The last man they talked to
For forty-four years, people stopped at my counter on their way into the Cascades and out to the high desert. Fuel canisters, maps, wool socks. We rented tents and stoves too, and every rental had a deposit, paid back when the gear came home.
Nearly everyone came back for it. They'd drop the tent on the counter, sunburned and happy, and tell me a story. Some were funny. Some were about a night that went a lot longer than planned. A handful were the kind a person tells looking at the counter instead of at you.
And a very few never came back for their deposit at all.
So I started asking. Where are you headed? Who knows it? What time do they call? Have you got a light, a whistle, a dry pair of socks? This book is those questions, written down: fifty rules, each one with the story that taught it to me.