It was too windy for fishing so I had to make a choice between hanging around camp and trying to see birds, which were pretty much nonexistent right then, or taking a road trip. Road trips aren't what they used to be before Covid. No little shops, farmer's markets, museums. We're limited to things we can do outside. So I settled on Colorado Bend State park.
The shortest hike they had was 1-1/4 miles down to the Gorman Falls, then the same distance back. That's a trivial walk for me even in the 100+ degree heat. But I didn't take into account elevation change, rocks, and Zack.
So we set off with two liters of water and a bottle of iced tea. It was hot and unpleasant but not a bad trail--there were sections of jumbled rocks but also sections of flat (more-or-less) gravel track. One had to look at one's feet more often than not, but it was easily walkable. At first there were little warning signs every fifty yards or so--Do you have enough water? The human body needs one liter of water per hour. 34 heat rescues so far this year. Etc.
We ignored them, of course. But we did find ourselves stopping in the shady areas a time or two. The main problem was Zack. He's not up to walking on the best of roads and walking at his pace is excruciating for a human like me. While I'd committed myself to carrying him for most of the trip, I didn't fully understand what that would end up meaning. I quickly got tired of scrambling down rock with six pounds of water on my back and twenty five pounds of small dog in my arms.
When the trail started going sharply downhill with half the distance yet to go, I lost my will to continue. My imagination of having to walk back uphill carrying that weight just did me in. I sat down in the shade and didn't get up.
I settled for this view.
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I let my imagination run away with me. I began to think I wasn't physically capable of making it back, and once the thought filled my dumb brain, it stuck. So I stayed in the shade and let Ed take Molly down to see the falls.
On our slow, tortuous way back we were passed by a young man who asked if we had water. We didn't--we'd finished it--and I would have lied, but Ed admitted that we were dry and he offered us some of his. That was incredibly decent of him, but what he did next was amazing. He went on back to his truck, got six bottles of water out, and brought them back to us.
We gratefully accepted even though we were probably less than 1/8 mile away from our own cooler. I gave the dogs a bottle and Ed and I each slurped one down ourselves.
So there you have it. I blew off an opportunity to see a cool waterfall and I also bypassed at least three interesting birds without even pulling out my binoculars. What a wimp!
Lesson learned. Carry more water and leave Zack behind on future hiking trips. I can carry myself and I can carry water, but I can't carry a 25 pound dog very far.
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