Page 12 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
Peyton
I’ve been awake since six a.m. No one else is, though, so I’ve been lying here for the last half hour overthinking. It’s a skill I’m proficient at. I excel at it even.
First, I tried to come up with twists for my thriller, but all I could think about were romance plots. How weird is that? I’ve never written a romance before and don’t have a clue about how they’re structured, yet I already have half a plot. It’s all because of Knox. We were the only ones left around the campfire last night, and I enjoyed every millisecond of it. We connected. I didn’t want the night to end, but I couldn’t stay awake.
I’m enjoying a mental replay of the stream crossing where Knox rescued me and grabbed my hand when a drop of water hits my forehead. I blink up at the tent ceiling, hoping I imagined it, but sadly, this isn’t my vivid imagination playing along. Another drop. Then another.
“Please tell me that’s condensation,” I mutter, but even as I say it, I hear the patter of rain on the tent fly. Within minutes, it escalates from gentle patter to serious drumming.
Through the thin tent walls, I hear Knox’s deep voice. “Morning, everyone! Hope you’re staying dry in there.”
He sounds way too cheerful for someone whose outdoor adventure just got rained on. I unzip my tent flap and peeroutside to find him standing in the drizzle like it’s a beautiful sunny day, already dressed and apparently waterproof.
“I don’t think my tent is waterproof,” I tell him.
“Ouch. Better get your rain gear on and pack your tent before it’s completely soaked then,” he says.
Right. Rain gear. I dig through my pack and find the bright yellow jacket I bought at Maple’s Outfitters. The salesperson assured me it was completely waterproof, but looking at it now, I’m not so optimistic about its abilities—or its fashion rating. If I’m honest, it’s nothing short of hideous.
Still, I put it on and quickly stuff my belongings into my backpack before taking out my pack’s rain cover. I’m trying not to focus on how ridiculous I look. I know I shouldn’t care, but Knox is around, and the rain jacket makes me look like an oversized canary. Not exactly the look I want to be sporting in front of the man I… I…
I shake my head. Never mind.
One by one, the others emerge from their tents looking like they’re preparing for chemical warfare. Brandon has on what appears to be a full rain suit, complete with a matching hat and gaiters. Alex and Alexandra are sharing an umbrella, which seems impractical but adorable, and they’re twinning. Christine has a sensible poncho on, and Harmony… well, Harmony has crystals.
“Rain is just Mother Earth’s way of cleansing our spirits,” she announces, standing in the downpour with her arms spread wide and a big, goofy smile on her face. “I’m going to embrace it!”
“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” Knox answers. “Where’s your rain jacket?”
“I don’t believe in fighting nature’s intentions,” Harmony says, spinning in a circle as water drips from her hair. “This rain is a gift!”
Knox looks like he’s calculating how quickly he can get a hypothermic spiritual guru down the mountain when this goes south. “Harmony, I need you to put on some waterproof clothing. Embracing nature is great, but not at the expense of your core body temperature.”
While he’s dealing with her, I notice the general mood of the group has shifted from yesterday’s cautious optimism to something closer to wet-dog misery. The rain is coming down steadily now, transforming our cozy campsite into something that resembles a disaster movie set.
“All right, everyone,” Knox calls out once Harmony is grudgingly wrapped in an emergency poncho. “We’re going to pack up and head to the shelter about two miles from here. It’s got a roof and walls, so we can wait out the worst of this weather there and have some breakfast.”
“How long do these mountain showers usually last?” Alex asks, trying to keep the umbrella over both him and Alexandra while stuffing their sleeping bags into their backpacks.
“Could be an hour, could be all day. But the shelter has a fireplace and enough space for everyone. We’ll be comfortable,” he says.
Packing up a tent in the rain is like trying to fold laundry in a car wash. My bright yellow jacket turns out to be an expensive fashion mistake with zero waterproof abilities, and by the time I finally get my tent rolled up and stuffed into a plastic bag, I’m soaked through to my thermal underwear.
“Everyone ready?” Knox asks, shouldering his pack like it weighs nothing.
We set off in single file, with Knox leading and me somewhere in the middle, trying not to slip on the increasingly muddy trail. The rain has turned every rock into a potential skating rink and every root into a trip hazard. Within the first half mile, I’vealready had two near-wipeouts and one moment where I was certain I was going to slide straight down the mountainside.
“This is quite invigorating,” Brandon calls out from behind me, consulting his waterproof GPS device. “According to my weather app, we’re experiencing a classic mountain precipitation event with a forty-seven percent chance of—”
His commentary is cut short by a yelp and a crash.
“I’m okay!” Brandon announces.
I turn to see him picking himself up from a mud puddle. His pristine rain gear is now decorated with brown blotches of smelly mud.
“You sure you’re all right?” Knox asks, making his way back down the line to check on Brandon.
“Absolutely. Though I think my hiking pole might have experienced some structural damage,” Brandon says.
