Fitness Files: This ‘Lost’ has a decent finale
After our usual Monday hike, Sally called me to her car.
She handed me a superbly handcrafted pine walking stick with a leather hand strap. Classically tapered, its rustic beauty comes from a tracery of worm meanderings encircling the shaft. A coat of shellac smooths its finish. “Your adventure stick,” Sally said.
I scored this solid staff by going against my basic character. I don’t speed, jaywalk or hike off the trail. I’m a risk-averse little grandma.
The story starts with a glorious weekend at Sally’s lakeside cabin, culminating in a Sunday morning hike. We took off pre-breakfast, traversing Sally and Dan’s well-marked trail to Alpine Lake.
Out for a quick turn, none of the six hikers strapped on water belts. Following Sally, we smelled pines and sunk comfortably into rain-softened earth, dampened by Saturday’s drizzle.
Admiring Sally and Dan’s trails — logs marked one stretch, and hefty rock cairns designated another — we trekked confidently, noting blue rings painted on trees marked for logging.
And then the trail disappeared.
“Loggers took out our markers,” Sally said. She got her bearings and headed south, right into a pile of Volkswagen-size boulders. Nimble as a mountain goat, Sally scaled the first one and jumped to the second. Stronger hikers followed quickly. I drew up to the end. My friend Ava spotted me and hovered while I climbed up, sat down, swung my feet, crawled on all fours and, finally, jumped from boulder to boulder.
Glowing with my newfound “bouldering” skill, I accepted the walking stick Ava picked up.
Sally found the trail. Hikers resumed their usual breakneck pace. I leaned on the stick, keeping up as I passed mahogany-colored manzanita, clinging to the stick as I slid on the changing surface of broken shale and finally stopping to snap a photo of the granddaddy of all juniper trees.
But the group had moved ahead, so I scurried to catch them, only to be hushed.
Hikers stood, watching a dainty, big-eared doe.
This beautiful moment contrasted sharply with the pit bull-mastiff, who ran from behind a parked pickup to meet us or eat us.
Hard to tell. He passed me and accosted my friends ahead.
They froze.
He barked in excitement or hostility.
Not seeing a bared tooth, I wasn’t afraid, so I joined his owner, running toward the dog and calling to him.
He left.
We left.
Anxiety disappeared. We reached serene Bluff Lake. A lush green meadow lay across the trail. We’d arrived at Sally’s perfect destination and turn-around.
However, we didn’t know which way to turn.
The pit bull distracted us from a three-story log pile. Again, logging trucks had destroyed Sally and Dan’s trail.
The next three miles included forays north and double-backs. Sally looked worried. Hikers’ stomachs rumbled. A few wished they’d brought water.
Clutching my stick, I followed as we bushwhacked off trail through low brush to the smack of raindrops on bare arms.
Ava had mastered the GPS iPhone locator, which confirmed that Sally selected the correct direction.
Soon Sally encountered the trail, and we landed on her doorstep just as a downpour commenced. I propped my well-worn walking stick against the door, saying, “Don’t let me forget to take this memento home.”
I forgot.
Sally’s woodworker husband, Dan, found the bent little stick and decided to make me a proper staff.
I loved getting lost — comfort-zone castaway!
I’m a bouldering, bushwhacking grandma with a genuine adventure stick to prove it.
Newport Beach resident CARRIE LUGER SLAYBACK is a retired teacher who ran the Los Angeles Marathon at age 70, winning first place in her age group. Her blog is lazyracer@blogspot.com.