Josh had a simple job that few would want. It paid little and the demands were high, but it allowed him to get away from time to time. He lived well enough, but even in his brightest moments, those who knew him best considered him unremarkable and ordinary. Over time he grew to accept his place as the forgotten man. Gone were the days when he aspired to recognition, or even friendship. Today, he only wanted to be away from the mediocrity that consumed most of his existence. When the sun rose the next morning, he would know whether this life would lead to a peaceful place or somewhere much darker and unlivable.

The ride had taken much longer than expected. After following a picturesque parkway in the southern mountains for close to three hours, a well-built side road plunged them into the eastern valley. As they descended, the sun dipped beneath the ridgeline and the subdued light cast constant shadows throughout the forest as it wrapped around them.

“We’re here,” the guide said as the van pulled into a gravel lot at the base of the mountain. The engine knocked when he switched off the ignition. Turning in his seat, he knew none of the faces but made sure everyone was awake and paying attention. “Okay, grab your packs and double-check to make sure you have everything you need for the next twenty-four hours. It will be dark soon and we’ll be ascending three thousand feet. It will get cold once the sun goes down. Everything you have on now will be drenched in sweat by nightfall, so make sure your jacket and extra clothes are stowed at the top of your packs. Test your headlamp and keep extra batteries handy. The water in the stream is very clean and cold. I’ve drunk from it many times, but you still need to make sure your canteens are full before we leave the parking area. We’ll step off in about ten minutes.”

The group had heard these same instructions from the guide who didn’t show up this morning, but this one did not know that.

They piled out of the van and took their first breath of fresh air since departing that morning. The parking area was no more than a turnout along the road, and the only thing marking the trail was a faded brown forest service sign. Josh could hear the low rumble of a roaring creek in the distance, but birdsong and the sound of wind blowing through leaves in the tall trees subdued the noise and made everything pleasant. Spruce, rhododendron, and ferns enclosed the group within green walls rooted in dark brown earth. Rain had fallen that morning, and intermittent white granite boulders pushed through the undergrowth to form stone islands along a narrow path that led deep into the forest. This was the place he so desperately needed.

The expedition was planned to be short and intense, and Josh thought it a good way to discover if he was made for this sort of thing. For some time, he had considered leaving his life in the city behind and moving to the mountains. He was saving to buy a small one-room cabin and would be content working for one of the mom-and-pop stores on Main Street in the nearby town. To an unimportant man, living alone in a wild place was preferable to anonymity in a city surrounded by a million people who never recognized his face. Feeling alone when around others is far worse than living alone in a place where others rarely go. One life is a contradiction. The other is a confirmation.

On paper, the route was simple. The group would start down the trail at three o’clock in the afternoon and hike all night with short five-minute breaks along the way. After crossing the creek three times, they would ascend to six thousand feet, follow an alpine ridgeline for five miles, and then work their way back down in darkness. In total the trail was twelve miles long and filled with exposed roots, dead foliage, and slippery rocks. There were bear signs, but the black bears in this area would usually run away when confronted by a group of humans.

The creek posed the greatest danger. The water ran fast and passed through narrow channels as it descended from the ridgeline above. Dropping over a thousand vertical feet along a horizontal distance of less than two miles, the water was an unstoppable force that could pin a man under a submerged object so tightly that he would never resurface if the worst happened. There were no footbridges, and all three crossings required hikers to jump on large boulders to get across. If someone slipped and went in the water at the wrong place, saving them would be next to impossible.

Josh stood alone at the back of the van, thinking about the creek as he donned his pack and adjusted the shoulder straps. Seeing a problem, the guide came over.

“Need some help?”

“I think I’ve got it, but the load seems a little heavy on my shoulders.”

“You need to use the belt. It places more weight on your hips and shifts the center of gravity lower on your body.” The guide turned him around, freed the tangled end of the belt, and handed it to him. “Buckle this, grab the tightening strap, and pull as you do a little hop.”

With an awkward jump, Josh felt the weight come off his shoulders and settle on his hips. Everything was balanced. “Thanks for your help. That’s much better.”

“This your first time?”

“How could you tell?”

“Just a hunch,” the guide said, smiling, and walked back to the others. “Give me a shout if you need anything else before we leave.”

“I will,” Josh said, following him over to the group.

