Things start out easy enough. The trail is flat and leads back between two high rock faces. If we stand close enough to each other we manage pretty clear pictures.
The path begins to rise. Wish I'd worn different shoes. Granpa is ever the gentleman and offers his hand up, is very patient as I search for the best footing. It's not that the climb is that steep, it's just that I'm cognizant of the fact that we are very, very alone out here.The fog lifts just a bit, but still not even a hint sunshine.
We're now on the top of the mesa. It's pretty. The trail is clearly marked, so we just keep moseying around. Pretty soon we realize we're not finding a "down" trail. The harder we look for one the more interesting things we find - like the tracks of a mountain lion, and they're fresh!
We've had no breakfast, and the hiking has really made us hungry. (I wonder if the cat is hungry, too!) We are very ready to get off this mesa no matter how pretty it is.
I begin to imagine crouching tigers and hidden dragons everywhere. I love a vast and vivid imagination - except when the imagining may be all too real! Grandpa is laughing at me, but he seems to be lookin' for a way down a bit harder than before. (Can't fool me, old man!)
Ultimately we decide to backtrack instead of going farther and farther afield, er, a-mesa.
Still, the fog hasn't left. We feel as though we are between heaven and earth. We can see greater distances, but sound is still muted. We feel very much alone. I can just imagine a mountain lion on the top of that rock, waiting to pounce. I'm glad I learned to wrestle with our Great Dane. Makes me feel like, uh, I don't know... like maybe I wish our Great Dane was with us!
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