The drive to Colorado Bend was long but easy. I got there around 4 & immediately got geared up. I had eaten plenty before and I had some snacks & lots of water. Each time I'd gone to Colorado Bend, I’d hiked Gorman Falls or Spicewood Springs, and usually in warmer weather so I was glad I had taken 2 jackets & my beanie. The beginning portion of this trail, I’d done before but it splits between Gorman Falls & a smaller trail that connects you to Tinaja Trail. Tinaja is the one I’d never done before so I had the map screenshot on my phone. Once I split into it, I was pretty much on my own. At some point, once I actually connected to Tinaja, I came across one family that was leaving - going opposite of me - & that was the last time I saw people. It must have been almost 5pm by then and, looking at the sky, then at my watch, I calculated I’d be on my hike another 2 hours. I wasn’t going to make it out before dark. At this point, I had 2 options: turn around or keep going. Option Keep Going also had 2 options: try to beat the sunset or accept that I wasn’t going to make it out before dark. These don’t really seem like options, and they aren’t really because Nature is gunna do what Nature is gunna do, regardless of which option I go with. These options had nothing to do with beating Nature at its own game, and everything to do with my attitude. If I tried to beat the sunset, I was going to be very disappointed. That, and being that it wasn’t something I’d come to terms with, I’d probably be unprepared to some extent. Accepting that I was going to night hike was coming to terms with the reality of my situation if I kept going. So, I looked at the sky - it was turning into light ribbons of crimson and yellow - & I realized that I’d be catching the sunset. I’d be seeing something beautiful I don’t always get to see and I’d be doing something I don’t always allow myself to do, so I took one jacket off, wrapped it around my waist & kept moving forward.

“I looked at the sky - it was turning into light ribbons of crimson and yellow - & I realized that I’d be catching the sunset. I’d be seeing something beautiful I don’t always get to see and I’d be doing something I don’t always allow myself to do…”

The terrain was rocky, wide, narrow, smooth and it looped upwards and downwards all around me. I saw beautiful boulders, looming trees beyond and beside me and, often, I’d turn to my left and stop. Below me were trees of all the fall colors and beyond them, a sun that slowly descended into them, sending between the crimsons and yellows in the sky, small streaks of blue. At one point, I got to a ledge off of the North Rim of the Tinaja Trail. I stopped there. I breathed in and my body relaxed into itself. “God is so good”, I thought. And I fought within myself for a second because I don’t know if I believe in God the traditional Christian way, but it’s hard to not when you stand on the edge of a cliff & see Him in the ridges and the rays.

I digress.

I got to some spring - probably Canyon Spring - but I’m not actually sure. By now, it’s past 6pm and I know I’ve got maybe 30 minutes of sunlight left. The sky is dimming and it’s especially dark under a canopy of trees. There was one trail I could see that went upwards but, with no sign, I wasn’t sure which trail it was. I looked at the map on my phone & couldn’t place myself on it. I thought, what the hell, I’ll go up 5 minutes and if I can’t orient myself or I don’t see a trail marker, I’ll turn back. New options: I could turn back onto the North Rim, pros: I am now familiar-ish with that trail, cons: I’d not be doing the trail the way I wanted to. I could keep going into this new trail, pros: maybe I was moving up onto the South Rim, but not sure, cons: I’m in unfamiliar territory, no trail markers, I don’t even know if it’s an actual trail on the map, I don’t know its length and I have maybe 15 minutes of fleeting sunlight.

Ego check moment: Recognize your tools, trust your intuition, accept the choice & outcome.

