We were somewhere around Coffin Mountain, on the edge of Quartzville country, when the trees began to close in. No trail markers, no plan, just a rattling tripod, a half-dead GPS, and a primal urge to find something real. That’s when we heard it… the hiss and murmur of water falling through the bones of the forest.

This waterfall wasn’t on any map. It was a hallucination made of moss and gravity, tucked in the folds of the Earth like a secret too beautiful to share. But we found it. Christ, we earned it.

This is why we do it, for the moments when the wild stares back and says, “You’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”