It was a beautiful, beautiful trail.
It was also mostly uphill.
But we descended into the canyon rather quickly from the starting point, and at once the rock faces rose up around us, making the canyon feel almost like a cradle. Wildflowers grew alongside the trail, making me pause every so often to take a picture of the colourful, reaching petals.
The sharp descent made for a long, gradual climb back up for the duration of the trip. I was pretty annoyed at the fact, actually, because my housemate had very specifically expressed her desire to start at the Sheep Creek entrance because that ascent would have been too steep.
Grumble grumble.
Towards the middle of the hike, the birds quieted down, and we were met with the soft gurgling of the stream the trail followed. We dipped our fingertips into the small rush, and the water was cold-- almost snowmelt cold. A surprise compared to the fresh, mild weather we were having.
There were large areas that had been washed out by the spring meltings. There were times when we stood, turning in circles, looking for the tell-tail rock cairns that would put our feet back on the path.
I had just started reading about cairns in a natural navigation book I picked up from the visitor center library, so I was more than happy to rebuild the ones that had toppled or move the ones that weren't as visible.
We lost the trail at one point almost completely in an area where there had been quite a big washout. We scrambled up a steep incline, looking for markers and not seeing them. We were almost ready to turn around until we walked back to our last rock marker and saw another one across the creek. After that, the signs were very obvious, they lead us upwards to the most stunning view.
The highlight of the hike, the thing that made the lung-crushing ascent worth the internal griping, was incredible. Standing on the top of a hill, looking out across the canyons and valleys and right out past the edge of the earth, until every mountainous slope was a hazy blue against the horizon, I felt at once tiny and full of potential. From this view, I could see the general area where we started, the low point of our descent, and the climb up to where I was.
It was breathtaking.
The last mile was also breathtaking, but in a different way. The steady incline had sharpened, and my lungs were not cooperating, finally getting me back for being so active after weeks of sitting at my desk and burying myself with schoolwork. I began to feel pretty ill, and I would walk a few paces and have to take a break.
When we got to the road, it was very apparent I wouldn't be able to walk the three miles back to the car, no matter how flat and smooth the walk would be. I sat down and sucked down a liter while my housemate sped walk to fetch the car.
Of course, ten minutes after she left, I was feeling fine again.
Altitude is aggravating.
But that aside, it really was an incredible weekend. Last night, once I had eaten pretty much everything my kitchen had to offer, I went to a BBQ over at Eric and Zac's house. There were homemade rolls, homemade brew, really delicious pulled pork and an incredible cherry cobbler. I won't have to eat for a while, but it was a really nice time.
It's been a little more than a week since I arrived, but this one Kurt Vonnegut quote keeps rolling around in my head:
"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"
So, if all of this isn't nice, I really, honestly don't know what it.
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