The weather forecast earlier this week called for back-to-back delicious December days: full sunshine with temperatures hitting a mid-afternoon high around 50 degrees.  Time to take action and put together a couple of substantial hikes.  On the Camino, every day will include a “substantial hike,” but for starters it seemed that two such days in a row were in order.  Way back in July I followed a 10-mile hike with a 7.5-mile one, but now it was time to up the ante.  With that in mind, I sent out an invitation to the WINNERS to see who might want to join me.

The WINNERS?  Yes, to the ever-growing ad hoc group of folks who had expressed an interest in taking on some hikes that were a bit–everything is relative, you understand…–on the “faster and the longer” side.  My initial “hiking list” included about 8 names; it’s now up to 26.  That’s a lot of folks wanting to get out in nature or at least hear about opportunities to do so.  For months we have limped along anonymously, loosely linked in my contacts under “hiking group.”  I decided it was time to come up with an acronym that might convey a bit about who we were, and I sent out a request for suggestions.

Sue, Liz, Eleanor, Barb, Gayle, Shari, pictured at our “lunch break” adjacent to the Hays Family Cemetery plot on the Grubb Ridge Trail (in the Deam Wilderness)

All smiles (and sun grins)!  We had a lot to smile about.  Like the way the sun gradually did both its warm-up magic as well as its enhancing magic when it made the creek down below us sparkle as it snaked its way through the valley.  Or the way the trail builders had created wonderful switchbacks so that, though the 13-milers among us climbed (and descended, right?) 147 “floors” in all, no ascents were steep enough to demand a catch-our-breath pause at the top.  Or the way there were almost enough strategically-placed stones to keep our feet mostly dry during the multiple creek crossings.  As ever, the patches of pine trees delighted the senses, as did the view from the ridge top of the white-boned sycamores lining a significant portion of the creek.  Conversation flowed.  Advice was given:  “come back in the spring to see the bluebells and the blue-eyed Susans”; “catch this trail when it snows”; “be sure to stretch to avoid muscle aches and cramps.”  Advice was sought, about hiking poles; about socks; about other good places to hike; about life.  The usual.  For all of us: a tremendous sense of gratitude for the blessing of being out in nature, “far from the madding crowd,” for blessings of health and energy which we recognize cannot ever be taken for granted.

You may be thinking: come on, Katy, it can’t ALL have been THAT good.  How about full disclosure?  Okay, so…  I’m thinking, I’m thinking…  There was mud, mud that even with the generous cushion of oak and beech leaves underfoot still oozed up in an attempt to envelope our shoes.  Um….  On the return trek, the sun was sometimes in our eyes making it hard to take in the surrounding beauty.  Let’s see….  I am already hearing-challenged, but to add insult to injury, one of my ears seems to be almost completely blocked with wax these days and so I missed some of the conversation and the bird songs (if, indeed, there were any…).  We didn’t see any soaring eagles or lolloping deer, no woodpeckers…; the wildlife pretty much gave us a wide berth.  And this: one of my little stumbles against a root had me on the ground ever so briefly, but I’m applying the three-second rule: if you are up within three seconds and your hiking mates didn’t even realize something was amiss, then it is not to be considered a fall.

I have a fun app (AllTrails) on which I can record hikes and then share trek statistics and photos.  Kind of fun for those who like that kind of thing.  So what the heck: if you are interested, check out either of the hikes at the links below.  The first is from December 17th (6 miles with Shari; 4 more on my own); the second from the 18th (10 miles with 6 others; the final three with 2 others)

https://www.alltrails.com/explore/recording/griffy-lower-and-upper?p=21821001

https://www.alltrails.com/explore/recording/13-miler-hays-grubb-to-peninsula-return

Assuming you don’t feel moved to check out the above links, below is my favorite photo of the “double-footer.”  Yes, I am really standing up straight!  Yes, plenty of room!.  I might easily have spread my lunch out inside and enjoyed a picnic there. With at least one other person!

Come on in! Plenty of room for company!

One set of sort-of-long back-to-back hikes does not tell me that I’m ready to do as many as twenty-four such duos, but each little challenge met is a step in the right direction.  As they say in Spanish:

Poco a poco se va haciendo

(roughly translated as) Step by step one gets things accomplished

And of course we all know how a journey of a thousand miles begins.  Let’s get going!

