Words and Photos by Colleen O’neil
I’m grinding up the gravel road, sweating profusely in my rain jacket. A sudden summer shower just passed, so now it’s 80 degrees and sweltering again. Drops of water spill from the huge ferns lining the road. My husband Montana stands at the top of the hill, fiddling with his Garmin.
“The trail’s right here,” he says when I pull up. He points into the woods — which I’ve learned are called “the bush” around here. I peer into the bush. There’s a single muddy track through the weeds.
“That can’t be it,” I say, unzipping …read more
Via: Dirt Rag