It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on top of a mountain.

It was a beautiful fall morning and the air was still crisp from the night before. The grass was encrusted with a gray coloured frost that crunched under our feet. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but we were on our way. The trail ahead led us beneath the branches of lofty pine trees and tall oak trees that seem to stretch up for miles. Pinecones rustled beneath our boots as we walked at a brisk pace. Our breath circled around us as we walked like unspoken secrets that haven’t been told.

Together, we had enough gear packed in our backpacks for what felt like a week judging by the weight. We figured that we would make it to the summit, have lunch, and then return before nightfall. We traveled at a steady pace for the good half of the morning. The skies were clear and blue, the kind of blue that you only see in movies. Not a cloud in the sky that morning and was invigorating. Rocks scaled the side of the trail as a reminder of where to walk and not to stray off. Amber and scarlet fallen leaves covered the trail ahead of us and smelled sweet.

The sunshine was rapidly hidden by a gray thick blanket of heavy fog. Plans have changed. It was the kind of fog where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. It felt like we were the only two left in the world. The birds stopped chirping and the trail ahead of us seemed to change its course. The path we once knew was no longer recognizable.

Somehow, in the change of weather, he went down. He must have caught a stray rock under his boot and twisted his ankle. It was clear that there was no way he could continue. At the top of the mountain, there was a ranger’s station. My choice was clear, I had to finish the trek ahead and get him help. I left him with some gear to keep him warm, a fire starter, a pile of the driest sticks I could find, and some food. I don’t think I was far from the top of the mountain, and he should be fine here without me. I’d be back before nightfall, I was certain of this.

Soon, the afternoon turned into evening and it was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on top of a mountain. I cannot see where I’m going, even with my flashlight held tight. Hoots from an owl seemed to startle me and the wind rushing through the trees wasn’t a comforting sound. The trees swayed and creaked as pine cones tumbled to the ground, making a noise every time they collided with the earth. It sounded like footsteps behind me that I couldn’t escape. My mind was so turned around that I forgot the trail we once scaled every week for a month.

Suddenly, there was a small light shining through the dense fog. Someone was shouting my name, but it was echoing so badly that I couldn’t make out where it was coming from. The trees were being illuminated by this bright light to the east of the trail. Did someone come looking for me? It can’t be him, is it? How did they know where I was? Did I make it to the top of the mountain?

A shadow of a man appeared carrying a flashlight. He called out my name and held out his hand. The trail had become wet with the dense fog cover and was very slippery. He found me. I was so happy and relieved that I almost forgot to tell him that I was on my way to get help. He said that someone had found him and brought him safely down the mountain and it was him that had called for help for me. We both were rescued, thank goodness. We will have so many stories to tell each other about our adventures. It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on top of a mountain.