Matthew Sluiter

"Who is this French guy sitting with the Canadians?" I thought, as I happily slid off my pack at Arrastre Trail Camp. As I unpacked, made dinner, and setup my tent, I overheard the French guy talking about honoring his country's fallen soldiers. He wasn'

I met Gringo at mile 77, in Julian, CA. My trekking poles had been stolen the day before, and I would spend the next three days waiting at Carmen's — a restaurant by day, hiker hostel by night — in Julian for Amazon Prime to deliver my new poles. Hikers

"You have a resting bitch face," she'd tell me, and "that's why no one wants to talk to you."

> The first time I heard Katie laugh, I knew I liked these people. It was mid-afternoon in the Southern California desert. Allen and I were making our way down to Tule Spring at mile 137. I badly needed a water break. Allen is a fast hiker and keeping

I was sitting by a loud, crashing creek in Washington, the air moving at a brisk pace through a craggy split in the earth and down into the valley below. I had stopped for lunch and promptly plopped down into the rockfall surrounding the creek. I was accompanied by Peanut,