Moses hikes the Honaker Trail

The flyer said, “Youth Hike.  60 degrees.  Pack a light Jacket.  Bring a lunch, snacks, and water.”  I woke up and there was snow on the ground, so 60 degrees, a light jacket and snacks sounded inviting.  I consider myself young compared to dirt, so I gathered my hiking gear (Pepsi, Almond M&Ms, and a hiking stick) and headed out.
Don’t judge me!  I have made some progress.  Fifty years ago, I distinctly remember many deer hunts at Camp Torres where my uncles would leave deer camp before daylight with a rifle, bullets in one front pocket, a knife in the other front pocket and a beer in each back pocket. 
Most of the time, they would return with a rifle, knife and a deer.  My favorite uncle would sometimes leave the pocketknife and take another beer.  He would wink at me and say, “It’s very important to keep hydrated.”
Today, there were 18 hardy souls that were going to hike the Honaker Trail near Gooseneck State Park. 
The flyer failed to mention there was a 1700 foot vertical drop in two miles…and thus a 1700 foot climb back up if your plan didn’t include dying and becoming food for buzzards.
I was clearly the oldest person on this hike.  I did some rough math and figured that I was nearly 55 years older than our youngest hiker.  I get tired of having to show my ID every time I want a senior discount at Denny’s.  So, lately, I am sporting a long white beard. 
As I stood silhouetted against the horizon with my white beard, my walking stick and a Pepsi in each back pocket one little twerp whispered to his friend, “Look.  It’s Moses!  I got a dollar says he dies.”
Like every great outdoor adventure, we huddled around the tailgate of the truck. 
I thought we were going to have a safety briefing and talk about possible hazards such as snakes, heat stroke, loose rocks, and accidently slipping off the edge and falling 1000’. 
But our leaders gathered us around and said, “Before we start such a perilous hike we think we should start this out right.  They broke out two boxes of donuts.  
I found it comforting to have such seasoned wise expedition leaders that knew the success of almost all great endeavors start with donuts.  I was glad we got the important things out of the way. 
To be fair, based on my research the Hole in the Rock pioneers did this very same thing.  Silas said, “Jens gather people around the wagon.”  Everyone thought, “Yep, we probably will need a prayer and a pep talk before such a perilous journey.” 
Silas said, “I stopped at the Maverick and bought donuts; come on dig in….not likely we will see these kinds of amenities where we are going.”
The Honaker Trail was built by two brothers, Henry and Augustus Honaker, who were “crazy miners” that thought the motherload of gold was there for the taking. 
They chipped, blasted, dug, picked, and sweated a trail into existence where no rational being would ever attempt one.  Even the bighorn sheep look for easier routes.
Eventually, Henry did get enough gold for a wedding ring; reportedly it wasn’t a big one. 
Yes, I realize when I say “crazy miner” that I repeat myself.  I know miners. My grandfather mined coal in Price.  My dad mined uranium in San Juan County.  And I am actually a mining engineer and worked for Atlas minerals for several summers. 
So, when I say, “crazy miner”, let me assure you that I am from the Department of Redundancy Department, and I know I repeat myself again and again.
We found the rock carrion where the trail started.  We took a selfie just to document our journey.  As we started down the trail the skies opened up and a slight drizzle started. 
Since it has been a long time since we had seen snow or rain, we didn’t know what it was and headed out without a care in world.  I think the sugar from the donuts was affecting our judgement.
The Honaker Trail represents 300 million years of history when dragon flies were as big as Condors and what we mine for coal were ferns and biomass of large swamps.
Much like Moses, I didn’t get to the promised land, I stopped short to take pictures of a bald eagle flying along the river and cliff edges.  I didn’t see a burning bush, but my lungs were on fire by the time I reached the top again. 
The remaining hikers were wet and cold but made it to the promised land and drank from the banks of the San Juan River.