I had the opportunity to revisit the Three Lakes Trail in Morgan Monroe State Forest a few days ago.  I feel so fortunate to have access to this outstanding trail so close to home: just 45 minutes from the time we’re backing out of our driveway ’til our packs are on our backs, our poles at the ready, and we’re setting off down the trail.  We, in this case, were myself, co-pilgrim Barb, and friend Sue.  Here you see us near the end of our trek and you’ll note: we’re still smiling!

I’ve logged nearly 350 training miles and over 60 hikes since I began keeping a record back in July, but only a handful of them have been 10 or more miles in length.  This one tops the list at a bit over 11 miles, and I’ve done it not once but twice this fall.  Ah, but what a difference 65 days can make!  Sure, the two lakes seem more or less the same (and please don’t ask me why it is called the Three Lakes Trail when it has only a pair of lakes; there’s surely an explanation, but I am not in the know); the creek bed and the occasional rock wall are still in the same position; the switchbacks that help hikers negotiate the steeper climbs are in place; the hard work done by trailblazers and trail builders is as obvious in early December as it was in late September.  The same 159 “floors” of climbing were recorded by my Fitbit on both occasions.

Oh, but Mother Nature has had some busy weeks indeed!  Earlier this fall I delighted at the occasional leaf that had turned, but had to accept that I was a good three weeks early for the real deal in terms of color display.  Now: the forest floor is thick with the fallen leaves.  Those damp leaves hide from view not only the tree roots and stones just daring us to stumble but also the seemingly endless variety of acorns that had caught my eye on my earlier excursion.  And while the hills and valleys hadn’t changed one iota, with the leaves gone we had an uninterrupted view of them.  I swear: green really is my favorite color and no one loves a trek through a lush forest more than I do, but this is equally true: there is tremendous beauty in a naked woodland, especially one with the variety of terrain as in this hilly area of Morgan and Monroe counties.  (And then there’s this: at this time of year, no ticks to worry about, no insects to annoy, no sweat running down your back, no fear of heat stroke…) In September I was really drawn to the abundance of what I am going to call “mushrooms.”  Six or seven weeks later, it was the “fungi” begging to be photographed.  September’s creek wasn’t as full and didn’t require the rock hopping or the big jumps that December demanded.  Whereas a brilliant sun back in September fought its way through the foliage to warm my back and to coax marvelous smells out of the fallen pine needles, in December the miniature snowballs (or snow “pellets” perhaps, for they were not what one would call “flakes”) fell unemcumbered through the bare branches and landed on our noses and on the fungi clinging to fallen trees.  Oh, another difference: the abundance of white blazes painted on the trees!  The trail was really well marked.  I don’t remember having such access to the blazes when I walked this trail earlier; perhaps the leaves interfered with my viewing them then, or perhaps they have been repainted recently.  At any rate, the blazes were comforting reminders that indeed we still were on the trail.  We weren’t lost.  We weren’t going to end up, against our wills, with an extra three or four miles by trail’s end.

My previous hike was on a Saturday and coincided with opening day of “youth hunting season.”  Mind you, this does not refer to a day on which youth are to be hunted down, but rather a week-end when those ages 17 and under can bring down one antlered deer and one or more non-antlered.  It was, I’ll admit, a bit unnerving to hear shots that day, and, believe me, I was decked out in blaze orange.  My hearing leaves a lot to be desired, but I only counted five “explosions” that day and they all seemed distant.  My guess is that the youth were tired from all the thumb exercises they had performed on their phones’ keypads the night before and thus most of the would-be hunters had slept in that morning.  Again, though, I note how much can happen in a few weeks.  Youth season lasted only a week-end, and the short firearm season had come and gone by the time my friends and I went into the woods.  We were alone.  We saw neither hunters nor hikers nor outdoor enthusiasts.  Only trees.  Hillsides.  Decaying leaves, so damp from recent rains that they had lost their crunch and crackle.

So it was quiet?  Are you kidding?  Three women friends quiet?  Hardly!  But here’s the interesting part:  Barb and I are getting ready to tackle the Camino, so you would think we have a lot on our plates, much to discuss as we share what we have learned or read about this major undertaking.  That might certainly be true were it not for the fact that our upcoming adventure seems like a mere Sunday afternoon walk in the park compared to what Sue and her husband are embarking on a few weeks after Barb and I head to Spain.  Sue and Steve have gotten the go-ahead via a lottery system for a through-hike of the 2500+-mile Pacific Crest Trail (PCT to those “in the know”) that runs up the coast from the Mexican border to the Canadian.  It is impossible to refrain from asking Sue a million and one questions about the logistics of this upcoming endeavor.  Among the things that she has to worry about: carrying enough water to get through the desert; having bear-proof canisters for food; (possibly) needing to carry out rather than bury as much as a week’s worth of bodily wastes at a time; preparing the boxes which her son can send to various post offices along the route with appropriate supplies; getting along with a spouse in such close quarters for the five months it will take them to complete the trek; washing out clothes and preparing meal after meal after meal when resupply possibilities may sometimes be as many as ten days apart; etc., etc.

