Saturday, September 7, 2013
I was hiking on Mount Galbraith today. The trail -- a well-maintained path about as wide as a sidewalk -- rises from the parking lot next to the highway, circles the mountain about half way up, and then retraces back to the parking lot. Easy as pie. Except that today I lost track of the actual trail about half way around the mountain and took a narrow, twisty semblance of a trail (possibly just a path through the weeds trampled down by deer) up to the rounded summit. I was clearly off the beaten track. No other hikers were in sight. If I broke an ankle here, it would be a case of "That's all she wrote" and "Goodnight, Irene." Fortunately, before I had a chance to get too panicky, I spotted a continuation of the narrow trail. Descending gingerly on the loose rocks, I made my way down the mountain and rejoined the real trail.
In all the anxiety of the descent I forgot to look around for something interesting to photograph. Finally, I looked up. Nine hang gliders were gracefully swooping in the sky overhead. Here is the nearest one.