There are so many great hikes near my home, but there’s one I frequent that not many know about. It’s unmarked and privately maintained, and I only bump into a few people on it, if anyone at all. More often than people, I bump into blue herons, ducks (I think mostly Mergansers), chipmunks, and a variety of other small, winged ambassadors of nature. Sometimes I meet a beaver. Sometimes some snakes. But not a whole lot in the way of two-legged troubadours.
And because I want to keep it that way for me and the few others who have discovered its charms, I’m not telling you where it is. It shall remain a secret.
Keeping Some Things for Ourselves
Some places are worth keeping to ourselves—or sharing with just a special few. It’s important to have somewhere you can reach quickly when you need it, a place that lets you clear your head and find a little peace. That kind of reset is crucial—for our health, our creativity, and our ability to face whatever’s next.
My secret spot has been a perfect way to slip into nature when I don’t have time for a full day in the mountains. It helps me flush out what I’m writing, sort through the week ahead, and—maybe best of all—it absolutely makes my dog’s day.
1,000,000 Dogs Can’t Be Wrong
After a thirty-minute romp on the trail, Bullet is noticeably happier for the next twenty-four hours. Even just knowing he’s going for a hike improves his mood. When I tell him we’re going for a hike, it’s like he loses ten dog years in an instant, and he literally prances and skips to the truck. He looks like one of those Olympic dressage horses doing what Snoop Dog calls a crip-walk.
On the drive to the trail, Bullet stares at me the whole way, speaking with his eyes. Are we doing this? Are we really going to do this? Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. He can hardly contain himself. When we arrive, he leaps out of the truck and takes off down the trail, stopping only to pee on everything he thinks he didn’t get to last time.
How immediate, I think, is his change. Moments earlier, sprawled out on our lawn, Bullet was almost sad. Deflated. He’s almost nine now, so he’s getting on in years, but he’s not too old yet. He’s just moody. He gets bored. Stifled. His mood at home makes him seem way older than he is at times. But the second he’s bounding down a trail of infinite smells and nooks to explore, he looks like a 2-year-old pup, without an ounce of rust on his bones.
Nature is Healing
Much has been written about the healing power of nature. That’s well-trodden ground. But my dog shows—clearly and instantly—what I know to be true about my own response to nature. It usually takes me longer to feel it like he does, and I often need a big effort to get out of my head and experience the endorphin kick that comes from being out on a beautiful summer day in the woods. But not Bullet.
His joy is sparked the moment his feet hit the ground, and it pulls me into the moment much faster than when I’m hiking alone. Because nobody knows this spot, I don’t have to leash him, and the two of us are free to wander however we choose, without rules or customs. I let him dash ahead to explore, only calling him back with a whistle when he gets so far out of sight that I start to worry about losing him. Other than that, he does his thing, and I do mine. But when I do call him back, I only need to wait and listen for a few seconds before I hear the rapid patting of his feet across the earth. Then, bursting around a bend, he emerges back into my line of sight, smiling from ear to ear. It’s confirmed: he’s in heaven.
And for thirty minutes or so, listening to the birds, sharing the trail with an exuberant old dog who has been returned to a younger version of himself, so am I.