The guide stood in front of the trail sign, pulled out one of the small waterproof notebooks he’d used while serving overseas, and called out, “Okay, is everyone ready?” They gathered around, but most continued to tug and pull at their uncomfortable packs. “We are on track to leave at three o’clock. About fifteen minutes after we step off, we’ll stop and you’ll have a chance to adjust the contents of your pack to get the weight distribution just right. After that, we’ll only pause for five-minute water breaks. If we stop for a long period, your muscles will tighten up and things will get painful. After the sun goes down, we must keep moving to stay warm. Making sure everything is placed correctly inside your bag will help us avoid delays.”

The guide called their names, and everyone confirmed they had the proper equipment and supplies. In addition to the guide and Josh, there were two brothers, two students, and a father and son. Josh could tell the father knew what he was doing. The way he stood and listened to the guide without fidgeting with his pack showed he was prepared and comfortable. Both his and his son’s equipment were well-used but immaculately maintained. The others appeared to be more excited than experienced.

The group started down the trail in unison. It was well marked but too narrow to walk abreast, so they followed each other in single file. They descended to the valley floor for the first mile, occasionally climbing over a fallen tree or boulder, but the ground was soft and comfortable to walk on. Pushing deeper into the forest, there were tunnels of rhododendron and mountain laurel so thick and tall they nearly blocked out the light. Ferns and wildflowers formed carpets of foliage around spruce and white oaks in less dense clearings that allowed shafts of sunlight through the upper canopy.

Soon the trail bumped into the creek and ran parallel to it for several miles. The roar of the water forced them to shout as they passed the guide’s instructions up and down the line. Josh spent most of the time watching the ground in front of him to avoid tripping on an exposed root or stone, but occasionally he stopped and watched the raging white water pound against the rocks, spraying plumes of droplets into the air. The mist mixed with the sunlight and formed rainbows across the narrow canyon. Despite the blinding beauty, there was something about the water that made him feel small and insignificant. Its ceaselessness and power consumed every living thing in its path, transforming it into detritus—broken and unrecognizable in the swirling pools.

After an hour they came to the first crossing. Josh estimated that the creek was roughly seventy-five feet wide. The water looked deep and was moving very fast, intermittently splashing over the boulders he believed they would use as stepping stones. Some of the boulders were three or four feet apart and would require balance and agility to negotiate safely.

As they stood there considering their options, the guide placed his pack on the ground and pulled a large climbing rope and ratchet straps from the center pocket. “I’m going to use this rope as a safety line to get us across,” he told the group. “The current here is very strong. Using this method is much safer than boulder hopping.” Pointing to a large oak tree on the near side of the creek, he continued, “I’ll attach one end to this tree here, cross the creek on the boulders, and attach the other end to that large tree on the other side.” Holding up a carabiner and what looked like a jumbled mess of nylon webbing, he added, “I’ll then come back over and you’ll each hook on to the main safety line using this carabiner and harness. I’ll also have a secondary line attached to you that we’ll use to pull the harness back after each person crosses. You’ll go over one at a time by pulling yourself along hand-over-hand. When the last man is over, I’ll unhook the equipment on this side and then join you on the other.”

Everyone nodded and watched as the guide wrapped the near-side tree with a thick piece of yellow webbing and attached a carabiner and the safety line to loops at the end of the strap. Hooking the other end of the line to the carabiner on his harness, he started across the creek with large jumps from boulder to boulder, making it to the other side without incident. There, he wrapped the far tree with the same type of webbing. When he connected the carabiner, he also attached a ratchet strap that pulled the safety line so tight there was very little play left. When he completed the setup, the line extended like a tightrope across the creek about eight feet above the surface. If someone lost their grip while crossing, they would simply bob up and down in midair without falling into the water. The guide tested the setup by crossing back to the group. Everything worked perfectly.

“Okay, who’s first?” he asked.

Stepping forward, the father said, “We’ll go first,” pointing to himself and his son. The guide nodded, helped the son into the harness, hooked him onto the line, and watched as he shimmied to the other side. Removing the gear, he attached the carabiner and harness to the rope, and the guide pulled it back to the near side for the next crossing. The father then joined his son on the far side.

