In the middle of the summer of 2025, a couple close buddies, my dog Mollie, and I ventured into the Dolly Sods Wilderness for a planned 26-mile backpacking loop. Per usual, I brought my camera along to document a bit of the trip. It was a weekend we’d been planning for a while, and one that felt long overdue. It was also my first time backpacking in a while, and my first time bringing Mollie, so there was a mix of excitement and nerves as we set out.

As we pulled into the gravel lot and began to set off the first day, it was a gorgeous morning full of sunshine and pleasent breezes, and the excitment of the weekend ahead was contagious. But as we quickly approached mid-day and started to reach the first ridgelines, a light drizzle developed which eventually turned into a full blown downpour. Determined not to let this “little storm” ruin our adventure, we trudged on for a few hours, the trails beginning to more resemmble creeks, our shoes, paws, and packs getting more and more soaked. Eventually though, once soaked fully through all base layers, we were forced to call it a day due to a limping “paw injury” Mollie seemed to develop once she too was too soaked to continue. As we set up our tents for the evening, under the cover of some dense forest, the rain began to clear and we discussed our next plans. Being the concerned dog owner I was, I wondered if Mollie’s paw injury was the end of our weekend, but we decided to wait till the next morning before making any decisions.  

When I woke up the next morning to a couple paws in the face, I was annoyed but elated to see Mollie already feeling better, eager to get out of the tent and explore the drying woods. As she zoomed circles around our campgrounds, and the sun shined in, we wondered if she had even been injured at all? We warmed ourselves with fresh coffee and began to discuss the upcoming day. Determined to continue the adventure but hesitant of Mollie’s continuing ability (as she literally ran circles around us) we decided to abandon our orignal 26 mile plan and divert through the middle of the wilderness.  

As we  eventually began to pack up and detour our way through the unfamiliar wildnerness, no maps downloaded (I know, I know...), we began to stumble upon drier trails and pleasent creek crossings. We saw doe and butterflies and basked in the sunshine. It was a complete turnaround from the previous day, our packs drying more and more the farther we went. Eventually we rested for lunch at a picturesque creek crossing and a friendly older hiker, clearly more expierenced in the area than us, pointed us in the direction of his favorite campgrounds, right on a nearby river bed. It was the perfect spot, and a truly phenomenal place to rest that evening and wrap up our adventure. 

I’ve sat on these photos for a while and grown more and more happy with them, even though we didn’t make the full loop. This, as many backpacking trips are, became a everlasting reminder in the deeper universal believe that “it always works out.” As my time on the East Coast now winds down, and I prepare to move west, these kinds of reminders are those I’ll look back on when I’m feeling lost in unfamiliar wilderness. I’ll think back on those moments, stuck on ridgelines in pouring rain, and remember how in just a day later, I could be basking in the warmth of sunshine, and know the rain is never truly permanant.