Walk On the Wild Side

Walk On the Wild Side
            Being alone on a trail high above the hills and trees, feeling the breeze as I turn to see a 360-degree view of the surrounding mountains is exhilarating.
            For me, “exhilarating” means “exciting” mostly in a good way, but also maybe a hint of danger.
            I have posted about feeling spooked on a hiking trail a few times. Once was when my autistic son, husband, and hiking partner kept falling behind as we were trying to get from our cabin at Samuel P. Taylor State Park to the top of Barnabe Peak.
            The structure marking the summit looked pretty close each time I looked up, just one or two more turns of the trail, perhaps. Then we’d hike another ten minutes and see that there were more twists and turns to the trail than expected.
            After one too many turns showing an endless path ahead, my hiking companions, already far behind, chose to hang out and rest while I pressed on to the top. I couldn’t quit when I was this close.
            I hiked alone along many more curves of the trail. With the summit structure not far ahead, I had to pass through a very dense tree tunnel. The back of my neck prickled. I took a long pause before plunging into this place so dark in contrast to the open space around it.
            There was carnivore scat featuring fur and bones scattered on the path. 
            I’ve observed lazy coyotes on hiking trails, not to mention the streets of San Francisco, and walked casually behind a bobcat in Marin that didn’t flinch at having hikers nearby. 
            I have never seen a mountain lion, but they are around. That is as it should be. They have enough space, at least in Marin County, that we shouldn’t see them.
            Happy to be on the bright side of the tunnel, I charged up faster and breathed in the joy of getting to the top. As I soaked up the view, the late afternoon shadows kept lengthening. I squared my shoulders and started back down the trail. I used up more time than I’d expected ascending, and now I had to retrace the whole thing to get back down before sunset. 
            Spotty cell service had allowed me to tell the guys I was going to the top, which they expected from me. I also caught a message saying they were slowly heading back to the cabin ahead of me.
            There were a couple of trail turns to the cabin that might be hard to see with the sun down, so I picked up the pace. I recognized specific markers and trees from earlier. I spotted the copse of trees that the guys had stopped at for a shady rest while I climbed on.
            Reaching the peak was great but now I wanted to rejoin to my crew. A straight stretch ahead meant I was close to the final turn of the trail back to the cabin. Trees and bushes were scattered along the mostly open path, and the sound of dirt under my hiking boots bounced back to my ears as I tromped more quickly.
            As I approached one of the few bushes along the trail, I heard the cry of a big cat, and saw a dark shadow move out onto the trail.
            I screamed.
            Then I laughed.
            Our hiking partner, a frequent companion to me and my son on the far trails of Mt. Tam, had been hiding in silence behind the bushes to do his mountain lion scare.
            We laughed and laughed. That was years ago, and though I have been spooked on the trail a number of other times, and wondered if I should be more careful on remoter trails, I have yet to see a mountain lion.
            This was just a hike, on a known trail in a known state park area, but I was alone in an empty stretch out of cell contact or yelling distance, and it felt like an adventure to me. No harm done other than a stomach that hurt from laughing so hard by the prankster on the trail home.
            This past week I had the opportunity to share the tale of a walk on the wild side when I was a twenty-something living in Japan and traveling in Asia. Thanks to the Renaissance Garden Guy for featuring my guest pieces, the latest being an adventure along the remote roads and hills of Thailand in “A Book by Its Cover.” Let me know what you think of the ending!
            Take a little walk on the wild side, even if it’s just pushing the envelope slightly beyond your everyday life to feel a sense of adventure. Keep putting one foot forward!
            This week’s Hike Notes from the archives, Barnabe Peak from Madrone Camp, takes readers on a climb in Samuel P. Taylor State Park that offers stunning views.
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This week’s hike from the archives:
Hike Notes 57: Barnabe Peak from Madrone Camp