I think just listening to Sue, of whom we are in absolute awe, is very calming for Barb and me.  We will pass multiple sources of water and food each and every day.  We will be sleeping indoors.  We will probably never be out of sight of fellow pilgrims for more than 10 minutes.  The Camino is only 500 miles.  Absolute piece of cake!  Thanks, Sue, for putting it all into perspective!  We admire you no end.  We might wish we were youngsters like you, and we might tell ourselves that if that were the case we might consider doing at least the Appalachian Trail… but, truth is, we’ve got a good ten years on you.  And so we say: better you and Steve on the PCT than us; we’ll be more than content with bagging the Camino.  Nonetheless, we’re going to keep asking those questions because 1) your adventure is so daring and exciting, and 2) doing so keeps us from having to focus on all the little decisions we need to be making.  All in good time.  All in good time.

It’s currently 20 degrees in Bloomington.  Winter, supposedly, is a good two weeks away yet.  But as my mother used to quote: “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”  Can’t wait!  Winter is often thought of as a blah time of year, a “dead” season.  But I imagine Mother Nature will continue to keep herself busy.  That’s what mothers do.  They worry.  They fuss.  They certainly don’t sleep much!  More than anything else, they busy themselves with work.  So I wonder: will there be another Three Lakes Trail hike this winter where we can observe what Mother has been up to?  Branches draped in snow, creek frozen over, icicles dangling, maybe a brilliant sun making everything sparkle?  Sounds enchanting.  And the geese at the lake’s edge whose honks the other day told us in no uncertain terms that we were trespassing?  Will they have headed south to open waters and warmer days?  Maybe I’ll find out come January or February….

As I reflect on the changes wrought within one single season, in the course of a mere 65 days, I recall that, give or take a few days, that’s how long I’ll be in Spain.  My trek will begin rather early in the spring and it will end a few weeks before the official start of summer.  Is there any season that produces as many dramatic changes as spring?  Of course, I won’t be walking and comparing the same 11-mile stretch of ground.  Nevertheless, as I make my way west across northern Spain, nature will be working her spring magic and I’ll be all eyes to take in the thawing, greening, and rebirth that characterize the months of April and May.  I’m hoping that it’s not just the landscape that will be changing and experiencing growth and maturity during my pilgrimage days.  Walking the Camino changes the walker, I’ve been told.  I hope that’s true.  I hope I come alive and respond to the sun and the warmth and all the spiritual blessings the Camino offers to those who are open to them.

The rain had moved on and the hourly forecast called for highs in the lower 60s.  Not bad for a late November day.  Thinking that I’d like to get some hiking miles in without going too far afield, I decided to head for the “tried and true” Griffy Lake Nature Preserve.  A warmer day calls for a good bit of water In my Camelbak; a mid–day hike demands a trail lunch; a solo hike permits bringing my iPod along so I can continue listening to the audiobook I’m hooked on; training guidelines say: “Work up to carrying the weight you expect to have on your “real” hike.  So, feeling energetic and enthusiastic, I don’t balk at the 17 lbs. in my pack.  After all, the trails at Griffy are pretty flat.

It was about a month ago when Kevin, Maura, and I were at Griffy on a drizzly but actually quite pleasant October afternoon.  As far as I recall, I had never proceeded as far along the Griffy Creek Trail as we did that day.  Still, we hadn’t reached the end when Kevin voted to head back to the vehicle.  Aw…  Well, a month later, I was my own boss; there was no one with me to suggest an about face.  I was excited about continuing on to the end of this out-and-back trail.  Creek and valley.  Easy-peasy.

Why did the hiker cross the creek? Duh!  ”Cuz there’s more trail on the other side!

