Gravel crunches under my boots at 5:57 a.m. at the Hyndman Creek trailhead. It’s 40°F and the headlamp throws a narrow cone through spruce and frost. At 7,000 feet, the calendar says late September; the air says fall has been here awhile. I pull the pack strap higher. Cold bites the skin it finds.

Three names wait up-canyon: Hyndman, Cobb, Old Hyndman-the Pioneer Mountains trifecta. About twenty-one miles if I thread it clean. Ten thousand feet of climbing. I tell myself the numbers calmly, like they’re just facts, not the bill that comes due.

Last week I started the other way-Old Hyndman to Cobb-edging along a ridgeline with drop on both sides, losing six hundred feet on rock too sharp to trust. I turned around at the low point and walked it back in silence. No technical practice all summer. I was on the Pacific Crest Trail from May 1 to September 7-northbound miles, not ridge moves. That was a win. This feels like the retest.

The trail is flat-mountain-flat-for the first 2.5 miles to the junction. Left keeps me in Hyndman Creek; right is Big Basin, where I’ll come out if the legs hold. My breath hisses in the beam. I start moving. Proof has to be earned on the climb, not in the parking lot.