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I follow her outside, and she locks up the house before we climb into my SUV. It’s a short drive into the park, and Willow spends half of that time looking through my backpack and transferring some of the items into her bag.
“I don’t mind carrying the entire load,” I say for the tenth time. “You can leave your backpack in the car.”
“I can carry some of it,” she insists.
I don’t argue with her again.
So stubborn.
The parking lot is only a third full when we pull into it, and I’m glad. During the summer, the lot is usually packed with vehicles and campers and buses, and the overflow is parked along the highway. But the summer tourists have gone home, so we should have the trail mostly to ourselves.
Willow studies the map next to the trailhead as I lock up the car and situate my pack on my back. Then, I join her, pointing out the route we’ll take.
“So, it’s three miles up and three miles back?” she asks.
“Yep. An easy hike. You up for it?” Even if she wasn’t, I’m sure she’d rise to the challenge just to show me she could.
She nods, and we’re on our way. The first quarter mile is a rocky dirt road to the base of the mountain. We cross a sturdy log bridge that’s only a few feet long but carries the trail over a rushing stream. Willow stops to take some pictures with her phone. I pause to admire the way the sun plays with the different shades of her hair. It’s a light-brown color with blonde highlights. Some strands look nearly white while others appear golden in the rays. They cascade down her neck, landing just below her shoulders in waves. It’s thick and beautiful.
“I like your hair like that,” I say when she catches me staring.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Wavy. Natural.” We start walking along the trail again. “You straightened it the first night you were here.” I liked it straight, too, but I prefer the wild, unruly look of her curls.
I pull the bill of the ball cap I’m wearing down further on my forehead, shielding my eyes from the glare. The sky is a bright blue today with the sun shining brightly. Just as I thought, the temperature is already rising.
We trek farther down the trail and into a cove of aspen trees. We aren’t at the peak of the fall season, but we’re close. The aspen leaves are mostly yellow now, and they look like gold shimmering in the sunrays when the wind blows. It’s pure magic.
We walk past a stable with horses that are rented out during the summer season, and then the trail starts to incline. For the next quarter to half mile, we climb straight up. Large boulders embedded in the dirt help maintain our footing, but it’s the most challenging part of the hike.
I slow down a little when I hear Willow’s labored breathing. She’s only been here a few days, and her body is still acclimating to the thinner air. I’m also certain she’d pass out from altitude sickness before admitting that she was struggling.
The trail runs right along the same stream of water that forms the small cascade at the beginning of the hike. I stop and suggest that Willow take some pictures, using it as an excuse for her to catch her breath. After a few minutes of rest, we keep going.
“It’s so gorgeous here,” she says, as breathless from the scenery as she is from the hike.
I nod.
“You’re so lucky to have all this in your backyard.”
“I know.” I gaze around at the tall white aspen trees with spun gold at the tips and take a deep breath of the pine scent in the air. “I think that’s why I’ve never left. I love the outdoors too much. I could never live in a concrete jungle after growing up here.” I glance back at her, watching her take it all in. “Need some water?”
“I’m good right now,” she says with a smile that rivals our surroundings.
After another block or two upward, the path levels out. We’re on top of the first half of the mountain. The grass is a rich green color, and the mountains loom up ahead in the distance. Willow takes a few more pictures before we pose for a selfie together with the peaks in the background.
Another mile or so, and we come to a heavily forested area. The trees grow dense, and the sunlight is stolen. The temperature must drop a good ten to fifteen degrees from what it was a moment ago. We can hear the birds chirping and the chipmunks scampering around on the ground.
“It’s kind of spooky here,” Willow comments, glancing around.
Even though it’s the middle of the day, the trees block the sunlight, making it appear dark.
“Yeah … a bear or a moose could sneak up on us, and we wouldn’t even know it.” I chuckle when she glares at me with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Relax. There are too many people on this trail daily. We’re good. But I brought bear spray just in case.”
Another thirty minutes or so, and we clear the forest, making it to the top. There’s a lake up here that looks like literal glass. The water reflects the mountain range behind it. It’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and it’s a favorite spot for photographers. It’s called Talbert Lake, and the trail is named after it. I explain all of this to Willow.
We pick a huge collection of boulders to sit on and gaze around at the water and beyond. I can hear a couple talking off in the distance somewhere, but I can’t see them. Their voices echo off the lake and then fade, and it feels like we’re the only two people on the face of the earth right now.
