Google’s walking map for this urban hike requires approximately 20 turns.
I take a few street names from it, apply them to what I see around me, and walk toward water.
I’m in St. Petersburg, Florida for a workshop at The Poynter Institute. I have one hour before the heat index passes the mid-80s at 9 a.m.
My walk meanders past aggressive squirrels, several parks and historic hotels, and yields one early-morning “Hey baby, why aren’t you smiling?”
I detour through the St. Pete Yacht Club and meet the North Bay Trail, joining joggers and cyclists. I know I’m near my destination when gulls wing by: black, white, gray.
Demens Landing Park yields grass, bay, marina, picnic tables. It’s named for the Russian who named this city after the other St. Petersburg.
I steer around puddles and mud from the four inches of rain Tropical Storm Nestor dumped yesterday. It’s quiet at the water’s edge this Sunday morning, and bright. At the horizon, sun meets water in a sheet of gold.
A black bird submarines through the water, only its neck showing. I laugh.
It’s so hot I don’t linger, but that submarine bird alone was worth waking up for.
One goes to Fourth of July Canyon in October seeking sensory overload.
What kind you get depends on how far you go.
This canyon in the Manzano Mountains boasts a large population of bigtooth maples. In fall they turn orange, yellow, red and pink like it’s New England and not a cleft in the desert.
Along with leaves, the canyon’s main feature this time of year is humans. This can be magic: a bunch of strangers sharing an experience of wonder. Like Balloon Fiesta.
Or, if your backpack’s heavier than usual and groups of eight, 10 and 12 take up the whole canyon, stage lengthy photo shoots, then stand in the middle of the trail and show each other how great their photos are, it can get old fast.
But if you make it to the top of the Fourth of July Trail, the humans thin out and leaf-peeping becomes a different experience.
Today the lower canyon still had a lot of green, but the trail exploded in color the higher I went. The sky receded as the trees closed orange and gold around me.
Thinking I’d missed an overlook, I headed into new territory on the Manzano Crest Trail. I realized I was walking away from the ridgeline, turned to head back, and gasped. Ripples of red covered the Manzanos’ eastern slopes in front of me. I’d never been high enough on the trail to see the maples from that perspective.
A gold dragonfly buzzed past gold leaves. An orange and black butterfly danced with orange leaves.
I found the overlook, and then a stone ledge below it that I’d never noticed. As I explored the rocks, I spotted a huge stand of red maples in the center of the canyon below.
Mosca PeakStand of red maples in the heart of the canyon
I wandered the overlook in the sun and wind for a good half-hour, completely alone.
I descended on Cerro Blanco Trail. At times it’s dark, grottolike, colorful leaves forming a snow globe. A few spots open onto sun-drenched ledges with views of the colorful ridges above.
A bend in the trail overlooked a grotto. I sat on a rock. It was 3 p.m. but felt much later in the cool shade. The deep colors and gentle curves reminded me of when I hiked the Appalachian Trail to McAfee Knob in the fall.
Then I looked down, saw a juicy prickly pear cactus on the ledge below me, and laughed.
As I’d approached the peak, I’d passed an older couple on their way down. The man had a wooden walking stick and an open can of beer. I heard the woman say to him, “You can only see so much pretty.”
I understood where she was coming from, but my capacity to see pretty today had only one limitation: how far I could physically hike.
Hike length: 6.5 miles
Difficulty: moderate
Trail traffic: heavy on first mile, moderate thereafter
Wildlife spotted/heard: deer and vultures on forest road, mountain chickadees, crow, bluejays, butterflies, dragonflies
TIPS!
-B.Y.O.T.P. Demand exceeds supply at the trailhead women’s restroom this time of year.
-They say not to hike alone unless you fully understand the risks. I do, and I almost never hike alone. But I took the opportunity to do so today. I knew there would be people all over the place at Fourth of July Canyon, so if I fell and broke something, I wouldn’t lie there for days. (Many places I hike, including Fourth of July Canyon in the summer, that’s a very real risk, as they’re remote and little-traveled.) It was a great chance to experiment with solo hiking.
Mud from Friday’s full-day rain. Cool limestone. Fallen aspen leaves.
A side path takes us to the edge of the world. Colors explode. Deep blue sky, green spruce and fir, yellow aspens glowing in canyons far below. Cold wind steals our breath.
These side paths tangle for miles, lift us away from the North Crest Trail, onto a long limestone ridge. Parallel to The Needle, a giant cave-pocked thumb of rock that, today, looks dusty pink.
We pass a group of mountain climbers on a broad rock ledge. Two miles later, when we look back from high above, they’re still there, tiny, presumably taking turns belaying.
Fall brings such luxury. We soak up sun on a rock outcrop for nearly an hour, unconcerned about outracing thunderstorms or brutal summer afternoon heat. Creatures begin to forget we’re there and return to business. Stellar’s jays hop among low tree branches.
At the highest point we reach, ladybugs swarm the limestone, and deer scat dots it.
When we return on the North Crest Trail, the sun’s higher in the sky, bringing the trail and cliff-edge worlds together. Blue and yellow slice through the tall, dark forest tunnel.
One last peek at a side overlook. Yellow aspens flame against a green mountain.
From a cold, dark morning, a world of color and light.
Woman Seeks Elevation 