ARTICLE & PHOTOS BY ROB BETTASO

In the predawn darkness, I’m scraping frost from my truck’s windshield and listening to the honking of geese on the shores of nearby Rainbow Lake. I finish the windshield and move to the side windows, then the back, and then conclude my efforts by clearing the side-view mirrors. Safety first, doncha’ know. By the time I take my seat and start the engine, I see that it is 30 minutes till sunrise. Putting the truck into gear, I crunch the gravel on my driveway and begin the short drive to Woodland Lake. I park just off “Deadman’s Curve” in the dirt lot; my truck is the only vehicle there. When I open my door I can hear geese again; presumably different geese than Rainbow’s honkers.

I do a quick inventory of my gear: GPS, check; camera, check; binos, check. I step outside the truck and decide that I will leave my headlamp behind and also my water (only after first taking a long drink; why carry water in a pack, when I can carry it in my stomach). Speaking of packs, no need for that either, as I doubt things will warm up enough to allow me to shed any layers. I start the short walk up the gentle hill in the faint morning light and make it to the shoreline trail with not long to go before sunrise. My project for the day has begun.

And what is my project, you ask? Well, today, a calm day late in autumn, I plan to hike 10 miles around Woodland Reservoir in a series of shifts: 3 laps (which will be slightly more than 3 miles) starting just prior to sunrise; later, 3 laps during the midday; and, later still, 4 laps in the late afternoon and early evening. I will finish my last lap after sunset, and will probably return to my truck shortly after darkness falls. In between each of my 3 sets of laps, I will engage in the typical activities of one of my in-town days, which is to say, I’ll run errands; attend to tedious chores; read; watch TV; and eat, drink, and be merry.

Your next question, perhaps, is why, exactly, am I embarking on such an odd little plan to walk around Woodland Lake 10 times? Would it do to answer: Because it is there? Probably not; first of all, most people will probably recognize that line as being the words of the great mountain climber George Mallory, who had something significantly more substantial in mind (namely, Mount Everest) when he uttered that famous phrase. To be sure, a stroll around Woodland Lake, even one consisting of 10 laps, is child’s play compared to scaling any peak in the Himalayas, let alone Everest. Nonetheless, I sometimes like to have a goal, and 10 miles around Woodland seemed as good as any, especially since Woodland is so close to my home; given that my plan involves doing the 10 miles in 3 separate installments.

There is a second reason for my choosing to walk laps around Woodland; namely, I’ve been nursing a sore knee for the past week and yesterday, my recovering knee felt fairly strong hiking along a local trail, except that every time I had to hike down a significant grade I would feel an occasional twinge of pain. So, today, I’m going to test it by doing a reasonably long walk on very level ground (the Woodland Lake trail not only does not ascend or descend any grades, it is also paved and therefore there are no sudden dips in the trail that might cause me to move my knee in such a way that could cause a setback in my recovery). Additionally, should I decide at any point during my project that my knee is beginning to act up, well, I can simply abandon the whole idea and save the hike for another day.

When I reach the southwestern portion of the lake there is nobody visible in any direction. This is surprising to me, given how many people I usually see here in the early morning, but then again, it’s quite brisk and still several minutes until sunrise. I pull my GPS from my pocket and reset the odometer to zero because I’ve heard varying estimates for the distance around the lake ranging from 1 mile to 1.25 miles, and I want to see how closely my GPS compares. Next, I draw up my binos and begin to scan the lake to see what birds are on the water and along the shores. In the dim light, it is nonetheless easy to make out the 3 most common species: the ever-present coots, Mallards, and Canada Geese. Less common, but still abundant, are American Widgeons, Gadwalls, and Ring-necked Ducks. There are other waterfowl species present but I can’t quite make them out yet. I know I will have a better look at them soon enough. I enjoy the tranquil mood for a few moments and then begin my first lap, taking precise note of my starting point and marking it with an unobtrusive rock cairn.

