All of us had been frustrated during the summer by nagging injuries and ailments of one sort or another (problems stemming from a lifetime of demands placed on aging knees, hips and backs) plus there were the on-going hassles of trying to stay safe during the global pandemic. But despite the pandemic -- or perhaps because of it -- none of us were willing to let sublime autumn slip away under-appreciated; aching joints and bones notwithstanding.

We met at a pre-determined rendezvous and, while deliberating over a map of the area, agreed that our goal for the day would be a hike of eight to 10 miles. We further agreed that we would tackle the most strenuous section of our route (a fairly steep, sustained uphill slog) first; this, despite the fact that we would be hiking directly into the sun (as a bird-watcher, I'm always loath to walk into the blinding rays of a rising sun). But, I have to admit, given the morning's chill, it did feel wonderful to experience both solid uphill exertion combined with warming sunshine on my face.

Behind us, stood Lake Mountain whose slopes I had once rambled years ago in an attempt to bag a wild turkey on my first and only hunt for that wily creature (for the record -- not only did I fail to fill my tag, I never even saw my quarry nor heard its comical gobble). Ahead of us rose Wishbone Mountain, a dual-peaked summit of over 8,800 feet. As we huffed and puffed up the hill toward Wishbone, I pondered how it got its name. It wasn't until I looked at my topo map of the mountain that I decided it might be because, from the air, the sprawling mountaintop is somewhat shaped like a turkey's clavicle.

Toward the top of one grade, we watched a pair of mule deer bound (or stot, in the lingo of hunters) up ahead of us. In a matter of seconds, the deer covered a distance that eventually took us five minutes to traverse. Then again, for most of the time we watched the deer, they were within range of a standard hunting rifle and, well, we all know that no creature's speed is a match for a speeding bullet.

Eventually we plateaued and took a break for snacks. We chose a place that marked a transition from oak and pine to mixed conifers and aspen. The breeze had also just started to kick up and as I munched on gorp, I directed my attention to the gently swaying aspen trees. Every once in a while, the breeze would gust and send yellow leaves flying off the tree like a flock of canaries taking to the wing. I noted that, unlike the oaks, the aspens seemed to achieve their color change uniformly. The oaks, on the other hand, experienced a much less even shift and one could see oaks of the same size ranging from still green to yellow and on to brown. None had yet to completely drop their leaves though and others had all three-color changes on a single tree. While it is well known that shortening day lengths and cooling temperatures play key roles in the changing and shedding of leaves, clearly, there is still quite a bit of variation that must be due to other causes. Perhaps the trees are merely expressing their individual personalities....

Speaking of personalities, before any of us could let our muscles stiffen up, Debra's young Border Collie, “Fly,” indicated that she was raring to resume our hike. Debra's two older dogs, both highly trained search dogs with our SAR crew, were resting up at home and today was the sleek new pup's chance to explore without her more focused and steadfast older chums along to reprove her youthful exuberance.

Because I had chosen today's hiking route, I once again took the lead as we set off along the trail (not counting Fly, naturally, who would effortlessly spring to the head of the line, only to return again and again to Debra's side). Had we been on an actual search, one of my three (human) companions would have led our group of four (again, not counting whichever trained search dog was on board to do the real work). All three of my friends/colleagues had been with SAR for many more years than I had. In addition to Debra (the most experienced search-dog handler of the Navajo County SAR crew), today's hike included Laurie (our SAR Captain) and Gary (the SAR Treasurer). Laurie and Gary are not among the SAR team's dog handlers but they are among the most skilled when it comes to such things as navigation, tracking, first-aid and wilderness survival techniques.

Shortly after resuming our hike, we came to an area of level land where there was an old cowboy camp -- complete with corral, a cattle chute and an old, non-functioning windmill and drinker. Soon after we left the cowboy camp, our route took us south, along the backside of Wishbone where the map indicated a cattle tank/pond somewhere down in the depths of a ravine. The trees and other vegetation were thick enough down the slopes and on the bottom of the ravine that the tank was not, as far as I could tell, easily visible from the trail.

We were about half- way along the day's route when we encountered the first (and only) other people of the day: three mountain bikers, heading in the opposite direction from our own. Their route had them taking the more gradual uphill circuit and I wondered if they knew how steep some sections would be when they came to the latter portion of the loop. At least the trail was not the typical rock- and root-strewn type of path that so many of our local bike trails are, so the steep portions should at least only require nerve and balance -- and not supremely technical riding skills.

As we strode along the trail, I kept an eye out for elk and turkeys but saw none, although their tracks were frequently present. There were certainly plenty of fallen acorns for the turkeys to feast upon and, while I've heard that elk crave the green leaves of young aspen trees, I wasn't sure if they would eat the yellow autumn leaves. Occasionally, we would hike through a grove of aspens that was so dense that, while there was still a dazzling array of leaves on the trees, there were also many fallen leaves blanketing the ground. At one point, where the leaf litter was particularly thick, Debra commented that it seemed as though a pot of gold coins had been splashed all along the trail. Perhaps, on a previous day, this was the spot where a rainbow had finally touched the earth.

At about mile six, we were all beginning to feel like we would just as soon opt for the shorter, eight-mile route than the ten-mile alternative. In choosing to do so, we left the official trail and struck off cross-country. Gary took the lead at this point because he is quite adept when it comes to the type of bushwhacking that requires map reading and orienteering. Before long though, the forest opened up such that he and I were able to walk side by side. I thought of the old line of Thoreau's that goes something like: “Walk not behind me, as I may not lead; walk not ahead, as I may not follow; walk beside me and we shall walk as friends.”

We strolled along the grassy terrain and chatted as we went. Both Gary and I have spent scads of time both in obscure and in well-known wild places: from Patagonia, South America to Patagonia, Arizona. In fact, earlier this summer when I had mentioned to Gary that I was planning a backpacking trip to the Wind Rivers of Wyoming, he had emailed me photos from a trip he had done there years back. Later, when bad weather altered my plans to hike in the Wind Rivers and had switched my destination to Canyonland, Utah, he had sent me photos of a backpacking excursion he had done in that area. In my next two articles for OSW, I will, in fact, be recounting my trip to Canyonlands. So, hopefully you will stay tuned for tales from that sizeable chunk of remote and desolate lands.