Easy, that is, until I had to cross the creek.  Once, twice, three times, and yet a fourth, knowing that I’d have those same crossings once I turned around..  But no biggie: there were some strategically-placed, if somewhat slippery rocks at one or two crossings; the water wasn’t deep; my waterproof boots needed a christening, and… wasn’t I clever to notice the tree which had fallen across the creek, allowing me a handhold as my boots found purchase on rocks and accumulated leaf piles.  I was feeling pretty confident, though at the same time I wondered what might happen if I had a major slip and needed assistance…. The parking lot had been full of cars, but I wasn’t seeing others on this more remote section of the trail.

But hey, after enjoying a creekside lunch of turkey salad, I made my way back to the parking lot and sought out a totally new-to-me trail on the other side of the road.  Full disclosure: not totally new.  Ken and I had walked at least a portion of the North Shore Trail at some point during our first year of dating some 42 years ago.  I remember sitting on a rock overlooking the lake and sharing a kiss.  That’s all I remember about the trail back then.  Kevin told me, the day before this second venture along the north shore of the lake that he had started it a time or two; he confirmed my suspicions that it wasn’t all that easy to follow.  His computer open, Kevin pulled up a city brochure with a map of all the trails at Griffy and we looked it over.  Ah, but we didn’t read the description of that particular trail.  Today, one day after my hike, I call up the brochure again and see exactly how it describes this 1.5-mile trail:

Steep slopes, narrow pathways, and rock outcrops make the North Shore Trail the most rugged trail at Griffy Lake.

Yes!  I concur!  Add to that description: “and you are likely to lose the trail at some point and find it necessary to head cross-country until you come upon it again.” So, had I read that beforehand, would I have decided against the trail?  Probably not.  I would most likely have told myself: Self, you can just turn around if you find it too challenging.  Did I turn around?  Of course not!

Was it rugged or was that just a disclaimer to release the city from liability?  How often is “rugged” really “rugged,” after all?  YES!  It was rugged!  I have been hitting a lot of trails in the last five months, and I am convinced this one surpasses the others in terms of being challenging.  Yes, it has the “narrow pathways” AND those narrow pathways are along the “steep slopes.”  Yes, I lost the trail and found myself making my way through briar patches in search of the next ravine where I felt I was likely to meet up with the trail again.  Fellow hikers were few and far between.  I was basically on my own to find my way, though the lake shore was a godsend in terms of orientation.

Did I make it to the end–the dam–before retracing my steps?  Yes!  At least I had that reward!  More importantly: did I make it back to my car?

That, too.  With 9 miles total to my credit.  But… there was… a fall….  Not a long one, but not so pretty either.  It involved a big angled stone on a steep slope.  It involved my body doing at least one roll over the 17-lb. backpack.  Abrasions and bruises on my right hand, “carpet burn” on or near both elbows, scattered hiking poles, and a huge reminder that I am no longer a 20 or 30-something!  The good news?  No broken glasses or bones, no torn or blood-stained clothing, no humiliation (if no one sees you fall, then did you really fall?).  I struggled to use my right hand last night even to do simple things like turn off the bedroom light or push the button to start my electric toothbrush, but here I am this morning typing with relative ease.  Our bodies are pretty awesome.

Darn it all, anyway, though!  I had hiked 200 miles before I tripped the first time.  Also at Griffy, now that I think about it….  I expected to get in at least another 200 miles before a reocurrence.  Instead, it was a mere 100.  So… I’d better be cautious when I’m about to complete another 50.  Maybe daily caution is called for.  Along with a bit more common sense when I choose my adventures.

True confession: I have been unfaithful.  My bikes have been shut up in the barn, abandoned, discarded, barely thought about and, I must admit, not even lusted after for a good six weeks.  My longest lap in 2018.  The longest one in memory, for that matter.  In my effort to log in the hiking miles, I have turned my back on the biking.  I have had to recognize that though my to-do list grows, my days still have only 24 hours in them.  Fewer than half of those hours include daylight, and still fewer of them include temperatures at which one wants to ride.

Today, though, the promised 50 degrees, along with Ken’s plan to take a spin on the trail we can access just half a mile from our house, persuaded me.  I approached my steed with no small amount of sorrow for my unfaithfulness.  But Townie, bless her, didn’t seem to hold any grudges.  Especially once I filled her soft tires and promised her an adventure.  “No hard feelings,” she seemed to say.  Apparently I felt worse about my treason than she did.

I didn’t get more than a block from home before I had forgiven myself as well.  Chilly, yes.  It’s only natural that 10 mph will create more breeze than the 2.3 mph of my typical hiking-in-the-woods pace.  I was dressed for it, though.  Before long I had a song stuck in my head and we soon got far enough from other trail users that I was compelled to sing out loud.