I walk a minute or so and then remember that I want to start and end each of my 3 shifts by taking a photograph across the lake. I do so, and then continue on my way, enjoying the squeaky-toy vocalizations of the widgeons as they float along on the lake’s surface. Many of the ducks seem cold; their bills wedged into their back feathers. Then again, duck-down is an incredibly warm insulator, and given that the temps are probably not much below freezing, I can’t imagine that they are actually all that chilly. Perhaps it is just their rubbery bill that is susceptible to the cold, so they tuck it into their feathers like we might tuck frigid, gloveless hands into our pant pockets when we are warm everywhere else on our body.

Now that I’m thinking about the cold, I realize that I have neglected to bring a scarf and that my face is getting slightly numb. Luckily, I have a bandana and tie it up Jesse James style to help warm my face. I also pick up my pace and am soon passing the enormous python that folks have been making by placing decorated rocks, one after another, along the edge of the paved walkway. I visit Woodland frequently enough that I’m quite familiar with the snake’s rapid “growth,” but it is always fun to see what new artwork adorns the serpent’s latest rock segments. I wonder if eventually this snake might do like the enormous python of ancient Egyptian lore and find itself eating its own tail. My thoughts turn to us humans, and our irrepressible need to create; to cry out and be noticed. It’s just part of the genome I suppose, and many of us seem very susceptible to it: as exemplified by Egyptian mythology, the artsy rock python that lies at my feet, or even the featherweight article I am writing now in an attempt to describe something as commonplace as a morning walk.

I hike quickly for a while but eventually stop to watch the ducks that are now becoming easier to see in the developing light. At a distance, a small flock of Buffleheads are readily identifiable by their small size and strikingly simple black and white plumage (especially in the males). One might consider these little ducks our local version of penguins; though, other than their dichromatic feather pattern, they really are not very similar.

Absorbed as I am in watching ducks, I’m startled when I suddenly become aware of the sound of footfalls and turn to see a jogger coming my way. Actually, he is more of a runner, as he is moving swiftly and is as graceful as a deer. He has a mixed-breed, herding-type dog at his side, unleashed but well-trained, and the two pass me in silence. I note that unlike many a jogger, this runner is so comfortable in his efforts that his face is serene; and does not possess the anguished look of so many joggers who struggle along in a tortured gait.

I continue along my way and remember back to my youth, and how much I loved to run back in those days. But, despite being a good runner, I was utterly inept when it came to team sports. I had undiagnosed myopia and when I played any game that involved a ball, especially baseball, I was invariably slow to react to the approaching ball and would generally bungle the catch or the hit. Sometimes the ball would even strike me as I fumbled with my mitt. Needless to say, I was typically the last kid picked for any team; often times with the team’s captain dejectedly stating: “Aww, we’re stuck with Bettaso.”

Speaking of sports, before long I have crossed the second bridge, this one the covered bridge at the inlet to the lake, and I am bearing down on the section of the trail where all the ball fields are -- including tennis courts and baseball diamonds. When I get to the baseball field nearest the walkway, I notice that far off, in center field, a worried mule deer is stotting along the outfield fence. Hopefully, he or she will realize that the only way out is back the way he or she had come.

By the time I reach the final parking lot of my first lap, there are a few cars parked there and I assume their owners will eventually become evident somewhere along the trail. The weather has not changed much in the 30 or so minutes that I’ve been walking but I’m quite comfortable and see no reason to take a detour to my truck in the most distant parking lot. I forge on ahead and when I get to the uncovered bridge (a genuinely impressive bit of construction, being both functional and aesthetically pleasing) I notice that the frost that had been on the wooden planks earlier has now melted off. I note also that the two eagles that had been perched in one of their usual snags during my first lap are now gone. Yes, there are more and more people beginning to arrive. Woodland Lake is always one of the most popular destinations in Pinetop.

My second and third laps pass as quickly and effortlessly as the first, with many an interesting bit of natural history to observe. Additionally, people-watching is beginning to become a vivid part of my experience as I conclude my first shift at the Park. In next month’s article, I will complete the tale of my 10-mile day at Woodland Lake (oops, did I blow the suspense; well, the real story is not whether I achieved my goal, but rather, what I learned along the way). So, please stay tuned and I will “see” you again in the January edition of Outdoors Southwest.