Almost a year ago, I discovered what I call the Bigfoot Trail, just a few miles up the road, near Lake Townsend (The Great Blue Heron Nursery, Bigfoot's Library). There's a fairly new cache on the trail, so after work this afternoon, I hiked out there to claim it. A good couple of miles out and back, and apparently a new mountain biking trail is in the works out there. I have mixed feelings about it; it's a beautiful area, and really quite suited to a new trail. I'm generally glad to see new trails going in around the Greensboro watershed properties, especially since they're all so well-used. But since I started hiking out there, the Bigfoot Trail has been isolated and almost eerie. Its most notable feature—apart from being home to the Bigfeet I've yet to actually see—is a spectacular Great Blue Heron rookery. I doubt the birds will be overly disturbed by trail bikers, but the serene, nearly primal atmosphere will surely change. While I can't lay any claim on the land, I feel a personal connection to it, a sense of being one of a relative few who have ventured into that locale in the recent past. It's the somewhat disheartening sense of having to share a "secret" place with a much larger number of people.
Fortunately, the watershed trails generally are well-kept, with scarcely any human refuse left out along them. And when trash accumulates, the local geocachers get together and clean it all up. I do love the Greensboro trails.
Today, overt signs of human activity out there were few, but somewhat dramatic. For some time now, heavy military transport jets have been coming and going regularly from Piedmont Triad International airport, and this afternoon, a half dozen or more C-5 Galaxy transports passed low over the trail in the course of an hour. Majestic things...massive...seemingly hanging almost motionless in the sky as they approach. From several points along the trail, my view of them was unimpeded, and being a long-time aviation enthusiast, I really enjoyed the spectacle.
Judging from the very fresh footprints, horseback riders were out there today. There's a new parking lot—as yet unopened—for the trail, which made for a rather disconcerting sight. But it appears that Bigfeet can't be bothered to use it because, way back there in the woods, I found the Bigfoot Mobile. Looks like a 1940s-vintage automobile, all in pieces, so ancient that the woods have completely enveloped it. Clearly, Bigfoot can't drive.
Today's hike was an enjoyable, if somewhat wistful return to a place I'm very fond of. Whatever the "official" name of the biking trail turns out to be, to me, it will always be The Bigfoot Trail.
Click the images to enlarge.
Obviously, Bigfoot got his driver's license from a Crackerjack box.