Portions of hiking trails are steep and rugged, I read on the map. I was at Lost Maples State Natural Area in the Texas hill country. There were about three hours of sunlight left, plenty of time to hike the five-mile trail. The East Trail is a loop which follows the Sabinal River for most of the way with the exception of a small section of ridge walking with plenty of scenic overlooks. Scenic overlooks...how nice, I thought.
I laced up my boots, took a swig of water and started down the riverside trail. Several young children and their parents were playing in the shallow pools of water. A gentle breeze trickled through the maple trees. The rugged limestone cliffs along the river glowed with the golden afternoon light. I munched on an apple as I walked. What a great trail. What a great life!
After a bit, the trail began to cross back and forth across the river. The water was low so most of the time I could walk across the exposed riverbed, stepping over what little water there was. Soon, thought, I noticed the cliffs were getting closer, the water deeper and the ridge behind me was growing higher. The next river crossings all involved hopping from large limestone blocks or boulders to cross the water. That was fun, I thought.
Then...the trail turned away from the river and headed up. Up the ridge, on a deceptively gentle appearing set of limestone stairs. The stairs soon turned into a mad scramble up an incredibly steep trail over boulders, loose rocks, overhanging ledges and a lot of other scary places I thought would make fine resting spots for rattlesnakes.
Halfway up this mess, a group of haggard looking hikers, in their twenties, passed me on their way down. No one spoke, I didn't have the breath to spare and they were concentrating on not breaking their limbs. We exchanged grim glances. An exceedingly happy yellow lab bounded down the trail after them.
Finally, I reached the top of the ridge. Sinking down on a narrow wooden bench, I looked out over what I assumed must be the scenic overlook. Across the river was a tall, green ridge, the twin of the tall, green ridge I was sitting upon. I had a sneaking suspicion the view was less of a scenic overlook and more of a recovery station for exhausted hikers.
The next part of the trail was a nice flat trail along the top of the ridge. Nice and flat and covered with fist-sized rocks. What was it with this trail? It was like some kind of torture planned by maniacal Boy Scouts.
Finally, I reached the end of the torturous ridge trail, just in time to remember the axiom, What goes up, must come down. In front of me was the mirror image of the trail I had just climbed up. This time, however, I was going in the ankle-breaking direction. Halfway down I met a young couple climbing up. I managed a , "How are you?" The woman stopped, caught her breath and said, "I'm an idiot. We're sleeping on top of the ridge tonight. This is the second time we've climbed this trail today. I can't believe he talked me into this." She shook her head, took a deep breath and without another word, continued climbing.
By the time I reached the bottom of the ridge it was getting dark. The final leg of the trail was lovely and gentle, along the river again. The eyes of night animals followed me as I walked down along the trail. As I entered the campground, the full moon rose above the ridge and I saw the reflection on Van, my trusty Sportsmobile patiently waiting for me. What a great life!
