The birth of my first daughter and third child severely delayed the posting of this hike. The month was October, the day was a Sunday, which meant we would leave straight from church for our hike. The events that would transpired were nothing short of bizarre, but I will leave it in the hands of the reader to weigh the facts and judge our choices.

Our band of brothers now numbered five. Donny and Denis had joined our ranks, and we were eager to share our adventures with them. We had reviewed the length of the hike (17 miles) and the terrain with them ahead of time, and we did a gear check before packing into two sedans to head North. Denis was sporting a pair of heavy logging boots, but you cannot argue with a seasoned Montana man about his choice in footwear.

Wes had planned our trip. Satellite images revealed that we would need to cross a river. The trail offered no bridge, and an autumn swim across the Westfield River was an unappealing option. We would need to walk several miles of road in the middle of journey through West Springfield.

We found a small patch of land on the side of the road in Holyoke that did not don a “No Parking” sign, headed South to the sports club where we had ended our previous hike, and began following the white blazes North. It was unseasonably warm, the rocks were slippery, and the sky was overcast. The woods greeted us with enormous DANGER signs. We ignored them and moved quickly past several quarrying operations.

We worked our way up a steep hill and followed a ridge. We moved quickly, knowing that our 1pm start time was going to leave us in the dark by the end of our hike. We stopped just long enough for Donny, Hank, and me to climb a fire tower for a quick picture. Multiple times we walked toward gunfire, which became a theme on this trip. This happened so frequently on our hikes that Hank, Wes, and I did not think much of it, until Donny appeared alarmed. The trail led us down to a reservoir and then to the uncrossable river. For a moment we were fooled. Construction equipment on the far bank made it look like there was a bridge. I went ahead to scout, but found no safe way across. We eventually found ourselves on the long detour around to the bridge.

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As we moved through the urban center, Denis confessed that his boots were causing discomfort, and he opted to wait for us at the local Dunkin Donuts until we finished the hike. Feeling bad about leaving our friend, but having little choice but to get to a car, we pressed on, down a very busy road with no shoulder. Multiple cars intentionally swerved toward us as we trekked between the traffic and the cargo train. Eventually, we turned off the road and worked our way 20 yards up the trail from a fish and game club. We sat down next to another large DANGER sign to eat our dinner.

An old Dodge Durango made its way down the dirt road from the fish and game club. From our vantage point, sitting next to the DANGER sign, eating our dinner, we could see saw the driver slow once, then twice, looking in our direction. He finally came to a stop at the trailhead, rolled down his window, and called up to us, “You guys hiking?”

“Yeah.” We thought he might yell at us for trespassing beyond the clearly labeled sign.

“You packing?” Clearly, he did not mean backpacking. We all looked at each other and answered honestly.

“No,” I responded. We were getting a little nervous, when he called out of the passenger side of his vehicle again.

“Do you at least have a knife?” We looked at each other again, now wondering what the right answer was.

“Yes.” I responded. The driver informed us, still yelling through the passenger window of his car and up 20 yards of trail, that he had been hiking in these woods last year. Coyotes had attacked him, but he shot one of them, and the other two coyotes ate it. When we thought he was finished, he told us about the bear he had seen. He paused. And then finished with. “And that mountain lion, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

We thanked him for his warnings, and he drove away. The sun was already setting, and we still had to hike at least 4 more miles through cannibalistic coyote-infested wilderness. As we worked our way up to another ridge, we joked with each other, each trying to one-up the outrageous claims of our passerby. However, the trail soon became difficult to follow as we approached the Massachusetts Turnpike (US 90). We attempted to find a safe way across the highway, but when 5 minutes of searching failed, daylight diminishing required quick action.

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Because I do not know the statute of limitations on certain activities, I will leave this to the readers imagination. However, suffice to say, we arrived on the other side of US 90 at dusk, unharmed. We made our way back into the woods looking for the trail again. We were now using flashlights (which we shared 3 among the 4 of us). We discovered an abandoned railroad tunnel to the West, where the path was supposed to lead us through.

We made one last ascent up to a ridge. It was dark when we reached a illuminated vista of Holyoke. I took a quick photo and we pressed on. We arrived at my car, having traveled 17.14 miles. We picked up Denis on our way back to Wes’ car, and then stopped for McDonalds on the way home.