The students volunteered next, and the brothers followed. When Josh’s turn arrived, he donned the harness, attached himself to the line under the guide’s watchful eye, and began pulling himself along hand-over-hand as instructed. The farther he went, the lower the rope dropped until it reached a reverse apex halfway across the rapids. He had seen this happen as the others crossed but was unprepared for how difficult it was to pull himself up the inclined rope as he inched closer to the far side. Sweat droplets slid down his forehead. He grew tired. His heart pounded, and he wasn’t sure he could make it. About three-fourths of the way across, Josh paused, steadied himself, regained his strength, and closed the distance to the other side. It was one of the most exciting things he’d ever done in his life.

Following the guide’s instructions, the father released the tension on the ratchet strap but left the safety line connected to the webbing wrapped around the tree. The guide unhooked the tree strap on his side, stowed the equipment in his pack, reconnected the main line to his harness, and started to make his way across. As he leaped to the first boulder—something he had done a dozen times guiding other groups—his ankle rolled, and he fell into the water. The outer pockets on his pack caught the current and he was immediately pulled into the middle of the rapids. Within a second, the safety line was fully extended. The only thing visible was the guide’s pack and the sleeves of his yellow jacket as he tried to raise his head above water. But the tension in the safety line, the force of the current, and the weight of his pack pushed him to the bottom with relentless force.

The father saw the guide go into the water and shouted for the others to grab the rope. The entire group pulled together, trying in vain to overcome the power of the rapids, but the father could see the guide’s arms slow as he grasped for something to keep himself from drowning. Looking back at the others and then at the dying man in the water, the father pulled out his pocketknife and cut the rope. As the others fell back onto each other, he hoped to see the guide resurface. But minutes passed and the raging water became grey as the setting sun dipped behind the narrow valley’s walls. Slowly, the father sat down on the wet stones and hung his head. The others were still lying in a heap, looking on in disbelief.

“I had to cut the rope. It was pulling him under,” the father said, mostly to reassure himself. Still out of breath from the intense exertion, his son crawled over and put an arm around the father’s shoulders.

Panicked and irrational from the surge of adrenaline, one of the brothers pulled himself from the heap and stumbled over to the father. “What the hell was that? What did you do?!”

The son immediately jumped up, grabbed the brother by the shirt, and drew back to punch him before the father pulled him away.

“He did the only thing he could do, you idiot,” the other brother said. “The rope was dragging him under. It might as well have been a noose around his neck.”

“But we could have pulled him back! He was moving toward us! I felt it in the rope. It wasn’t much, but he was moving.”

“He wasn’t moving,” his brother said. “That was the rope stretching out.”

One of the students squinted and pointed downstream to a half-submerged tree in the middle of the creek close to where the guide went under. “Look! Isn’t that the rope?!” Everyone jumped to their feet and scanned the area where the tree poked through the rapids.

“It looks like the entire thing is coiled up in those branches,” the son said. “Maybe the guide cut himself free and was able to float downstream?”

The father saw and knew. He slowly shook his head and walked over to his pack. “No, his body is probably trapped under that tree and the rope is just caught up in the branches above. He’s gone.”

“You don’t know that!” the still-panicked brother shouted.

“I looked after I cut him free. He should have popped up to the surface. He didn’t. My guess is he was already snagged on something before I used my knife. He probably slipped off the first snag when the tension came off the rope and was swept underneath the dead tree. We did everything we could.” Looking at the others, he saw hope fade in their eyes. “We can’t save him. We need to figure out how we’re going to get out of here.”

Josh had been sitting silently, listening, watching, and thinking. As the others argued and discussed their options, he spoke up in a slightly cracking voice. “What was his name?”

The others stopped and stared at him for a moment before looking at each other, expecting someone else to answer. Even the father stood quietly, looking ahead as he slowly tightened the straps on his pack.

Josh stood up and looked at the empty faces. “What was his name? I think he said it back at the parking area, but I don’t remember.”

Realizing what was really being asked, the calm brother tried to explain. “He wasn’t supposed to be our guide, remember? The other guy’s name was Pete or Steve or something, but the outfitter brought this guy in at the last minute when the other dude didn’t show.” The brother’s words were true but left the substance of the truth unsaid.

“We should have known his name,” Josh said as he sat back down on his pack, letting deep sorrow overtake him. The only people present when the guide lost his life didn’t even know who he was. He was an unimportant man. Josh looked at the others and felt the emptiness of anonymity pass over him once again. “Everyone should have a name.”