Somewhere near the edge of sanity and definitely on top of Iron Mountain, I found this godforsaken chunk of volcanic rage jutting out of the planet like the fossilized spine of something older than sin.

I was running on no sleep, too much coffee, and the distant howls of whatever the hell lives beyond the timberline. The rock stood there jagged, defiant, indifferent. A geological middle finger aimed at the sky. It wasn’t just a rock… it was a warning. The kind of place the Norse gods would whisper about while sharpening their axes. Odin’s dog might’ve died here, or been born here, it’s hard to tell with places like this.

No filters. No pretentious captions about serenity. Just raw Earth flexing its ancient muscle while the trees huddle like terrified green apostles at its feet.

This is why I hike. This is why I shoot. To find places that make your heart beat louder than your thoughts.