roaning up Green Hill, soaking wet and slipping on pine needles, I wondered why I was doing this. I knew there were no views to be found, no checkmark to place on some arbitrary peak-bagging list, and no metal benchmark to photograph next to my boot. It’s a low-lying hill in a random piece of the Hammond Pond Wild Forest east of Elizabethtown, a bump that probably wouldn’t see any adventurer if not for its name appearing
