Rando affreuse

Today Bobby and I took an ugly hike. 

I’m not exaggerating.  The Peygros-Grasse trail was overgrown, not well-marked, foul-smelling in parts, and really ugly. 

We walked down an old road for well over a kilometer before we reached the trail head.  As I gazed down this narrow side trail, I felt like we had gone too far to turn back.  I craned my neck to try to peer around the bend below us.  The trail had been rated 4 out of 5 stars.  How bad could it be?

What’s that line about throwing good money after bad…?

Undeterred, we descended what seemed to be no more than a washed-out ravine with trees dipping low and vines grasping at our sleeves and pant legs from all sides.  I wiped spider web after spider web from my sweaty face.  Clearly, few other hikers had ventured this path recently. 

We picked our way a few kilometers and emerged onto the banks of a seasonal creek.  Late summer rains had filled the banks with a gentle but vigorous flow.  The break in the dark overstory meant that healthy blackberry briars spilled out into the sun from either bank.  Like drunks emerging from a late-night binge, their prickly fingers searched for something to latch onto.  The supposed trail opposite us was barely visible through the groping vines.

We searched upstream and downstream for a place to cross.  No bridge, no trail of sturdy stones.  What rocks were showing above water were small and covered with moss and slime.  It was just us, a far bank, and a sapling or two overhead. 

Definitely time to channel Indiana Jones – where is that bull whip when you need it? 

Resolved, we tried to balance and tetter our way across.  My hiking shoes (aka, my old running kicks) have worn down such that I have no tread on the ball of either foot.  Result:  my shoes were soon soaking and brown with mud. 

After about ten minutes, a wrong side trail, a second navigation around more briars, and a steep wet climb we continued on.  We were a quite the mangled duo.

I’d like to say that our efforts were not in vain.  That we persevered through the rest of the trail with ease.  That being wet, covered in webs, and sporting a few scrapes from our dances with the blackberries paled in comparison to what we found.  That at the end was a glorious view or a surprise rock or water feature that made it all worthwhile. 

Nope. 

Ok, to be fair, there was a nice view briefly at the top.  But as we began retracing our steps on the return trek, there were only sighs of resignation. 

I think we’ve been spoiled with all of the incredible trails in the Alpes-Maritime region.  We’ve climbed magnificent mountains, skittered along picturesque rivers, and jutted out over the cerulean Mediterranean.  We have explored ancient villages that look like scenes from a movie, and once came upon abandoned plane wreckage that left us scratching our heads.  We’ve basked in full sun, misty rain and wind, and yes, a bit of snow.  But we have been given so much beauty in return. 

Not today.  This trail was just ugly.

And yet, here we were.  Climbing unmarked rocks, losing our balance in the water.  Pressing forward.  I found myself wondering what this little trail had to offer.  We were on it today for some reason, and it wasn’t simply to pick twigs and bugs out of my wild curly hair. 

As we walked the last stretch, I became quiet and noticed the trail trying to tell me something.  My mind flashed to some of the images in the news of late.  Of terrible violence; of fruitless battles for power; of war and injustice; of confusion and desperation.  

My quotidian struggle was nothing compared to these, but it did help to ground me in my blessings. 

And it hit me.  Not all of our journeys are going to be things of beauty.  Sometimes the path will become so indiscernible that we end up walking in circles or veering dangerously close to a ledge.  

Sometimes we will face pain, sometimes debilitating loss.  We may rely on support systems that easily give way under our weight.  We may flail and fall.  We may bruise and bleed and break.  We are going to struggle and test our grit, and in the end we may wonder what it was all for. 

Sometimes this will be mildly annoying, sometimes catastrophic. 

These are the times when we look fear in the face – when we confront head-on the external voices that threaten us, as well as our own fear voices that try to undermine us from the inside. 

The question is, do we let this fear, anger, and hate keep us prisoner and force us to give up?  Or do we instead tune into the courage, dignity, determination, and love that burn deep inside…staying firmly on the path and carrying each other until we are all on better footing.

One thing is for sure.  The choice can only be made step by step.   

Let us hope that we listen to intuition and pursue our most loving impulses.  As these will be the true gifts of beauty that illuminate our sacred path.

Bisous,
Hanna