chip waters

One time I hiked a dormant volcano. The first part of the mountain was a gorgeous canopy of thick rain forest. It wasn’t until I hit the cloud section that I began to regret my decision. Condensation hovered in the air, turning the ground into a gelatinous muck. It literally sucked. With every step, my foot was swallowed ankle-deep into the muddy abyss. It wasn’t long before my quads turned on me. Punishing me without mercy.

After three hours, we made it to the top. There was supposed to be a beautiful crater lake. All I saw was a fog bank. Zero visibility. One of my fellow hikers asked if we cared if he went skinny dipping. We silently ate our lunches as the pale Swedish hiker swam naked in the hidden lake. I asked our guide how long it would take to get back.

“Cinco horas. We take other side down”.

My soul broke. My knees laughed maniacally. But I persisted. Stumbling over exposed roots. Chased by the deafening roar of howler monkeys. Eventually, in a lost stupor, I made it back to the lodge. I fell into a patio chair and took a giant, victorious sip of the local brew.

And that’s the story of the best beer I’ve ever had.