Something That Scares You

I have fulfilled my quota for doing something that scares me everyday-- for at least this month. Last Friday before leaving for a two week vacation to the southeastern part of the US (yay!), I went to find a trail I'd been sighting halfway up the mountain. I also was able to find this trail online on some trail website, so I figured it would be 1) well populated and 2) well marked, at least. I set out to do a "long" run, but figured being off-road at 6000ft with 1000ft of climbing, that would consist of about 10 miles. 

I parked on the side of one of our mountain climbing back roads that winds up the back side of the mountain and easily found the trail. You could go either left or right at the fork a quarter mile down the hill, so I chose left first. Most of this trail is an old railroad line, so it's relatively flat with some small gravel and an occasional tie. They had built a bridge where a train trestle had stood 50 years ago, the last time trains traveled up the mountain. I continued on down the trail -- down the gradual slope toward the basin -- and found that there are many ravines that they didn't build bridges over. I had to climb down and back up, mostly through prickly bushes. Side note: it seems that every bush has some prickly defense system in the desert. After almost exactly a mile, I decided that my legs were bleeding enough from thorns, and avoiding the prickly pears was becoming harder and harder. I turned around. 

Back up almost to the fork again, I stopped dead in my tracks when out the corner of my eye, I saw some other tracks I hadn't seen before. 

I analyzed this print for a minute, and couldn't find where it had come from or gone to because of the rockiness of the surrounding trail. Although I know dog tracks have toenails, I eventually convinced myself that this was a dog. A large friendly dog. 

Continuing on the other way at the fork, I tried to push thoughts of cougars out of my mind. The trail was overlooking Fresnal Canyon, with some steep drop offs right beside me. Here you can see the trail below the road. No parks or playgrounds or people near.

There were more ravines to cross in this direction of the trail, but most had well worn paths dipping down and back up onto the railroad trail. A mile in, I got to Bridal Veil falls, which is a constantly running stream, even in drought years. 

A couple of uneventful miles later, I had to cross a huge ravine and find my way to the continuation of the trail again. It was a steep rocky climb, but easy to navigate. Soon I came to what became the end of the trail for me. I found no path across this creek, even though I could see the trail on the other side. For some reason this picture came out with a very surreal look.

Turning around and climbing my way down that large ravine I'd recently crossed, I suddenly found myself climbing over rocks and thorny bushes with no trail in sight. Thoughts of rattlesnakes, tarantulas and cougars kept creeping back into my mind. I kept climbing. Realizing that not only was there no sign of human life in this area, but I also had no cell phone service, I started to panic. I could feel the anxiety creeping up from my chest as my breath got heavier and my heart beat faster and faster. The grass covering some rocks would be perfect cover for rattlers, and those shrubs all around could hide a stalking cat. Carefully checking placement of each footstep, I barely caught myself before almost stepping on the web of the only spider worse in my mind than a tarantula: a black widow. My mind was racing with thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong when finally finally I spotted the trail 50 yards down the hill.

Still shaken up, it was almost impossible for me to run without looking over my shoulder the rest of the way back. I kept hearing sounds behind me and repeating to myself, "look big and scary, don't lose eye contact, throw rocks, and fight back."

I've never been happier to see my little car, or to end my 10 mile run 3 miles early. The adrenaline I pumped through my body in those 7 miles was worth at least 20 unpanicked miles. I've decided that Eleanor Roosevelt might not have meant running alone on a trail in cougar country when she said "do something every day that scares you." I'm going to pick my somethings a little more carefully next time. But I'm definitely taking Jeremy back to that trail soon. It was kind of exciting.