I treat every map as a puzzle, so the first thing I do is look for the obvious clues the terrain gives me—rocks that line a slope, a creek that cuts a predictable path, the shape of the ridge. If those lines line up, that’s the safest route. I mark it on a cheap paper sheet, because a digital screen can be a distraction, and then I stick to it. For staying calm, I use a steady breathing rhythm that syncs with my steps—one breath in for two steps, one out for two. It keeps my heart rate down and my mind focused. If the trail shifts or a storm rolls in, I remember that the trail isn’t a promise; it’s a suggestion. I re‑scan the next few hundred meters, update my mental map, and keep going. It’s all about data, observation, and a little patience.

Thanks, but you’ll notice the world rarely stops shifting when you’re out there. That’s why I keep a map in my head and a pocket ruler for measuring distance—so when the trail starts behaving like a toddler, I can still say “I know where I am.” Stay calm, stay curious, and if the earth starts doing its own thing, just follow it back to a point that makes sense.