Like the Angry Young Woman Sean and I had met near Island Pass, I spent much of the day creating my own difficulties, erecting tests for the hero to overcome, and prove his worth. My pains were, after all, minor. It never rained, though the threat was there. And even if it had, I was in less danger on the trail than riding my bike on the busy, perennially potholed streets of Santa Cruz. Such a faithless fuss made about taking a walk in the safest and pleasantest of all places, a wilderness.
Fears vanish as soon as one is fairly free in the wilderness.
Maybe that's exactly what had happened. In the morning, and especially when I had stopped for lunch, I had been lost in my own fears and uncertainties. But when I started up towards the pass, nearly all that vanished except for the one realistic worry that I might get caught in a storm. And even that possibility provoked more excitement than worry. My boyhood summers in the Maine woods were punctuated by rousing thunderstorms that were almost as much fun as fishing on the lakes or running in the woods.