The first time someone suggested I get a headlamp I laughed in her face. Seeing how I don’t spend my days mining for coal or performing surgery, it seemed like a pretty silly idea. And worse, I would look ridiculous in one. That counted for something. Okay, that counted for a lot! But somewhere between that conversation and my fourth Thacher backpacking trip into the great Californian wilderness I not only broke down and acquiesced to the headlamp, I actually came to love it a little. They are handy little buggers and something I now rely on as much as my magical inflatable sleeping mat, my beloved blue striped wool socks and bionic bug spray – the toxic kind. Things I never imagined having a use for in my life are now part of a new skill set I am adding to and improving on each year. Who knew?

Ironically, on the last night of my most recent journey (six days on the Kern River in the Sierras with a dry witted comedian who masquerades as a Spanish teacher and 11 seniors who alternated between fireside ACT flash-card study sessions and vigorous games of “Ninja”) my headlamp started to die. The moon rose as my light flickered until it got so bright I suddenly understood in a visceral way the simple fact that it was being lit by the sun. I fell asleep that night happy to be under the big open sky, and feeling positively lit up for the year ahead.