When the morning sun broke through the pines of the Pacific Northwest a fog rose off the damp asphalt and the small town of Marblemount stirred to life. Here was the last place to buy food before a ninety miles stretch of forest that made up the Northern Cascades National Park.

Through midday, the desert sun was bold and laid its light evenly across the valley. Maybe it was my fatigue, but in the flat light, the tin-roof restaurant ahead of us looked like a toy.

Up the hill behind me, Savannah was sniffing through green and purple heather, while closer to me, my guide and my horseman were making boiled eggs in a kettle beside a boulder. While I drank the instant coffee, I took in the jagged mountains and the silver water drifting slowly downhill. Kyrgyzstan was likely the last foreign country I’d walk through.