On my last full day in this extraordinary place I set out to do a hike of a longer length, in a remote area. “Remote” here can be one hundred yards off the highway. I set out to hike two miles straight in, along the little used Castle Trail.
The Castle Trail, although a day-use trail, still has a hiker registration box. This box contains a register of people’s names, their vehicle make, model and license plate, and departure time. As a backpacker I’m used to registration boxes for long overnight trails. Its presence for day use was slightly unnerving. Setting out, I came across the usual warning sign.
The sun was already well into the western sky as I headed further and further into the east and away from the park road. Checking it with my outstretched hand I had at least two full hours before sundown. Sundown in this place is when the sun goes behind a canyon wall. A trail which at times is difficult to find in the middle of the day becomes impossible to find in the evening.
Taking no chances I brought along my GPS and a lot of water. Within the first two hundred yards of setting out I lost the trail. It had crossed over an expanse of ashen badland and without markers it was impossible to tell where others had gone. I think everyone had taken their own route, to pick the trail back up again when it entered prairie.
For the first mile I stopped frequently for photographs. The trail would descend into gullies only to come back out again on top of the grasslands. It would approach formations, go around behind them and continue on, always deeper and deeper into wilderness. I was mesmerized by the landscape and frustrated by my inability to capture it with words or photographs.
Eventually the camera came out less and I walked on in silence. My thoughts calmed down and I began hiking in my usual rhythmic gate. The ocean of blue sky stretching from the prairie horizon to over my head was like a solid flawless gemstone. I might as well be hiking this land before the first humans appeared.
The sound of a breeze would occasionally sweep across the top of the grass. A startled bird would take flight just feet away from me, both parties surprised. The sun felt unnaturally hot, the water in my camelback disappeared faster than I expected. Somewhat abruptly the trail came out along the edge of the badlands. As I hiked along, the limitless grasslands stretched away as far as I could see on my left while the forbidding badlands swept out below me on the right. I walked along on the edge of two worlds, both of which seemed to go on forever.
I stood here lost in wonder and in thoughts which are impossible to express. But there comes a time on many solo hikes into wilderness areas where an almost undetectable bell goes off; a warning alarm that it is time to take notice of things. The shadows have grown long, the sun is now but one hand width above the horizon, the temperature is dropping, the water is disappearing.
I pressed on, eager to hit the two mile mark. I’m not sure why, but I needed a feeling of completeness to the hike, and four miles sounded like a good number. The trail itself is five miles one way, with no alternate way back. There wasn’t a sign of anyone all afternoon, nor a sign that this trail had been used for some time.
I reached the two mile mark. My GPS showed nearly one hour of hiking time and twenty five minutes of stopped time. I checked the sun again and was comfortable with the amount of remaining daylight and so stood there for a few minutes longer, reluctant to turn back. The trail stretching out ahead of me beckoned to me relentlessly and was hard to refuse. I wondered if I could survive the night out here. Smiling to myself I decided to be grateful for what I had found, and instead of being foolish I would instead try to share the experience with others. I turned, set a quick pace, and hiked back.