We advance southwest on a smooth trail across a grassy expanse to where a woodland begins. The sky is a bit overcast to the north, but its relatively warm – only a light jacket needed on this autumn day. Our goal – to descend into a remote canyon, a few miles to the west. We’ve been wanting to explore this canyon for years, so we set aside this time to do so. Though our destination looks daunting from our current stance, we know that this region won’t be accessible again until next summer and this canyon is on our bucket list.
We trek on and before long, the once smooth trail becomes rocky – surrounding terrain – rugged, wooded. Hiking this section requires a concentrated effort to avoid tripping and falling while other sections require hacking through shrubs and climbing over fallen trees. Dark timber – Douglas Fir and Colorado Blue Spruce – add drama, as well as a menthol-laced consolation to our lungs. Our trail picks up in a ravine heading westerly and with the descent the ravine becomes more pronounced. The trail weaves around big boulders and intertwines closer near the stream, then away, closer, then away, the stream picking up volume all the while. We’ve been hiking for a few hours now and we are in need of rest. We look at our destination – a rugged expanse still lies between us and the canyon, but we trek on.
The trail turns southerly where the fir and spruce give way to long, naked poles of aspen. Golden and orange leaves carpet the terrain, masking the trail and the slower moving swales of the stream. Below us, the topography and horizon to the south opens up into another small, grassy field. A stunning skyline enchants with a panorama of different shades of pastel bluish-lavender mountain ranges, horizon after horizon – each lighter in hue with increasing distance. A raven converses in the background with a caw, caw. The autumn-colored leaves swirl around in the stream. Boulders near the stream offer a resting spot and we enthusiastically indulge. We pause to breathe it all in.
The scent of dark, organic soil with composting aspen leaves – somehow humbles and reminds, from dust we come and to dust we shall return. The thought sobers me and brings me fully into the present moment. Funny how thoughts of death can pull you into the present like no other. I think back to our canyon destination and suddenly, I’m inspired to tear my boots and socks off my hot, swollen feet. I dip my toes, ankles, soles into the cool stream. Hiking buddy follows suit. Our feet adjust to the stream temperature. The rhythm of the babbling and gurgling settles and subdues us. Our hiking agenda (the bigger canyon) and timeline, no longer requiring immediate attention. I wonder about adherence to our bucket list and our goal, anyhow. Maybe right now, in this very moment, we’ve achieved our goal.
