like a billy goat.

My love for the outdoors has been obfuscated by an undeniable infatuation with shell cordovan, selvage denim, and oxford cloth; materials promising consistency and predictable evolution after years spent with feelings of the opposite. Growing up, my happiest days were spent out in the woods or by the water. I honed my fire building and survival knowledge in Sedona, at age 11, inspired not by pyromaniacal fancy, but rather a tattered, old copy of a survival guide lost in the move back east.

Some of my best times in high school were spent on the climbing wall in a renovated barn on my boarding schools' grounds, laughing and learning about ourselves and the sport. Accessibility, not acrophobia, delayed my return to climbing in college; scarcity continues to impede it.

Playing hide and seek with the Potomac as we drove along MacArthur Boulevard, the spring air calmly blew through open windows and BWmF sang along with Leftover Crack as we neared the park.The winding road encouraged acceleration, but the prude speed limit and cyclists cautioned otherwise. A vintage roadster driving behind us seemed to share our frustration.

After a quick scramble up to the highest point at Great Falls, a phone call brought us back to reality and the road where our friends waited at another different canal access point. Good thing park access is still free.

The Billy Goat Trail part A. Online guides will say you need hiking boots or athletic shoes. Probably a good idea, but BWmF's Sperry chukkas and my LL Bean camp mocs proved perfectly capable.

Climbing alongside the Potomac brought me back to the adventure camps of my youth.

BWmF not spotting DF

 Better judgment reminded me that more problems emerge with the descent and after a few minutes examining a route up the (unseen) river side of this outcropping, we moved onward. I would love to return with climbing shoes, chalk bag, and crash pad.

A poorly picked route through one section required some rather comical maneuvering.

I was warned against biting geese, but survived without zoom.

A farewell to the trail and the day.

As we returned home we reminisced about our days spent fishing and biking, over a decade ago, and promised to explore more (both dirt and concrete) in my remaining months.