We made it to the Ackre Lake trail at 11:35, an hour after getting to the campstore. Weather was calm and the skies were clear; a perfect day for a hike. The trail is a popular cross-country ski trail in the winter, and a bike trail in the summer with its deep single-track path winding across the forest.
Karen was right about the lack of maintenance along this trail, as we had to dodge many downed trees. The blue-blazed trail was well-marked, though, and the easy grade made for wonderful hiking. Many young aspen saplings were taking over parts of the forest where once spruce and Ponderosa grew.
The dogs came across a small snowmound that had seen better days. Both of them attacked the mound like hungry children attack a snowcone. First the dogs licked the frozen delight, then they bit into it, and finally rolled around in the slush as we watched on.
We were a mile away from the lake when Kevin convinced me to take a side trail I was convinced would take us to Ackre Lake. It didn't. Instead we walked on an abandoned logging trail that was heavily damaged. We had to climb, crawl and bypass many downed trees the lower in elevation we got.
In twohours we came to the intersection of FR24 and the trail andwe knew then we were off course. A quick break showed us a mile off course, an easy fix if wewalkedsouth on FR24 abit, but Kevin was in no mood to lengthen the hike. Instead we turned around and retraced our steps.
We never came across another hiker. Our only guides were the birds and tuft-eared squirrels. The only sign of elk we came across was elk scat. The only sign of human presence were a few discarded beer cans.
We got back to our pick-up at 3:15pm. I took off my hikers and socks and grabbed a beer. That first beer tasted delicious after the hike. We were sitting by the truck talking about the lovely hike when two distraught-looking bikers drove by and stopped in front of us.
"Where is the nearest ranger station?"asked the older man.
"Just a quarter-mile up the road is a lodge, they could call the rangers for you!"
"Thanks!" said the biker and both of them sped off.
That didn't look too good. "I hope there was no biking accident on the road!" I told Kevin.
Not even fifteen minutes later a red Fire and Rescue truck sped south from Alpine. This was not good at all. A few minutes later, at the campstore buying ice, three more emergency vehicles sped south and a group of at least 20 bikers were parked outside the store.
Some of the bikers looked upset. They had seen the injured biker on the road next to his bike. "He was conscious and could feel his legs" I overheard one biker say. "He was in a fetal position and in a lot of pain!" commented another.
The injured biker was not part of the group; he was driving southbound and the others all northbound. The bikers we talked to were part of a touring club that likes to ride their bikes across the country. One man from South Carolina struck up a conversation with us.
Karen was right about the lack of maintenance along this trail, as we had to dodge many downed trees. The blue-blazed trail was well-marked, though, and the easy grade made for wonderful hiking. Many young aspen saplings were taking over parts of the forest where once spruce and Ponderosa grew.
The dogs came across a small snowmound that had seen better days. Both of them attacked the mound like hungry children attack a snowcone. First the dogs licked the frozen delight, then they bit into it, and finally rolled around in the slush as we watched on.
We were a mile away from the lake when Kevin convinced me to take a side trail I was convinced would take us to Ackre Lake. It didn't. Instead we walked on an abandoned logging trail that was heavily damaged. We had to climb, crawl and bypass many downed trees the lower in elevation we got.
In twohours we came to the intersection of FR24 and the trail andwe knew then we were off course. A quick break showed us a mile off course, an easy fix if wewalkedsouth on FR24 abit, but Kevin was in no mood to lengthen the hike. Instead we turned around and retraced our steps.
We never came across another hiker. Our only guides were the birds and tuft-eared squirrels. The only sign of elk we came across was elk scat. The only sign of human presence were a few discarded beer cans.
We got back to our pick-up at 3:15pm. I took off my hikers and socks and grabbed a beer. That first beer tasted delicious after the hike. We were sitting by the truck talking about the lovely hike when two distraught-looking bikers drove by and stopped in front of us.
"Where is the nearest ranger station?"asked the older man.
"Just a quarter-mile up the road is a lodge, they could call the rangers for you!"
"Thanks!" said the biker and both of them sped off.
That didn't look too good. "I hope there was no biking accident on the road!" I told Kevin.
Not even fifteen minutes later a red Fire and Rescue truck sped south from Alpine. This was not good at all. A few minutes later, at the campstore buying ice, three more emergency vehicles sped south and a group of at least 20 bikers were parked outside the store.
Some of the bikers looked upset. They had seen the injured biker on the road next to his bike. "He was conscious and could feel his legs" I overheard one biker say. "He was in a fetal position and in a lot of pain!" commented another.
The injured biker was not part of the group; he was driving southbound and the others all northbound. The bikers we talked to were part of a touring club that likes to ride their bikes across the country. One man from South Carolina struck up a conversation with us.
"I've ridden my bike all over this country and this truly is a beautiful country" he said. "The only state I didn't really like is Texas. Sure, the people are nice but the land isn't ver scenic!" I silently agreed. There is so little public land in Texas that what little public land there is is overused: like Big Bend in the western part, or the crowded state parks in Hill Country. Texans are overly proud of the little public land they have.
But nothing in Texas is as beautiful as Arizona...
But nothing in Texas is as beautiful as Arizona...
After we bought our ice we drove down to the Hannagan Meadow campground, claimed Site#3 and spent the rest of the day there, alone with two tired dogs who were still willing to hike down to the meadow with me after eating chicken legs and noodles.
"I'm going to get up at the crack of dawn to look for elk at the meadow tomorrow morning, wanna go with me?"
"Ask me tomorrow."
Again I heard the fluty song of the anonymous bird in the evening. I slept better tonight, perhaps because the ground was softer or the night temperatures were warmer. The setting sun poked through a few pines to our west. Another couple came by and claimed Site#8 but it was still a tranquil night. The dogs were tired and stayed close to our side all night.
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