I turned back onto the North Rim. By the time I got past the more narrow area, it was dark but a waning crescent moon lit my path. My phone has been dying so quickly so, when I hike, I put it on airplane mode to save battery. I stopped for a moment, turned airplane mode off and tried sending a text: “Tinaja Trail North Rim. One hr back to car. I’m not gunna make it out before dark.” No service. Message not sent. Fuck. I turned airplane mode back on & kept going. My only light now was the moon and I began to play this game with my eyes where I tried to recognize my path and where it dropped or where it rose. My eyes adjusted and I traversed the trail like a pro. Soon, however, I began to use my phone flashlight when I entered an area where the trees hid from the moonlight. I didn’t want to drain my battery so, as soon as moonlight found me, I’d turn it off. I finally made it out of Tinaja Trail but I still needed to connect to other trails. I stood there, in the open field that went 4 directions and I looked at the sky. The North star shone bright, and a few constellations I didn’t recognize strew about the dark night sky. It was beautiful. But it was also getting colder now, and I unwrapped the 2nd jacket from my waist and put it on. I looked to both my left and right and recognized my path; it was forward. I moved confidently in the direction of my choosing. The trail narrowed now as I reentered the wooded area and I came upon another sign that I recognized. I made a decision to move towards another path and I stepped forward a few yards, deciding against it and turning around. I was back on familiar ground,until I wasn’t. I was on the small path that connected Tinaja Trail & Gorman Falls, and it steeped slowly into a dry riverbed that hadn’t tasted water in I don’t know how long. I recognized it and knew, intrinsically, that I was to keep moving straight ahead, but as easily as I saw the path, suddenly it was gone. Ahead of me were a bush of trees. I pointed my flashlight to the right, bushes and trees. To my left, bushes and trees. This was unfamiliar. I did not recall coming upon this thicket, and I halted where I stood. Turning around, I thought perhaps I had missed something. Was there a trail leading up that I forgot I’d taken? I pointed my flashlight upwards but cacti and rocks hid a path if there was one. I’m in the right place, I told myself. I know I am. My flashlight lit up what it could but, mostly, it revealed how little I could see. For every inch of light I got,behind it, was a darkness I could not penetrate. If I was going to find my path, I was going to have to climb and look for it. I was going to have to move. I climbed upwards, stepping around pointed rocks and angry cacti but found a dead end of trees again. I looked at my phone, turned off airplane mode and tried sending another text. The red of the undelivered message from earlier glared at me but I typed, “I’m lost”. I stood there for a moment. No service. Message unsent. Down once more, I decided I’d return to the last familiar place but as I climbed upwards, I recognized a long boulder I had stopped to admire on my way in. There were green, lush leaves in between the hard rock and I’d stopped to ponder the contrast when I was hiking in. I knew it, I told myself. I’m NOT wrong. Trust your instincts, Judy, I told myself. You’re in the right place. I turned around again, determined to find my path. I knew where to go, but I couldn’t see it. I knew straight was the path. It was NOT right, not left. I knew this. I moved forward. I shone my light once more where my path had once been. Judy, trust yourself, I said. It’s here, but where? I stepped forward, climbed over a boulder I didn’t recognize and was halted by trees. Wrong. But it’s close. I shone my light to my left and right…..here…..a small path. Behind a thicket, there was my trail. As soon as I stepped forward, it was like it had never been lost; so clear, so present in front of me, leading me out. The flashlight, at this point, was no longer an option. I knew I was close but I didn’t know how close. Actually, back when I thought I had an hour to my car, I actually had more like two, so I knew I was close, but this portion, the part where you know the end is near, this is actually the part where we begin to make mistakes, where we get inpatient and we stop paying attention to every little detail we were set on paying attention to before. This is the part where I stumbled the most and where my toes met rocks more than they should have. I took a breath. All of this, I knew, was the universe speaking to me, it was a knowing in myself that I had but needed tugging at. It was so obviously a metaphor for what I was going through that it couldn’t have been more confronting had it stood in front of me like a mountain lion. Which, by the way, there are at Colorado Bend. Under my breath, I muttered to the earth, to Mother, to God, to the universe, to all that begged me to listen: “I know”, I said. And I did. How many times had I gone through the darkness? How many times had I gotten lost in the great abyss in me? I had left, for the last time, a relationship that had called me to make myself smaller & it hurt. It hurt to know, it hurt to expand, it hurt to pull myself away from the warmth and the comfort of a love that left me feeling broken. And here I was again, both figuratively and literally, in the darkness that encompassed me all around, but this time, I knew the way. And I had seen some beautiful things on my way in. I had seen the sunset in a way I never had before. I had seen colors mix with colors and dance in the sky, and it existed perfectly without my doing anything to or for it. But now it was dark and, in looking for the way out, I got lost a bit, I lost sight of things that I could so easily see before. I stumbled on rocks and was leaving a little scratched, a little bruised, but braver. I had stood under a blanket of stars and traced with my eyes the Milky Way. I was not afraid. Whatever was out there, whatever eyes, if any, laid upon me, I knew myself, and I trusted myself, and I was going to be okay. But first, I had to slow down. I reminded myself in that last mile and a half, “you know where you’re going, you know how to make it, but if you don’t slow down, you’ll stumble your way out.” So I did. I began to pay attention again to the way my feet fell on the ground, to the way rocks juted and staggered over one another. I began to pay attention to the way my heart felt by itself; content, at peace. I began to pay attention to the hurt and the fear I was not feeling anymore. I had been shown the truth: there’s beauty in it all, the trip to and the trip from. I don’t need to run, I don’t need to hurry. I am right where I’m supposed to be, traversing the great abyss with full body knowing that I was strong, capable, wise and fucking beautiful. And I’m just a part of this in some small way, but it wouldn’t be the same without me. Every time I wondered “how much longer?”,I inadvertently took my eyes off the path. A path already fraught with obstacles, I made worse for myself, if even for a moment. What’s the use in the wondering if I know the way? I have been here before. I have loved. I have lost. I have fought too hard and not enough. But this time, it’s different. I’m different. I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and it’s part of life. It’s the yin and the yang. It’s perfect, and I’m doing great.

A North Star

Getaway: The Reclaim

My Dress Front Pocket