One Thing Maps and Apps Can't Do For You
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- by Mark Stephens on Mon Oct 31, 2011 - Add comment
The forest road I picked out while combing the map at the kitchen table a week ahead of time looked like it would take us to a camp spot right above the West Fork of Oak Creek at about 6,700 feet under the pines and junipers. It always amazes me what a map will reveal. This time it showed tight bends and little space between the contour lines. Translate that to an abrupt and likely sublime view of the canyon below, one carved out of polished and peaceful sandstone and trimmed with the dying leaves of oaks and cottonwoods. The otherwise nondescript spot is down a long dirt road that eventually leads to nowhere resembling civilization. Sometimes this is a pretty good thing.
However, as everyone knows, you can't always get what you want. Then again, what is an outdoor adventure without a series of bummers to solve?
Brooke drove, I navigated, and it was only 3:30 in the afternoon. We just finished a surprisingly short but steep hike and celebrated with peanut butter sandwiches and salty roasted almonds on the tailgate. The trail was one that our daughter surprised us by actually hiking the entire thing with her own two 4-year old feet. Oh sure, she complained here and there, as all kids do at one point or another. But the smallest things re-juiced her motivation. During a rest, she claimed she was tired.
"Well," I declared, "I'm going to keep going. I want to get to the top."
Brooke approved and said, "Sure. You'll probably catch up to us on the way down."
"Okay, fine." Chloe injected with a huff. "I'm going up with you, and I'll lead the way." She sounded disappointed. But I wasn't. Not at this.
She motored. We all motored. Until the little one decided she was done. And that means HEY YOU, YOU'RE GONNA CARRY ME AND I'M GONNA SQUIRM AND DRIVE YOU NUTS. I know her racket. I looked up the trail and it appeared to me like we were within throwing distance of the end. I sprinted to up and discovered not only that yes, this was the end, but also that the end was a high mountain meadow blanketed with bright yellow flowers and we had it to ourselves. I don't know why, but that's always a magical feeling.
I hollered. "This is it." And these acres of flowers re-stoked our little girl once again. Of course, there's always a magnetism to the established end when you're so close.
Later though, we approached the dirt road turn off from the highway that I'd selected and wondered about a week earlier. I told Brooke to get ready to turn. She slowed, and that's when the bad news came into view. A large sign told us in no candy-coated way that the road was closed. A logging operation had taken over, blocking the public from public lands . . .
Diminished slightly, we took stock of what we wanted: a quiet nook in the forest where we could build a fire, cook a meal, make a tree swing, and listen to morning songbirds. Off we went to hunt-n-peck down the other forest roads. That's typically not noteworthy. And it wasn't for the next 30 minutes, give or take.
The amazement began with Brooke, who said, "Look at that, there's an elk."
"Oh yeah. Wait."
It wasn't just one. Or two or three. We stopped in the road and watched this train of elk waltz through the forest in a single-file line of some 60 or 70 critters.
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