Leha & Exile
Leha
Ever heard a travel story so wild you almost threw your backpack at someone? Let’s swap the craziest tales.
Exile
Sure thing. One night on a ridge in the Andes, the wind was howling like a wolf pack. My compass spun, the path disappeared, and a sudden snow drift buried my gear. I was stuck, breathing hard, sweat mixing with snow, when a fellow trekker—an old shepherd—stumbled out of the darkness. I was so frantic I almost shoved my backpack at him to get it out of the way. He just laughed, pulled a rope from his pack, and helped me tie my shoes together. We made it back to the bivouac, and I swear I still hear the wind echoing that laugh. What about you? Got any wild travel moments that almost sent your gear flying?
Leha
Ooo, you’re talking my vibe! Picture this: I was on a “budget” beach hike in Bali, wearing a shirt that only covered my chest and a pair of flip‑flops because I thought “adventure” meant less shoes. Midway, a freak storm rolled in, wind whipping my hair like a barber’s electric razor. Suddenly, the sea turned into a giant splash of foam and my trusty beach towel (yeah, I lugged that for no reason) turned into a giant, floating Frisbee. I tried to grab it, but the wind had other plans and yanked the whole thing straight off my shoulder. I was flailing like a fish out of water, shouting, “Hey, this is my towel!” While a local surfer in a tiny wetsuit came over, shrugged, and just laughed, like it was the most normal thing. He handed me a new towel, and we both took a selfie with the tide as our backdrop. Now whenever I see a towel, I imagine a rogue surf attack. How about you, got any gear that wanted to stage a dramatic exit?
Exile
Yeah, that towel had a run‑away streak. I remember this one time I was trekking through a canyon in the Southwest. My pack was a mess of maps, a water bottle, and a half‑baked snack that smelled like burnt popcorn. I kept a tiny hand‑held lantern in my left pocket, the kind that hangs on a string like a lark. As I climbed, the wind picked up and a sandstorm rolled in. My lantern, being a stubborn piece of metal, caught the gust and swung out like a reckless dance partner. I was scrambling, the lantern swinging over my head, and before I could grab it, it snapped off the string and skittered away into a crevice. I chased after it, muttering to myself, “You’re not getting off my trail, you metal scoundrel.” It took a second of adrenaline and a sudden burst of hope to catch it before it slid into the darkness. I laughed at myself afterward, but when I got back to the camp I made a new loop out of rope, because I learned that gear has a mind of its own if you give it a chance.