That time I hiked down a mountain.
I love hiking. I'm often convinced I love it a bit too much. All the times in the last few years that I've gotten in over my head and wondered if I would make it out in one piece, I was on a hike.

It always starts out very measured and responsible. We plan a trail, decide exactly what we're going to do, pack our backpacks with the supplies we need, and go. About halfway down the trail, we decide we'll just add this little bit more to our hike.

Then it begins. Just one bit more, what's over here, oooo that's pretty. Soon it gets dark, the temperature drops, and we have to break out flashlights to see the trail.

Luckily, Switzerland hiking trails are marked extremely well. 

The original plan was to take a series of lifts all the way up Mt. Pilatus, then take one lift back down to Fräkmüntegg (because do you see that cliff face? That's not a hike, that's an AAAAAUGH) and hike to the next lift stop.

Then we couldn't just get in a lift and give up the great view we enjoyed during the walk. Besides, we felt fine, right? Right.

By the time we reached Hergiswil, we were pretty sure we had made a huge mistake. My feet were on strike, we were out of water and the temperature was way too low for someone who thinks 72 Fahrenheit is a bit chilly.

I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

That's probably why this sort of thing keeps happening.

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