Townie doesn’t object to leaving the pavement and so we continued on to the Bloomington Rail Trail and were treated to a much more complete view than the one we get when the leaves are on the trees.  We came upon some interesting vines that were totally intertwined as they made their way towards the higher branches of the tree to which they clung.  I can’t say that I had ever noticed such twisted vines.  I took it as a sign and symbol: one of the vines represents me, the other, my passion for biking.  I may have set the bike aside for a while, but we are, in the end, inseparable.  My biking days are not over.

No, they are not over.  They are not even over for 2018.  I may remain at only 93% of my goal of 2,000 biking miles for this year, but I’m determined to meet another goal, that of riding during every single month of the year.  Watch out, December, I’ll be out there.  At least once.

I had nothing at all to do with planning today’s adventure, but I was a very willing participant.  For the second time in as many weeks, I joined the Bloomington WOW (Women of the Woods) group for their 2nd annual “hot potato hike” at Brown County State Park.  Did we have any idea when tasks were being assigned just how much we would appreciate the hot apple cider?  Or the kindling and logs and the propane torch that would ignite them and give us almost immediate heat?  And the shelter itself where we would indulge in a post-hike feast that included—in addition to  the still-hot baked potatoes and the butter, sour cream, chives, grated cheese, barbecue pork with which to top them—three kinds of hummus, fresh veggies, tortilla dippers, and an assortment of delicious cookies?   No.  But then how were we to know that temperatures would dip as they did and that the trees would be coated in ice?  And how were we to know that for the entire morning that ice would follow gravity’s call and pelt us as we completed Trail #6 near Strahl Lake?

Warming ourselves by the fire after our Hot Potato Hike

In a way, isn’t the unknown a huge part of the adventure?  Weather is unpredictable—even though we repeatedly check our weather apps and try to prepare accordingly.  Our bodies are unpredictable, too.  Some days we get up feeling we can conquer the world… and other days we admit to being the conquered.  Case in point: three women who expected to be with us today had to bow out for a variety of reasons that I think involved bodies that were talking back to their owners.  Also unpredictable: will we have all the supplies we need?  Oops… Sandra remembered the forks and the tablecloth and the cloth napkins, but… the plates she was going to bring didn’t make it.  Part of the adventure!  We easily improvised and found that the foil in which the potatoes were wrapped could do excellent double duty as plates.  Problem solved.

And so I hope it will be in Spain.  Innovate.  Make do.  Go with the flow.  Solve the problem.  Give help.  Accept help.  Swap.  Be creative.  Enjoy other people.  Tell stories.  Listen to others’ stories.  Really listen.  Really, really listen.  And keep those eyes wide open to take it all in.  An open heart, too.  And, it goes without saying, an open mind.

After the WOW lunch, I went off hiking on my own to add in a bit of speed, climb some ferocious Brown County hills—Pyrenees here I come!–and “practice” solitude.  Trail 9 of the park was ideal for the latter, though it was a bit disconcerting to hear gun shots echoing off the hills (really?  in a state park?  and what was that “hunters’ check in” sign all about?).  I had truly loved the morning chatter, laughter, and camaraderie, but I also treasured the mostly-quiet afternoon and the need to pay careful attention to my surroundings so as to stay on the trail and not be distracted by possible spurs.  I’ve hiked so little alone lately; it was good to see that I still do enjoy my own company.

I admit: by the time I returned to the car, my hips and my toes were not exactly shouting “Thank you, thank you, for bringing us along with you!”  I don’t blame them for protesting a bit, as my Fitbit reported at day’s end that I had climbed—and thus descended, as well—150 “floors.”  That was 50 “floors” more than a week earlier when I had actually walked four miles further.  The hiking in this renowned park is clearly not for flatlanders.  Conquering the hills, though, caused another part of my anatomy to declare their alleluias loud and clear: my hands were absolutely toasty by the end.  If you know me, then you know those hands doesn’t usually warm up between October and May!

In the end, what’s not to love about those dramatic ridges and valleys of Indiana’s most acclaimed state park?  All I can say is… WOW!

Reminder: I try to post the occasional picture with my blog, but I’ve been told that WordPress is not the best platform for photos.  You can check out a more complete collection on Instagram (follow katys.camino) or, if you prefer, on a special Camino-dedicated Facebook page, called, believe it or not, Katy’s Camino which Maura has been kind enough to set up for me.