I knew that I wanted to do some hiking while I was in Durango, but I didn’t know where or how rigorous it would be. Nor that trails would be like before the spring season opened.
Little did I know that a series of hiking trails stepped around the corner from the house I was staying!
The first time I ventured over to Horse Gulch Trail, was Easter morning. In true Megan fashion, I was up before dawn, inspired and restless. I had to get outside.
I walked through the wide gulch, enthralled with the layers of rock on each side. Rarely are we able to see layers of the earth in its formation.
I saw a trail up a hill and thought it would be a good way to go for a view of the Durango mountain. Climbing up the incline, I was ready, or so I thought.
I made my way up and found a series of trails spitting off.
Which one to take?
And how would I know the right way back?
I moved a long stick and put it in the middle of the trail, and at each turn, put a rock or stick as a marker.
The trail wound around through bushes and trees, coming out the edge of a field. I followed the trail that curved around the field to magnificent views of Durango.
When I felt it was time to go, I turned around. I found a rock in the middle of the trail. This one. But then where? Which one? I wandered some more. I found the edge of a huge drop off. Whoa – I had not seen this before. Wait, was it this the trail? I began to second guess and panic, I could be up here all day. And no one knew I even left the house. Take a breath, calm down. Center. I know the way. I’ve been here, but not there. Take this trail, not the other one. I remember moving that rock.
As I found the incline that I walked on the way up, I sighed.
The morning sun was rising over the rock. Truly it was a breathtaking sunrise.
I ventured back over to Horse Gulch Trail on my last morning, before heading to the airport.
Again, I ventured to the top rim to admire the views from the field. This time, I noticed tiny flowers amongst the rock. Having the same system of moving rocks as markers, I had the thought that if I got lost up here, I would miss my flight. What then? I smiled and knew that could find my way back and ventured on. And I did find my way down, with less switchbacks.
I kept walking through the Gulch, and found the trail system went on and on with other trailheads breaking off from the main path. I passed by an old burnt our car on the side of the rock and wondered how on earth it got there. An rust bathtub amongst the red rock sediment.
I did veer off once again, taking a path that lead to a valley. Off in the distance, I counted seven horses. The sun was out, and I was hot in the dry heat, but I ventured through the field. This time was complete. I received what I needed and was ready to come home. I missed Barton, and there were many things waiting for me, calling be back home.
I found my way back.
After a long hike, there’s nothing better than a meal.
I relished in one last special treat.
A few days earlier, I had found this amazing article about a local restaurant, and its famous fish chowder recipe, sharing their sacred recipe with a postman who had stopped in nearly every day. The story resonated with me, for reasons I’m still entirely unsure. Maybe it is that we all have something that is special to us, something to share with another person, with the community.
And so as I caught my breath from several hours of walking, I stopped in for a bowl of fish chowder and an Irish Cream Soda.
It was the best meal to complete the journey.
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