When a Misunderstanding Can Be a Miserable Thing

Some people feel a sense of anticipation in taking a trip abroad.  This is the same anticipation I feel when exploring a new trail for the first time.  Even with maps for guidance, a hiker can’t predict with accuracy what the newest adventure will entail. That’s why hikers talk to other hikers with experience on a trail.  On one outdoor adventure I learned that communicating clearly is vital when asking about a trail.

After hiking Helena National Forest Trail 329 to Blackfoot Meadows and hiking Deer Lodge National Forest Trail 65 to Cottonwood Lake, I noticed the existence of a trail between Cottonwood Lake and Blackfoot Meadows.  This was unfamiliar territory, so I looked over a topographical map.  The map indicated this journey would be easier if it began at the Cottonwood Lake Trailhead and ended at the Blackfoot Meadows Trailhead.

Several years went by before I embarked on this adventure.  In the meantime, I chatted with Colin, a biker extraordinaire. I asked him about biking this route.  Colin said he had been on that route, and it was fine.  A communication problem was lurking in our conversation: He was talking hiking.  I was talking biking. 

True to form, I rounded up two prospective victims, Kristy and Gail.  We planned our ten mile bike ride, the middle of which was unfamiliar territory.  My husband was working on the Blackfoot Meadows side of the trail, so we could hitch a ride with him if we started at the Blackfoot Meadows Trailhead.  Completely forgetting why the starting point should be on Cottonwood Lake side, I ensnared my innocent hiking partners in this escapade.

The ride into Blackfoot Meadows was uphill but enjoyable.  Just after the meadows, we stopped for lunch and then wheeled off into the unknown.

The misery began.  There might be biking trails that are more swampy, rutted, steep, and rank with mosquitoes than the trail between Blackfoot Meadows and Cottonwood Lake, but who would want to know about them? It seemed like this three mile stretch would never end as we rode, pushed, and carried out bikes through standing water and negotiated  switchbacks with inclines comparable to Mount Everest. “Biking” this stretch took hours.

Fatiguing, mosquito infested trails are aggravating and uncomfortable. Trails that disappear, reappear in duplicate, and create confusion are frightening, especially when you are miles from help.  When you are exhausted, the prospect of getting lost is life threatening.  Being mountain women, we don’t cry.  We pray a lot, though. 

Swatting mosquitoes all the way, we decided to tackle what appeared to be a new trail up a steep mountain.  Gail turned to me and said, “This would have been much easier on foot rather than pushing a bike.” Truer words were never spoken.  We passed from the Helena National Forest into the Deer Lodge National Forest and waited for the steep drop down the mountain to Cottonwood Lake.  It never came. We might have decreased a few feet in elevation, but we found Cottonwood Lake is much higher that Blackfoot Meadows.  That’s when I remembered why starting our journey at the Cottonwood Lake end was preferable. I wanted to ride down, not up.

After the hike, I contacted my biking advisor, Colin, and gave him the benefit of my valuable observations about this experience.  I didn’t employ colorful language to express my emotions about my interesting experience, but it took an abundance of self restraint. “Oh,” he said, surprised, “I was talking about a hike I took when I was a Boy Scout Leader.  I’ve never biked through from the meadows to the lake.”   A little misunderstanding can be a miserable thing.