I was fresh off of some major and disruptive life changes. Despite my passion for it, I hadn’t done significant, or even moderate, hiking in years. With the change now well underway, I was eager to see if my body would once again adapt to a lifestyle of hiking.
Nearby trails around home became daily destinations. Slowly I was not only rediscovering my love for hiking, but also why I did in the first place. It didn’t take long for me to set my sights on Craters of the Moon National Monument, only a few hours away in southern Idaho. I made a day trip there, reveling in numerous hikes I was able to do during my delightful day. But it was an obscure trail on the side of the road in land managed by the Bureau of Land Management that caught my attention.
In a landscape of volcanic rock with sparse vegetation, I pulled in with the few moments of daylight left in the sky to see what kinds of features this enigmatic and unknown-to-me trail was holding. As I crested the initial hill, I discovered a challenge. This new (to me) discovery held two different trails in an area known as Hell’s Half Acre. Miles larger than its name would suggest, this vast volcanic vista sprawled out into unfathomable distances, accessed by an easier mile-long loop trail, and another, dubbed the Twenty Mile Trail. Miles shorter than its name would suggest, the latter is a roughly 12 mile round-trip hike, accessed via the shorter loop.
In fading daylight, I only had enough time to get a taste of the shorter loop, but I was excited to return. And so I did within one week. My goal was to conquer both trails in one go. It would be the longest hike I had done in years.
Bounding from one ancient lava boulder to another, I was gleefully making great time, until the challenge became more apparent. For on this trail system, there actually is no trail. Instead, to navigate the landscape successfully, you find the next post, roughly 100 yards ahead. In most cases, it wasn’t too hard. In other cases, young trees obscured the posts. In yet more cases, larger hills of volcanic rock made losing your sense of direction easier than locating the next post. And yet, I was still up for the challenge.
The destination is a large dormant volcanic vent, spewing lava out just a few thousand years ago. The impressive feature is well worth the hike, and at some point I’d love to return once again. My real challenge, however, was just about to begin. Attempting this hike late in fall, days were shorter. I broke from marveling at the geologic feature to notice the time. I only had just more than two hours to hike out the remaining six miles, lest I be lost in a landscape whose markers would be difficult to see in the dark. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Was I in good enough shape to complete this hike successfully?
My body sprang into action, hitting a rapid pace from one marker to another. The occasional marker threw me off, slowing me down, but I continued on as best as I could. I checked the sun to see my progress. Lower and lower it crept toward the southwestern horizon. I was getting nervous. It had been what felt like ages since I had hiked more than 10 miles, and here I was attempting it with extra challenges. No trail to follow. No smooth path. Constant rising and falling over beastly boulders of black lava. Every time I lost the next post panic ensued. But I did ultimately find it.
As the sun met the horizon, my nervousness was calmed by the sight of the shorter, mile-long loop. Feeling much more relaxed, I spent the last moments of daylight completing the shorter loop, enjoying the golden light softening into an atmospheric glow hitting the western sides of the rocks.
My hiking legs were back. I was elated that I was able to successfully get myself back into such great shape in a relatively short amount of time. And just in time for the winter season.