For years, I have avoided walking much more than a block or two at a time. I have gained about 100 lbs and find even mild strolls leave my petite, 5’ frame breathless and sweaty…so I have learned to move through life in short, level jaunts. I have become a very careful planner and a whiz with google images. Do you know that you can find pictures of almost anywhere you might need to go on there? You can. It’s an amazing resource for anyone wishing to avoid a hill.
Vacations have meant researching restaurants that are close to - - and not uphill from - - our hotel, or making sure that I wear impractical shoes so that I can beg my fit and long-legged companions to take a cab. Not because I can’t walk that far, of course, but because of my high heels. What…doesn’t everyone pack strappy stilettos for a trip to Scotland? Never mind that they’re not made for distance; they get me from the cab to the barstool just fine, thank you very much!
The sad paradox is that I love the idea of being an outdoorswoman. I long to push myself physically, to buy Smartwool socks and actually form an opinion as to whether they offer superior fit and wicking, to linger over a glass of carrot-beet-kale juice and swap stories of various summit triumphs with those naturally handsome and slightly weathered people who you just know from a single glance like to hike and climb and paddle things. I want to walk into an REI store and talk lightweight, portable tents without the salesperson assuming that I must be gift shopping. I want to try getting in and out of a kayak and maybe someday take one for a spin around some interesting coves somewhere. I will know I have achieved something great when I have one of them, or any form of alternative transportation for that matter, strapped to the roof of my car. Yes, that will be a special day. A Thule roof rack with a snowboard on it makes every vehicle look cool.
And just when I thought these things I contemplate would likely never be anything more than romantic visions, I fell in love with a hiker.
Ah, love…one of the greatest motivators from the beginning of time. People do all kinds of crazy things for love… surely, then, I can learn to walk?
Ryan swore he would start me out with something easy. “Honestly, honey. It’s about a quarter of a mile and completely flat.” I believed him, and trusted his assurances that we would go at my pace and stop whenever I needed. He looked at me with such love in his eyes, I knew he wouldn’t get frustrated at my snail-like pace. It would be an adventure! A walk across a field - - a flat field - - a field that also happened to be a part of the Appalachian Trail to which Ryan felt so attached and longed to share with me. We would stop and look at things, and just generally enjoy the natural beauty of our Western Massachusetts home in late summer, when the air is a little cooler and the oppressive July mugginess begins to make way for a crisp, breezy fall. This was about the journey, not the destination…and journeys are better when you take your time and appreciate their nuances, rather than bursting off to some final end-point. I made sure that we were on the same page about all of this. I needed to know that Ryan would be patient with my limits and accept that this little nature walk, while short, was a big step for me. My first step into my new life as outdoorswoman.
We arrived at the trailhead sometime around noon. My heart had begun racing a few blocks prior, when Ryan had announced that we were almost there…but I was confident that I had done everything possible to prepare and set myself up for success. I had worn my most comfy, cushiony sneakers, a pair of bike shorts so that I wouldn’t have to worry about regular shorts creeping up my thighs towards my crotch - - I hate the way I have to frequently do that little shimmy to shake them back down to where they belong or, even worse, actually stop and pull them down manually - - a thin and oversized cotton tee (in white, which wouldn’t show as much sweat as a darker color; remember, I’m still kind of on a date), a pony tail, a bottle of water, and my phone so that I could take some pictures. Ryan graciously offered to carry everything as my bike shorts had no pockets. I think he wanted me to succeed just as much as I wanted to!
We stopped to read the “You Are Here” sign and learned that the walk we were going to take was not a quarter of a mile, but rather 1.1 miles. Uh-oh. I cannot tell you the last time I walked more than a couple of blocks, never mind a mile. But we had a slow-and-steady plan, so I was willing to give it a try. Of course, that would be 2.2 miles by the time we turned around and came back…
Down a little dirt trail through some thin woods, dappled sunlight on the ground creating virtual stepping stones illuminating our path to the open field…the flat field of overgrown wildflowers stretched out in all directions, little worn wooden boardwalks keeping us out of the bogs. It was beautiful! It was flat! I can totally do this. We stopped along the way to examine flowers and foliage and birds and the sky, and it wasn’t just me slowing us down; Ryan did his share of stopping to point things out…and he never once made me feel like I was being too pokey or holding us back.
We meandered across the meadow, which was really a valley flanked by lovely, old, worn Berkshire hills on either side. The scenery was magnificent, and when we reached the edge of the woods on the far side, I wasn’t yet ready to stop and turn back.
As we ventured into the woods and up a little hill, I couldn’t help thinking that just a year prior, I wouldn’t have done anything like this. I had actually taken a miss on a friend’s wedding the previous summer because I saw that we would have to park four-tenths of a mile away from the wedding site. And according to google maps, that four-tenths stretch was mostly uphill. So I didn’t go. And now here I am, across a boggy valley and headed up into the woods.
