A Treadmill of Seasons

As a friend and I were hiking for 18 miles, we traveled 3,000 feet up the base of a mountain and into a canyon. We began to see changes in plant life correlating to the elevation and distance we traveled. The changes resembled the different life stages of flora we see in every season. We were hiking a seasonal treadmill; a treadmill where we watched the annual stages of plant life pass before our very eyes in the course of a day.

As we began our hike, a morning fog floated lowly over the foothills and left the green grasses of summer drenched in dew. The remnants of a evening gone past. With each step through the grass, a transaction occurred. The translucent drops of dew rolled off uncut blades of grass and fell onto our boots, leaving dark stains of saturation. With each brush up against the plants, our chocolate-colored boots became painted in darker and richer tones.

However, as we hiked further up and into the canyon, the plants started to change. The clouds dissipated and we started to regress through the seasons. Like a kid running up a descending escalator, our progress through the seasons was slow. An uphill battle against the treadmill of seasons had begun. In time, we noticed changes. Our first sign was the dandelions.

The dandelions were bright and yellow, like the ones found in an open pasture as spring grass begins to turn green. Popping up everywhere, the dandelions were our first sign that we had traveled out of summer and into spring.

After passing dandelions, we came across the buds of pine needles and fresh meadow flowers. The air was cooler and water was fiercer as we climbed higher. Eventually we started bumping into snow on the path. The grass was closer to brown than it was to green and much of it lay matted down from the recently melted snow.

After occasional patches of snow, we came to a point where it was all we could see. There is nothing quite like hiking in snow on a 7o degree day when the sun is beating down on you. The snow is pleasant at first; a novelty. Occasionally I would bend down to grab a snowball and throw it at rock just because I could. As the novelty wore off, my ankles began to grow tired of the unpredictable nature of snow as a hiking surface.


At the furthest point into the canyon, where the season of winter held its greatest grip, hiking in snow was no longer something I considered fun. Our arrival at a frozen Lake Solitude marked the climax of our venture into the seasons. The uphill battle against the treadmill of seasons had reached the coldest point into our journey. I stood on a rock next to the lake and took off my shirt. From an outside perspective I would have looked like a crazy. There I was, standing in a canyon that was covered in snow, with my bare chest facing the brunt of a sweeping cold wind. The wind fell off the top of the canyon walls and gathered cool air as it swept across the lake. The wind hit me with a shiver as I put my shirt back on.

It was time to turn back; an opportunity to re-experience the joys of the seasons once more.

Winter slid by as we hiked into spring and continued on towards summer. The seasonal treadmill was now moving in the right direction but my water supply was not. By the time we reached summer, I had completely exhausted my source of water and was doomed to hike the last four miles without an ounce of water to quench my lips. Winter instantly began to look more attractive, and even the flowers of spring held a gentle touch of moisture that summer would not allow me to taste. A constant temptation was my companion as the trail eternally followed the meandering canyon river. To have taken a drink of cool mountain water would have been sweet at the moment but I decided to not to because of Giardia. As we progressed further back into summer I tried to avoid thoughts of the morning's abounding water, wasted on my boots. I tried to distract my mind from the thought of a liquid running down my parched throat and smoothing out the cracks of dryness that now inhabited the passageway to my stomach. The final stretch of summer brought us closer to the car as everything came to look as though it was a desert, leeching the moisture out of mouth. I tried to breathe through my nose to save any remaining saliva.


We finally entered the same elevation as where we had begun our excursion. A landscape that was once drenched in morning fog was now revealing empty trees, leafless from the fires of past. Although no crisp leaves lay on the ground under the trees, an attempt to see fall was the final stage of our venture across the seasonal treadmill.

When we finished, I was happy to step off the treadmill, drink some water, and go back to a place where the seasons move slow enough to be enjoyed.