The Hike from Hell

I didn't think there was such a thing as a bad day hiking until Eloise's husband, whom I am tempted to refer to as Lucifer but instead will call Fred, wanted to change our hiking plans. Instead of going to a new trailhead I wanted to try out, he wanted to go to the ice cave. Eloise and I had accidentally discovered this "trail" a few years ago.

We made our discovery a few springs ago when we followed some cross country ski tracks into a gulch on our snowshoes. Even with two or three feet of snow, we still fell over deadfalls on the "trail." Then we stumbled on a few rock cairns and looked up to the head of the gulch into a frozen, blue waterfall. We tried this hike the following spring, but turned back because of a soaking rain and the over abundance of moose scat near the mouth of the gulch did not bode well for two unarmed women on a June hike.

Against my better judgement, I agreed to the change of plans. Our hike outlook barometer plummeted as I put on my hiking boots and my knee popped and became sore. Things really took a turn for the worse when we left the forest service trail. We walked over some deadfalls and then could hardly find our way into the gulch through the bank full creek, stinging nettle, and downed trees.

Trying to tune out my sore knee, I started up a slope steep enough to make me wonder what on earth I was thinking when I followed Fred up it. Then, I then had to slide on my rear DOWN the slope in hope the "trail" near the creek would be better going. Some maniacally optimistic person had placed cairns on the talus in the gulch which we took for trail markers.

From there, things got worse. The Marine boot camp obstacle course would look like a workout for sissies compared to the deadfall and rock going up this gulch. Every so often we had the bad judgment to be encouraged when we saw that some one had sawed through a deadfall here and there. To our dismay, these cut trees were followed by piles and piles of more downed trees.

To add bad attitude to worse attitude, I was dealing my carpal tunnel surgery aftermath. My hands were very sore. I couldn't use them to catch myself or to climb obstacles. And I had to be careful not to hurt them and break open the newly healed incisions. Then the June sun started to pound us and the mother nature stoked the furnace. Our aroma must have been magnificent because around noon the horseflies mistook us for sweaty pack animals and began biting us just as we stumbled on another patch of stinging nettle. And if that situation doesn't tell you how completely miserable it was, even my dog hated this hike.

Finally, an hour up the gulch, I said, "I am going back." Fred tried to talk me out of turning around, but reason suggested to me that another hour or two of hiking forward would make going back on the trail from hell an even longer process. The further we went, the more we had to go back through. I think there could be a repentance analogy here.

Thankfully, Hermione cheerfully accompanied me back through deadfall crawl, across moose meadows, and out to the trail where we experienced the only fortunate thing of the entire day: cell service. We called Wilbur to meet us at the trailhead. Whew. Next time I follow my original plan.