I BURNED more gunpowder signaling my friend than I did shooting birds that day. We’d separated without a plan, and then the fog rolled in. No waypoint was marked, no return time was agreed to. We were well and truly screwed. While weighing my limited choices, a faint, static-filled radio message penetrated the lava rock canyon walls. I told him to follow my shots back to the truck that I’d found by accident in the thickening gloom of dusk and now freezing fog.
An hour later, muddy dogs safe and truck heater on max, we shivered and swore that we would never let that happen again. And so far, so good. But tomorrow, next month, next season, who knows? I was a Boy Scout, Scoutmaster, district committee member, I even…