The air under the pines was markedly cooler and a welcome respite from the noonday sun that had beaten down on us as we crossed the meadows. A hemlock grove! We’re in a hemlock grove! Ryan had previously pointed out hemlocks to me and now I could distinguish them from normal white pines all on my own. These woods were stunning and full of things to explore. A little frog, a cricket, all kinds of mushrooms and berries. Which reminds me, we had a debate about whether those wintergreen-flavored “checkerberries” are edible. I remember eating them as a child, but Ryan knew them by a different name and didn’t think they were edible. We had agreed to google that when we got home, but I forgot all about it until just now. Ok, just back from googling and according to wiki, they are indeed edible. I knew it :)
We went up up up into the woods, over logs, over rocks, and everything was great until we came upon a stream with a fairly narrow board going across it. Ok, it was actually two boards side by side so there was a little bit of width, but rather than stretching straight across, they went up to a peak in the center and then back down. Scary. Ryan went ahead of me, but I was suddenly frozen in my tracks. I hate crossing on boards because I’m afraid they’ll give under my substantial weight, and in an irrational moment of panic, I actually asked Ryan if he would go across and then come back for me. Yes, all the way across and all the way back yourself, please. And then across with me. I wanted to see that it was sturdy. But the look he gave me said that I was being absurd, so I took a deep breath, grabbed the back of his waistband, and across we went. Of course, then I worried that by following so closely behind, we would actually be putting more weight and stress on the little boards than if I had gone separately. But never mind; if we were going to crash down into the water, we were going to crash down together. It’s what lovers do, I suppose.
We made it across. Another little triumph.
Further up into the woods, jumping over muddy spots and using the trees along the trail edges as hand-holds. I was starting to get tired now, but not so tired that I felt the need to turn back.
And then we came to it. The barbed wire fence that Ryan had told me about. There was a little wooden step to help hikers get over it to the other side, but it was rickety and not very high off the ground. I didn’t think I could straddle the fence without hitting the barbed wire, even with the aid of the wooden step. This was where Ryan’s daughter had once wet her pants in fear as he tried to coax her over, and this was the turning back point for all of the previous girlfriends that Ryan had brought on this very hike. That was all the motivation I needed to get up and over :)
Up and over the barbed wire, uphill across a mountainside meadow that we shared with a herd of peacefully grazing cattle. More barbed wire on the other side of the meadow, but a good solid rock on which to first sit and catch our breath (ok my breath) as we took in the view that stretched out behind us. I could not believe I had walked that far. 1.1 miles, uphill. Triumph!
And I still wasn’t ready to go back.
Over the barbed wire, across a road, and into the woods on the other side. Steeper this time, but do-able with a couple of stops to catch breath and wipe brow. Wild blackberries…yum! Then we came upon a “loop trail” option which we decided to take.
The Cobble Trail Loop was far narrower and not as groomed as the Appalachian Trail had been. Overgrown grass and prickly things swished across our legs as we forged ahead. “Are you sure we’re on the trail?” “Yes.” “You’ve been here before?” “Yes.” “You’re Sure? You’ve done this loop part before?” “Yes.” And then we came to the bunny rock. We called it that because that’s exactly what it looked like; a bunny of weathered stone looking out over the meadows and valley below. And a perfect place to sit for a few minutes. We climbed onto the back of our bunny rock and took in the view.
Back on the trail, emerging from the woods, the road visible down the hill and just beyond a meadow. A wide, grassy road cut through the field and this seemed like a better option than completing our loop, the next stretch of which would be uphill. Yes, I was ready to start making our way back to the car. Out of the woods and away from the mud and mosquitoes, across the meadow with the sun once again on our faces. We emerged at a parking area for another trailhead and decided to sit in the grass for a few minutes and take it all in. I looked back at the mountain that I had just skirted the edge of, and the rolling hilly fields I had just walked across. I had gone further than I thought I could by quite a bit, and we weren’t done yet. Ryan gave me the option of waiting there at that parking area while he went back for the car, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I was not stopping now. I was not quitting early.
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| That's me -- bottom right. |
We opted to take roads back to the car rather than return through the woods and across the meadow. That one little quarter-mile flat meadow that I was initially going to walk across and back now seemed so far away, and such a tiny little part of our beautiful journey. How glad I am that I kept going!
We made our way through a quaint little New England town, past a church that was built in the 1700’s, an old cemetery, crumbling barns that had seen better days but whose proud and well-crafted cupolas told the story of their past grandeur, past friendly people on their porches who waved us hello’s and nice day’s as we walked by, uphill back to the car. I lost track of how many times Ryan told me it was just two more seconds away. When we finally got there, I was ready to collapse, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I had walked. And walked. And walked. I had walked up hills and over streams, over rocks and logs and around mud, over barbed wire - - twice - - and up more hills, across meadows and under hemlocks. I actually think I hiked! I HIKED! And I can’t wait to do it again. This week, I think I will reward myself with some Smartwool socks. And yes, I will be an outdoorswoman.
