. . .
Word count: 1,032
I’m not a because-it’s-there hiker. I hike trails for a reason—fishing.
Some trails are old friends, and I know every bend and rise. Others are infrequently traveled, and, occasionally, some are new and exciting. I like the confidence of a new trailhead, before the uncertainty of the hike and the fatigue at its conclusion.
Tracks on the trail tell me all I need to know, like who’s here, who’s been here, what the weather’s been like, and which way to go at the fork—the other way. Smooth footprints belong to fly-fishers—old-timers still bitterly clinging to their felt-soled waders. Patagonia’s distinctive tread belongs to wet waders, and road apples and hoofprints are left by elk hunters scouting the fall hunt.
Sometimes a trail is blocked by downed trees or rockslides, forcing you to blaze a new trail. You think about going back for the…
View original post 927 more words