Yesterday, I ventured out into the Colorado wilderness on a blustery day! Okay...it was a Jefferson County Open Space Park. Ten steps up from John Bryant State Park or Glen Helen, for all of you Dayton, OH natives. But still...not the real wilderness where civilization is behind you.
My friend Dick and I headed south west out of the parking lot on a trail that steadily climbed away from our car. As we hit our stride and the parking lot was well out of view, I began to take in the views of the "mountains" (a.k.a foothills). Turning my head in a slow arc, I saw beautiful snow covered rocks, a ravine filled with trees and (sound of record screeching to a halt) --- a one million dollar home. That's right. Snap dab in the middle of the beginning of my lovely hike were several luxury log homes. Suddenly, my decision to carry an overnight day-pack seemed silly. Food. Water. Anything else that could have gone wrong. Well...there's the drive way.
But...the trail did ascend out of the oddly placed fringe of wealth. We eventually escaped and came to the junction of "plymouth mountain" and "meadow lark" trails.
"So, what do you think, Dick? Meadow lark or go back the way we came?"
I was kind of hoping he would say "go back the way we came". But he said "meadow lark"
The reason I wanted to backtrack was, I had traversed "meadow lark" before. Albeit from a different approach, but for me it was a terrifying experience. As much as the Colorado wilderness fascinates me, it scares me to no end. This particular trail has a narrow, exposed section to Deer Creek Canyon faaaar below. I had never traversed the entire trail, so I didn't know what to expect up to that terrifying 200 yards or so.
The trail turned out to be rather mild. I was pleased that I was not upset with some of the steeper sections. The parts that I had thought were pretty exposed before, didn't seem that way from this other approach. Maybe because I wasn't already terrified by walking the shelf.
And then she appeared. The trail was snow packed, and I feared a little icy. Dick kindly tried to think of things that would help me get through this part of the trail with as little trauma as possible. He offered me his hiking pole which I eventually took. He offered me his moral support. And I think I did do a bit better than the last time. When I was three quarters of the way to the other side, I stopped and made myself look down. When I reached the end of the 200 yards of terror, I looked back to see part of my fear. A narrow entrance to an exposed trail with snow, ice, and rock. Seems simple to many, but it gets my heart rate up and my feet to slow down.
It's strange how thinking of falling can make you lose your balance. How being afraid makes you take smaller steps. And how looking back can help you see part of what made you afraid in the first place.
