Return to the scene of the crime

 

March 27, 2024, I returned to a familiar trail. Well sort of. I recently wrote about getting lost on a trail due to the incorrect posts being marked. I wanted to revisit that are and take a different trail.

Originally, I parked at post 208 (which should have been 205). After reporting this, it was now corrected. I began my hike on this 36-degree cool morning.

I made my way from the parking lot, down the short trail and up the logging road. This time I passed the Louden trail marked by marker 204 and continued up the logging road. Quickly things got very quiet and peaceful. The path was easy defined and the gravel underneath my boots crunched as my weight pressed down on the road. The noise became rhythmic and soon the sound was lost as my mind began to work through issues. I gazed in the forests to both the left and right of me, and knew I was alone and far from anyone.

Like before I was following blazes to ensure I was on the correct route. Today it was green. Not to be confused with the yellow and sometimes green of the other trail I went on. This like the other one was supposed to be is an out and back, so I knew I would see much of the same scenery just in reverse upon my return to the car.

The clouds graciously let small streams of light show through and teased of blue skies. The cool air filled my lungs and helped cleanse my brain of anxiety. Though I knew it would be temporary, I welcome any reprieve from my restless brain.

I reached post 203 which led me away from the logging road and on to a defined and proper wooded trail. I was aware that I was also walking toward the interstate as the sound of cars and trucks whizzing by interrupted my silence. With hand clippers in hand, I began cutting briars that crossed the path, in hopes that not only me but others, including horses do not get stuck on their vice like grip.

A few hundred yards down the path I intersected a section of pine trees. There were downed trees, displays of pinecones, and pine needles on the ground. Though the interstate was visible there was still a hush in this area. Beneath a canopy of needles, hushed and green, the pines hold secrets close. A silent scene. No rustling leaves, no whispers on the breeze, just stoic giants at ease. I love pine trees, but they always seem to be silent, which is joyful yet eerie.

I continued. Down ravens, across dry creeks, and closer and closer to the interstate. I soon reached post 202 and went on past it. My time and mileage began to accumulate so I chose to turn around and head back.

Upon reaching the logging road the skies turned grey and overcast. The sun rays and blue skies I saw before where hidden by a quilt of clouds. Woven grey where the sun was cold, just endless shades of fading light. I took this opportunity to snap the picture above.

As I made my way back, I heard a vehicle coming up the road in front of me. It was hidden from sight at that moment, but I knew it was headed my direction and hauling something as the sound of a trailer rattled in the distance. I stepped off the side of the road and soon saw a black pickup truck hauling a John Deere UTV.

As the truck approached it slowed down I and saw the distinct markings of “DNR” on the side. The window slowly lowered, and a man popped his head out. He said, “are you the guy that reported the issue with the trails?” My reply was “it depends.” To which he stated, “I appreciate the heads up. I am out here fixing these things. It is with help for hikers we can get this place in order.” I smiled and acknowledged it was in fact me.

He shut off his engine and we talked for 15-20 minutes. I explained where I had been today as well as in the past. We discussed various trails. And I even hinted that I would love to do that for a job if he needed an assistant.

He fired up the truck and slowly drove away. The familiar rattling of his UTV and trailer slowly faded in the distance. I again was enveloped in silence. A comforting place. I safely made it back to my car and headed back home. I knew I would be returning to work Monday and that my hiking season was about over due to those famous snakes and ticks. This felt like my last solo mission of the season, and one I relished.

Until next time,

Tim