I’ve only been on one true blind date in my life. True in the sense I hadn’t any idea what my date would look like or knew anything about her. It was a double date with the friends who had set it up so much of the awkwardness of the situation was diffused by having them there. I was in my early twenties, stationed at El Toro, and while I enjoyed the healthy bar scene I didn’t date much. So sure, why not?

Here’s what I remember: while not my type she was very attractive. We had nothing in common. She was KISS FM and I was punk rock. She hated sushi (A flawed character trait that raises an eyebrow today. Who hates sushi?) She had a bizarre laugh so much so when she laughed for the first time I saw my friend’s girlfriend cringe. I wasn’t the suave and debonair gentleman I am today and spent most of the date silent or giving one word answers. I remember my hands never leaving my lap, like a scared kid eating dinner at a friend’s for the first time. I wasn’t a great date.

As I walked her backed to her car after dinner I practiced in my head the best way to say goodbye and get the hell out of there. The worst idea I entertained was to shake her hand and say good night but even early twenties, “I don’t give a shit about the world I just want to surf and listen to Fugazi” Rob knew that was a bad idea. Never, never, never shake hands on a date. We reached her car and before I could deliver my mentally rehearsed “It was nice meeting you”, she leaned in to kiss me. Yes, the date was awkward and I would probably never see her again but when you are twenty-two and a beautiful girl wants to kiss you, you oblige (A rule which still pertains to the mid-forties version of myself). We slowly leaned towards each other…..

The kiss was awful. She puckered her lips fish-style and then proceeded to peck my lips repeatedly. I was kissing the rare cutthroat, small-mouthed, Southwest red-bellied woodpecker and not enjoying it. I came dangerously close to blurting out “What are you doing?” before composing myself, saying good night, and in much haste getting the hell out of there. It wasn’t my finest hour but nothing is worse than bad kissing. I’d rather watch the GOP debates than endure bad kissing. Well, let me think on that.

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I turn down the narrow nondescript paved road, avoid spilling my coffee as the cattle guard rattles my car, and hope this road will lead me to the Pine Creek trail head. Besides knowing (Or think I know) the directions to the trail head, length of the hike, and a mountain lake lies at the end of the trail, I’m in the blind. I’ve done no research on this hike. This is more out of laziness than intent as I normally research unfamiliar hikes but truthfully what is there to know? You put one foot in front of the other.

The tight road leads through a campground and ends at the trail head. I sling my light daypack over my shoulder, make a quick note of the small amount of vehicles parked, and after a glance at the numerous bear warnings/guidelines that adore this and every trail in Montana, head up the trail. I carry in my pack what I always carry: water, a banana, protein bar, a small knife, honey lemon cough drops (I guess there’s worse addictions), and pad and pen. There’s never an ideal time to come in contact with a bear but fall is less than ideal so I tuck bear spray into my front pocket. I know the spray is very effective but damn it’s a small canister for a possible big bear.

The trail begins in dense forest and after a half mile of relative flatness begins a steady incline. The trail changes from a wide, flat, dirt path to a narrow, winding, uneven mixture of rock and hard earth. The in-and-out to the lake is ten miles total and while the distance is not an issue the incline and uneven path make it much more difficult. The path slowly switchbacks through a draw with a waterfall in the distance and as the path gets closer to the waterfall the vegetation turns from dense tall trees to a jungle-like, damp mixture of large, waist-high, green plants and haunting, grey-ish trees with little foliage. The ground cover overgrows the trail and I go from hiker to Amazon explorer and back to hiker as the trail winds away from the waterfall.

Miles into the hike the trail rotates between steady incline to short spurts of steep incline. Some hand over hand. I curse myself for hiking less adventurous trails of late and not mentally preparing myself for a tougher hike. I’m on a time crunch as well and instead of taking short rest breaks I soldier on. Good for making time, bad for wearing out. Higher up, the trail exits the trees and the switchbacks become tighter and steeper along the side of a steep, exposed hill. Out from the protection of the trees the sun beats down on my neck and back and adds to my weariness. A large indention into the granite rock side of the hill provides respite from the sun and I take a break on a large rock.

Two hours in and I realize I have yet to see another person. The hike is tougher than your average local hike but not overwhelmingly strenuous. Tough but definitely doable. On cue I hear a few voices, come out of the small shallow cave, and peer down the hill. Three college-age girls quickly navigate the switchbacks and in no time bound pass me, carrying a conversation like three teenagers at the mall. The last girl spots me shrunken back into small indention and gives a quick wave before disappearing with the others up the hill. It doesn’t inspire me, it guilts me, and I rise from my sitting place and trudge on.

It is not long before the trail plateaus for a short distance and I know I am close to the lake. Trees are replaced by large smooth rocks and the trail disappears and reappears between stretches of walking on and climbing over the rocks. My steps now are more punch-drunk boxer than triumphant hiker but I know I am close. I pass a small pond created from runoff below the lake, mountain climb up twenty feet of rock, and at the top of the rock pile the lake appears.

It’s a gorgeous sight……but I’m fucking tired. Way more than I should be. I climb down the other side of the rock and come to the water’s edge. Shoes and socks off, my tired feet slip into the cold water. Stinging at first it quickly feels soothing. I close my eyes and let the sun shine its warmth on my tired face before I hear kids yelling. Kids?

