It's a gorgeous, sunny afternoon. Our midterm schedule at school this week means I get home at 1:30 rather than the usual 4:30 or 5, which means that I have the luxury and privilege of a few hours to spend in winter afternoon sunlight, even though it's a weekday. Which means that I will most definitely spend them outside.
My initial thought is to go alone - I love the solitude that a long walk affords - but I take a look at my boys, all arms and legs and deep voices these days, and I figure they need the afternoon sunlight as much as I do. If not more. Teenage boys gulp down resources - food, water, love, laughter - with a voracity that continues to surprise me. I like to feed those appetites as much as I can, while I can. I goad them into joining me. In our new home (which I love in a disturbing, obsessive way), we live about a 12-minute drive from trail heads at two local state parks, Pawtuckaway and Bear Brook. Both offer acres upon acres of wooded wilderness, swimming holes, streams, and soft, forest-y silence. This weekend, a long weekend, I finally took the time to print out PDFs of trail maps of both locations. When I look at a trail map, any trail map, I get that kind of excited-kid feeling, seeing all that there is to explore. I love that someone has taken the time to build trails, maintain trails, and map it out. Seeing it laid out on paper makes me want to go. Now. I plan a loop through Bear Brook, which will take us up Hall Mountain, a hill, really, at 980 feet. But still. Time in the woods is time in the woods. We pack lightly for this short walk - water, layers, gloves and crampons. Rather than grabbing my fully-equipped pack, I get lazy and grab the closest one, a decision I'll kick myself for later. Everyone got a new set of crampons for Christmas this year, and the boys haven't tried them out yet. The boys also both have new hiking boots to break in, and I figure better on a short afternoon walk than on our first spring hike in the Whites. I anticipate we'll be gone for two hours at the very most, including the drive. The boys got used to hiking 10- and 15-mile trails with tons of elevation gain this summer. An amble in Bear Brook will be a breeze. And I tell them so. The map I'm using is for mountain bikers. It has contour lines and details the network of biking trails that run through the park. Snowmobilers also frequent the park in the winter, so I'm confident that there will be clear, broken trails. And there are. We park on Podunk Road (yes, it's really named that) and head up the Hall Mountain trail. The crampons come in very handy. The snow is packed and slightly soft, but there are extended icy patches as well. The route up to the summit is a breeze, and we are there in well under 30 minutes. It's about 3:00 when we summit Hall Mountain. There are two choices from here - head back the way we came - a guarantee - or continue on the loop. My oldest and I look at the map together and decide to continue on the loop that I had originally considered, even though the trails aren't marked with the blazes that I've grown accustomed to. I have directional issues (to say the least), and I am trying to learn to read maps accurately, but also appreciate having another source showing me that I'm on the right path. We evaluate where the sun is, and where the trail heads, and decide to continue on the loop. It's gorgeous as we walk through the woods. We see bear, moose, and deer tracks. We separate a bit on the path, each of us getting into our own walking rhythm and our own thinking space. We check in with each other once in a while, but it's a wonderful time of communal solitude. The woods are silent, the occasional tree creaking, the crunch of snow and ice under crampons are the only sounds. As the sun sinks lower in the sky to the west, a golden light filters through the trees, lighting up the barren landscape in a way that I find both evocative and enticing. At the next trail junction, we stop and re-evaluate: map, sun, energy level, estimated sunlight left. Again, the question of do we head back the way we came (the certain path) or continue on the loop (which looks convincingly reasonable). There are no blazes, still, but a well-broken trail. We continue on the loop. I'm getting a bit nervous now. Mileage-wise, on the map, we are under 2 miles from the car. It's only 3:30. We move at a pretty good pace when we hike, and, without significant altitude changes to deal with, I am confident that we can be there in well under an hour. But still. I'm a mom, and I'm out here with my kids. They may outsize me in every way at this point (the youngest recently surpassed me in both height and weight), but I still feel that maternal responsibility. At the next junction, the trail splits. There is a smaller trail that cuts a big corner and gets us back to the parking area faster, or a main trail that will take longer. We see the smaller trail off to the right with a sign at the start of it. It seems straight forward. It aligns with what is on the map, and where the (continually sinking) sun is. We head down the smaller trail. We've gone about 15 minutes when the voices of doubt start to enter. It feels to me like we are headed southwest when we should be headed southeast. Since I didn't bring my own fully-equipped pack, I don't have a compass. Or head lamp. Or fire starter. All of this weighs on me. