frame everything. She always said the best shots happened in the early morning."
We reach Whispering Pines campground by early afternoon—a cluster of established sites beside a small alpine lake fed by snowmelt from the peaks above. The same place Katie and Leah had planned to spend their first night, the launching point for their summit attempt.
"It's beautiful," Leah breathes, dropping her pack beside the fire ring Katie had reserved five years ago. "Even more beautiful than the photos in the guidebook."
We set up camp quickly thanks to my years of backcountry experience combined with Leah's growing competence. She insists on helping with every task, refusing to be a passenger on this journey. By evening, we have a solid camp established and dinner cooking over our camp stove.
"Tell me about the search," Leah says as we eat, watching the last light fade from the peaks around us. "I need to know what happened after she left camp."
I hesitate, still protective despite everything we've shared. But she's right. She needs the full story if she's going to find peace with it. Slowly, I tell her everything about that day. The call, the search, when I found her body and how I carried her down the mountain.
“She was the first person I’d ever lost,” I said. “The veteran SAR guys say you never forget any of the casualties, but the first sticks with you in a very different way,” I finish.
"Thank you for sharing. She didn’t suffer, and she was in her element taking photos when she died. I know that now." Leah looks at me, her eyes reflecting the flames. "Thank you. For telling me the truth, for helping me understand. For bringing me here so I could see what she saw."
"Tomorrow you'll see exactly what she saw. We'll follow her route to the summit."
"I already understand why she thought it was worth the risk." Leah stands, moving around the fire to sit beside me on the log I'm using as a bench. "Katie lived more in twenty-nine years than most people do in twice that time."
"Including her love for you."
"Especially that." She leans against my shoulder, solid and warm in the mountain night. "I've spent five years thinking I failed her by not being brave enough to follow. But maybe the real failure would be never following at all."
We bank the fire and retreat to our tent. Leah falls asleep quickly, exhausted by the day's challenges. I lie awake longer, listening to her breathing, thinking about tomorrow's summit attempt.
Outside our tent, Darkmore Peak stands silent against the star-filled Alberta sky, keeping its secrets. Tomorrow, we'll climb toward those secrets and see if we're finally ready to let them go.
seven
Leah
DawnbreaksoverDarkmorePeak like a promise kept. I wake to Tyler's arm tightened around my waist, his body warm and solid against my back in our shared sleeping bag. The tent glows with soft morning light, and I can hear the gentle sounds of the mountain waking up around us—birdsong, the whisper of wind through pine boughs, the distant trickle of snowmelt.
"Morning, beautiful," Tyler says, his breath warm against my neck.