Fifty yards further along the shoreline to my left a man fly-fishes while two kids, a boy and girl both around ten years old, play in the water. Considering there’s no helipad in sight I have to assume they hiked up here. My exhaustion creeps up a level or two as I watch them splash in the cold water. O’ to have thine energy! But still, bring kids up this trail? I think of ten year-old Rob and given the opportunity to climb a steep hill or play with my baseball cards…….I’ll trade you a Pete Rose for a George Brett?

This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered this. On an ass-kicker of a hike outside of LA, I reached the summit of an intense, steep, shade-less, switchback trail on a scorching hot September day drenched in full sweat. Hands on hips and bent over I heard voices on the other side of the summit. Coming towards me were three figures. As they got closer I noticed it was three Asian males; one about thirty years of age, one about seventy, and an eight year old. I don’t know what was the bigger kick to the nuts, the old guy or the young kid. How the hell did you get up here? Bent over and as the sweat dripped off my nose they passed and gave me a quiet “Hello” and I gave them a quiet “Go to hell.”

I take a few photos sitting on the side of the lake and glance at the time. I shove down the banana and a few swigs of water. I pass on writing in my journal. I need more rest but I also need to get back. My feet yell “Nooooo” as I pull them from the cold water and cover them with socks and shoes. I ache and know the downhill will be no fun. Most of my hikes are two-sided; deep in thought, curious, and take the time to look around uphills followed by mindless, let’s get to the bottom, fast-paced downhills. Exhausted and facing a rocky, uneven downhill I’ll have to adjust my normal itinerary.

I climb back over the rocks to find the trail. It hurts a little and this is a bad sign. I have a ways to go. I’m distracted by the three college girls frolicking in the pond down from the lake. One has her top off and with exposed back and arms stretched high, her friend snaps the picture from behind. I look/don’t look and take the trail out of the last shade into a steadily decline on the side of an exposed hill.

On the way down I pass a few hikers heading up. One, a larger man, waddles with hiking poles and although moving slow and sweating enough liquid to end the California drought, he makes steady progress. The next is a early thirties woman jogging up the trail. I have no use for such nonsense. Before I enter into the shaded forest I encounter two women who look like death walking. They move slow and unsteady and inquire how far it is to the lake. “Probably a mile and a half”, I start before finishing “and the trail gets a little steeper.” Both women groan and reach for their water bottles. Feeling a little guilty I add “But you can do it!”

Two miles into the five mile descent I’m hungry, have a headache, and when my foot kicks a rock instead of stepping on it, I know I’m damn tired. The trail plateaus while running alongside a steep, shaded hill and I both pick up the pace and take the opportunity to mentally check out on the brief flat respite. The trail is no wider than eighteen inches and with my unsteady steps I know checking out is a bad idea. I don’t have time to stop to rest and try to cheat by resting while moving. After two miles of thinking about where to put my foot on every step, I take my eyes off my feet to look ahead. I might close my eyes for a second or two.

It catches up with me when the trail indents about six inches on the left side and my foot steps on the side of the hill instead of the trail. The side of the hill is grass and loose dirt and I immediately fall off the trail and slide feet first down the hill with my left leg bent under me. The hill is sloped about 45 degrees and even with my right foot dug in and using both my hands as brakes I slide fifty feet until a collision with a thick bush brings me to a sudden stop.

I lay flat on the angled earth and looking into the hazy sky I exhale deeply and mentally check for any pain before pulling my left leg out from under my body. I’ve had two ACL surgeries on my left knee and expecting the worse it surprises me when my leg unfurls with no pain. Rolling over to my stomach I try to stand but the slick grass and steep hill keep me from maintaining any upright posture. Climbing up the hill is impossible so I decide to slowly make my way sideways along the hill, hoping to intersect with the downward trajectory of the trail. On the path I choose there are plenty of trees and bushes to Tarzan my way along the side of the hill.

Plan in hand I’m about to “swing” from the bush I’m grasping to a tree a few feet away when I see an object on the ground buried halfway under leaves. I recognize it instantly. It’s a old rusted horseshoe and while the “You gotta be shitting me” thought goes through my head, I pick it up and put it in my backpack. I’ll use its luck another day and swing to the first tree, then to the next bush, fall down before getting to the next tree, and slide a few feet down the hill before grabbing another bush. Rinse and repeat this for fifteen minutes before stumbling back onto the trail. I brush off, and knowing that little adventure could have been a lot worse, head down the trail.

Three miles to the bottom. One mile into the three my left knee starts to throb, either from the fall or the steady decline on an unsteady trail. Pain pisses me off so I pick the pace in anger. I must be a pathetic sight. Filthy from the fall, scowl on face, and limping down the trail at madman’s pace I look like I should be mumbling about this is the last time I’ll ever hike. With one mile to go my movement is more zombie than human.

As the path widens and flattens for the last half mile I curse myself. I curse not getting more information about the hike. I curse trying to hike on a time crunch. I curse taking it easy for the last month. I curse my old body and the young ones I encountered. I curse missing breakfast. I curse not enjoying the beautiful lake more.

At the trail head I get in my car and begin the hour drive home. I remember the wood-pecking kissing girl and our blind date. I remember her strange laugh. I remember my awkward silence. I remember it wasn’t that bad. I grab the horseshoe out of my day pack and rub my fingers over its rusted outer edge. I had a blind date with a pretty girl. I fell down the side of a hill with a bruised ego the sole casualty. I saw a beautiful mountain lake. My luck ain’t so bad.