Shivering cold, asses wetly planted inside the puddled, hastily assembled tent, soggy feet hanging outside the zippered doors while a...

The overloaded pack creaks and groans in rhythm with the boots. One foot in front of the other. 12 miles behind us and just under two to go. Despite the training, I'm spent. Sitting for a minute we remove our packs, catch our breath and rehydrate before pushing on. Making the final ascent, the lake comes into view. It's as beautiful as I remembered. The look on my son's face says it all. He gets it. Every mile was worth it. Blake had been asking to go on a backpacking trip wi

It was supposed to be a hunting trip. My oldest son, Kyle, moved to Bozeman in 2018 to attend college and since that time my dad and I...