Jaci Dawn

I had a few resolutions I didn’t keep last year, but the one I can blog about (because it was a tangible resolution) was this: I wanted to be able to hike all the way up the Pike Creek Trail. Basically, I wanted to go from our campsite and make it three thousand feet above the Alvord desert. I wanted to go to the end of the trail, where the terrain levels out and the really big cliffs wall you in; above the narrow canyon and up to the headwaters of Pike Creek.

I have never been there. I get to this one point where a series of ancient junipers shade the trail and droop dangerously over the rocks to stare down at Pike Creek some fifty feet below, where the creek burbles over solid rock.

I have been in that canyon along the water. Once. Don, Arwen, Levi & I hiked there when our English Pointer was young and we climbed down through the sagebrush to the water’s edge where Sadie barked at all the butterflies. It was a magical moment for Sadie, I’m sure. The rest of us were merely irritated by all her barking.

The idea is to get up before the sun turns the sky grey so you can make it up the trail and into the shadows of the canyon to watch the sun rise through the cave’s eyes.

We didn’t make it before sunrise. I took this photo on the way down – you can see the cave in the upper left of the photo.

I thought I was ready for the hike. I did have to keep Harvey on a leash because we only had one shock collar and Don wanted that on Murphy just in case we got into some chukars and Murphy decided to fly off the narrow trail to chase them down the cliffside. And to keep Murphy on the trail where he wouldn’t be chasing rattlesnakes. I also had a walking stick (read: rattlesnake stick – very handy in rattler country) and my camera and a backpack with food and lots of water.

We dress in long pants and heavy boots when we hike trails like this but I have seen people brave it in shorts and sneakers. I’d rather not take the chance that there’s a snake out there – or ticks. Yeah, gotta love ticks.

The trail winds along the canyon’s edge, peering down at Pike Creek more often than not. Wilderness designation begins where the old mine (likely a uranium mine). The trail then crosses the creek and the steep stuff begins: a zig-zag of dusty trail works up the side of the southern slope. The trail levels off a bit then. At around a thousand feet or 1500′ above the campsite, I am done.

I thought having Harvey pull me would help. NOT. He isn’t a very good service dog in that regard. 1) He wanted to keep up with Murphy and Murphy runs ahead of Don and Don walks twice as fast as I do on a bad day (for him). 2) When we got to the bitterbrush that covers portions of the trail, Harvey decided that he didn’t want to walk through the brush: he’d rather jump over it. I had to walk through it. 3) Harvey never wanted to stop and rest when my lungs and legs declared “Break Time!”

I made it to the usual junipers where we had lunch and drank lots of water. I contemplated going further, but I knew I would make it about fifty feet out. Besides, it was heating up and we were in the full sun – and would be in the full sun most of the way back down the canyon.

And hiking downhill is very often harder than hiking uphill. Especially if you have a strong dog on a leash and he wants to jog down the steep gravelly sections where you seriously need to consider putting your boot down lest the gravel rolls under said boot like oh-so-many-marbles.

I was disappointed that I did not have the stamina to make it beyond the same old spot on the map that I have always made it to, but I was pleased that I made it there in slightly better health than I have ever made it before (I wasn’t crying! and I didn’t have to use my prednisone inhaler!). And I had plenty of time to reflect on Psalm 23.

See, I had this walking stick. And Harvey. And Harvey wanted to run too fast, stop at every bitterbrush blockade, follow rabbit trails off to the side of the trail, and take shortcuts. I used my walking stick to nudge him, to redirect him back onto the trail, and to bonk him on the head to get his attention when I needed to stop. Not so much the latter, but it sounds good. I wonder if that is how God feels about using his staff on us? “Thy rod & thy staff, they comfort me.” In other words: they keep me out of rattlesnake dens and point me back to the path.

So much for deep thinking: mostly I was trying to keep up with my three male counterparts in speed & stamina – and still make time to get some photos of the area.

Excuse for a break: take a photo.

That’s a long way down to water.

The view from as high as I can go – but I intend to make it further NEXT time!!

So this resolution goes back on the list: Be physically able to climb to the end of the trail on Pike Creek (or: be able to climb seven flights of stairs without pausing).