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I think, plus some more colorful words. The trail, which is broken, is not marked with blazes, so it's impossible to know at this point if we are on the actual trail or just following someone else's steps. But if it is the right trail, we are almost to the road. Almost. Just another 5 minutes, I think. We must be close. I don't want to alarm the boys. I don't want to retrace our steps. My heart starts to beat faster. We come upon a body of water to the left and stop to re-evaluate. I'm watching the sun sink further down. We are in deep forest now, and I'm picturing us becoming a news story. When we look at the map, I see that we are on the wrong side of the body of water. And there are two potential bodies of water it could be. And I'm not sure which it is at this point - I'm so turned around. The trail could be just over there, or we could be in the middle of the park. My oldest weighs in on his opinion, and make a call together. We need to go back. Quickly. I know if we can get to the main junction and trail that we can follow a larger trail back to the car. Even if it's dark, that's better than being stuck on this little trail in the woods. At this point, we've already walked over 4 miles in snow with crampons, which is tiring. In terms of fitness levels, I'm definitely most fit, and my older son is fairly fit, but my youngest hasn't hiked farther than 2 miles since the fall. This is a physical challenge for him. We need to move fast, but I don't want to be too alarmist. I move very quickly back on the small trail. I'm afraid that if, worst case scenario, it gets dark while we're on this trail, we'll lose our footprints. The only light I have is on my cell phone, as I didn't bring the aforementioned properly stocked pack. I figure if I'm at the junction, I can guide them back to the main trail using my voice and light from the cellphone. I'm relieved to get back to the junction. Even though the first leg of the main trail isn't labeled, it appears on the map that it has to be Bear Hill, the trail we're looking for. It's about a mile on this trail back to the Podunk Road trail that will get us back to our car. We still have over 2 miles to cover in increasing darkness, but I feel better being a major trail and knowing that we are headed in the right direction. I take a deep breath and relax. We still need to move quickly, stay warm, and be safe. But we're on the right trail. As the sun sets further into the sky behind the trees, the sky starts to glow a beautiful, ephemeral periwinkle color. A crescent moon comes up. We can see a few planets. In the distance, evergreens form a black silhouette against the glowing pastel sky. I stay relaxed, and so the boys stay relaxed. We talk. I review chemistry with my younger son, who has a test tomorrow. We make our way through some dark woods, but we have enough residual daylight to see our trail. Nearly 45 minutes later as we finally approach the car, I say to my boys "Now don't you wish you had a mom who just came home from work and watched TV?" I chuckle; they don't. My oldest says, genuinely, that this is the most enjoyable thing he's done in a long time. My youngest just wants to know if he can play Destiny (a Playstation game) when he gets home. Classic. I committed all of the classic blunders of unprepared hiking, and I feel foolish for that. But we were okay, I had contingency plans, and it ended up to be a good object lesson on several counts: Be prepared for the worst. Always. Don't let someone else's steps override your instincts. Sometimes, in some circumstances, the well-traveled road is the better choice. And most of all, my boys rock. What a privilege it is to be raising them. I hope I'm doing right by them.
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AuthorI'm Emily. I currently work in online education management, but I also have a Masters degree in Nutritional Sciences (my true passion). In addition, I am a mom, cook, avid reader, novice gardener, and enjoy all kinds of outdoor activities. On my blog, you will find articles on food, fitness, weight management, and eating issues. ALL recipes on my blog are gluten-free. Many are low-carbohydrate. Most are grain free. Enjoy! Categories
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