It started the way so many of our adventures do. “Let’s take a quick hike before lunch,” he said. “It’s a half mile. It’ll only take a few minutes. Then we’ll eat.”
Uhuh. So my husband (who knows better than to risk making me late for a meal) and I attempted to visit Diana’s Bath. It would have been a short walk with a payoff of beautiful waterfalls in frozen splendor and glory. It would have allowed for a timely lunch. I think it would have been a lovely excursion.
Only it’s us. And it’s still winter up here, and roads are closed, and GPS goes wonky in the mountains, and a million other excuses. Long story short – an hour and a half later we found ourselves at the top of Cathedral Ledge enjoying an amazing view while the growling of my stomach echoed over the valley below.
Obviously there was a point when we realized that the GPS had led us astray and we were on the wrong path. A point when we could have called it a day, turned around, and returned to the car. But neither of us handles defeat easily. We figured we must have been on the road that led to Cathedral Ledge, which meant only a mile of hiking up (after the hike from where we left the car at the base of the closed road.)
So we pushed on. And on. And I know they say it’s only a mile, but when we had finally reached the top of the long, winding, snowy road, it felt like we’d been hiking all day. Looking out, over the ledge at the valley below, it was worth it. Every ankle twisting, sinking deep snow and slick icy step. (That said, I have vowed to never, ever go sailing with my husband. I’ve seen Gilligan’s Island. I know how that three hour tour turns out.)