Diana was more comfortable driving, anyway, and they headed south in her Jeep with Logan navigating. “That’s my Uncle Chester’s spread,” Logan said as they passed a field with a split rail fence penning two donkeys. “My dad’s land begins at that ridgeline.”
Twenty minutes from town, they pulled off onto the trailhead. The fog had not lifted.
“So,” Diana said, as they hopped out of the car. But her voice was jarringly loud against the silence of the forest, and she dropped to a whisper. “What’s the itinerary?”
“We’ll hike through a grove of the second-growth,” Logan said, his low voice naturally blending with the surroundings, “and then we’ll reach a completely undisturbed old-growth stand by lunchtime. We’ll have to go off-trail to get there. I’m envisioning a five-hour hike. You up for
