My buddy Spooner and I went for a walk on Mt Tam yesterday, in the rain.

I don’t think that walking on a mountain in the rain is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. And I don’t think it’s the smartest.

We stopped at Walgreens on Lombard before crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. I bought a poncho, since Spondork pointed out that carrying my gigantic blue and yellow umbrella into the woods would be dumb and “un mountain man -like.”

Right, that would be the dumb part.

We also bought a couple more of the “three dollar Walgreens hats” that we tend to buy every time we head out on a poorly planned outdoor adventure. They’re cheap, bright and goofy, and I think they are starting to litter both of our homes. I know there are at least two of them sitting on my bookshelf already.

On the drive up Mt Tam there is this ridge that actually has houses on it. It’s some weird zoning aberration that goes on for maybe a mile; as far as I know the entire rest of the mountain is National Forest and is protected from development. As we drove on the ridge and looked at the valley below, all we could see was a gray wall of clouds and rain. We passed a VW bus on the side of the road that looked like it was just one or two more gusts from being thrown off the ground into the canyon that presumably still lay below.

We got to the parking lot three miles below the East Peak and pulled in; it was so foggy all we could see was a wall of white in front of us. I joked that we were either pulling into the parking lot or we were about to drive off the side of the mountain into the abyss. Sometimes I make jokes when I am scared.

There were other folks out hiking (that was reassuring). An older couple advised us where to go, incorrectly, as it turned out. So we found ourselves on an unmarked trail alongside a rushing creek. Spondork walked animatedly ahead of me, talking loudly and gesticulating wildly.

The walking was great; I’ve been back on my game lately, so I was mowing up that hill with ease. But the roaring creek three feet below the crumbling earth that we walked on was making me nervous. Spondork started to totter as he crossed a log and I grabbed him and shoved him back onto the trail. Fucking shit. It occurred to me that it’s totally possible to get lost on Mt Tam. And, for some reason, I remembered the Blair Witch Project.

Forty five minutes and seven jumps over the creek later, we came up on a real trail, a fire road perhaps. Suddenly I could see the sheer beauty around me. The tall trees, the mist hanging in the air, the rocks and moss and leaves all around, everything drenched and sated by the water dropping out of the wind.

We walked down the big trail until we got to the part where it flooded over. We took turns peeing in the woods. And then we turned around and came back. We talked and joked and made fun of each other and everyone we know. And instead of taking the unmarked trail that we came on (we couldn’t find it again, thank goodness) we found a well marked trail with a name that we recognized and knew would lead us back. This trail was narrow and came down the grade on switchbacks. Spooner and I walked and yelled at the top of our lungs and made bad jokes and bad imitations of people we know. This is how we bond, I guess.

I’m not sure how to describe the beauty of the woods in the rain, but I think anyone who has seen the woods can imagine looking across a field as the rain comes down in torrents, hearing the water floating and dropping from all sides, hearing your own footsteps crossing through puddles, yelling and laughing like little kids and going from feeling lost to feeling found.

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We dedicated our trek to Walking Bob, our friend and a hell of a guy, who is now hiking around somewhere beyond where we can currently go. We miss you, Bob.