Wet. From the trail up to (and a little bit through) my boots. From the drips coming down from the leaves and needles as I brush by them. And wet, coming down in cat- and dog-sized drops, puddles from the sky, sheets not from the bed I wished I were still in but from the sky. As wet as you can get. That's a Sunday morning hike in November in North Bend, the foothills town slammed up against the mountains, serving as a congregating place for rain clouds in Western Washington. "This sermon will now begin- clouds, drop your moisture!"
When three out of four hikers carry umbrellas on a hike, there are some assumptions to be made: it's really raining, these are experienced hikers and someone is going to get soaked. When we made the summit of Cedar Butte and had the option of stopping for a snack or hurrying back to the trailhead to eat our lunches in the car, the hiker sans umbrella voted for the latter. Soaked, indeed!
My peanut butter and nutella sandwich tasted ever so good in the warmth of my car, heat blasting and tushy toasters on high.
(the photo above is not from the hike, but it was another time that I felt totally soggy)