Late fall is always an uncertain time of year for hiking, and already this coming week looks to be one of rain and snow, so I was eager to get outside before the white stuff makes its appearance. There was a trail near Orillia that I was eager to try out that runs for seven kilometers through marsh and forest. I grabbed my coat and hat from the hall closet and pocketed the car keys in anticipation of lovely afternoon of hiking. As I opened the front door, the sound of small nails clicking on the floor had me turning to see the Mr. B staring at me with those big brown beagle eyes, tail hanging low and slowly wagging with hope. Now, I generally don’t take the Mr. with me hiking, as he is sixteen years old and prefers to spend his time warm and cozy on his love seat dreaming of chasing an enticing scent through sunlight fields. The route I wanted to explore today would be much too long for him. I glanced down, ready to shoo him away, and this is when he took a tentative step towards me, those liquid eyes looking at me beseechingly. I released a sigh, as I could not reasonably be expected to ignore such an imploring creature. My hand reached up and removed his leash from the hook, and I was rewarded with the Mr. giving a little bounce as he began prancing around my legs. Ok, into the car, but where to go that would satisfy the both of us.
We headed east along highway 12 with no real destination in mind. The Mr. was content to sit in the front seat and admire the scenery, though he failed to offer up a suggestion for our walk. The heated seats came on, producing a contented sound from my traveling companion. Warm buns are always nice at this time of the year. By the time we had arrived in Coldwater, I thought it prudent to find a spot that we could explore and the nearby Uhthoff trail would have to do. We parked off Anderson line, pulling in as close to the ditch as possible. I moved to the passenger side to let the Mr. out and realized just how close I was to the ditch. I opened the door and the Mr. leaped out, large ears flying behind him. He sailed through the air and…. promptly disappeared. There at the bottom of that deep ditch was a disgruntled beagle looking back up at me with an indignant glare, as though I had done this to him on purpose. Stifling my laughter, I helped him back up on the shoulder of the road and onto the trail. The Mr.’s misfortunes were not over yet. A large and very solid metal gate blocks the exit from motorized vehicles, with an opening for bikes and pedestrians. Now the Mr. is mostly blind and almost entirely deaf, using his remarkable nose to run from one spot to another. I went ahead through the gate until a resounding clang and a beagle yelp stopped me in my tracks. Sigh, the Mr. had run right at the metal gate chasing those enticing odors and was now giving me another baleful look.
The Mr. enjoyed the rest of our day, as we walked along the flat trail next to barren fields. His nose caught another intriguing odor, and he pulled toward a chain link fence. On the other side of that fence was a herd of brown and white cows, lounging in the cold fields. Except for a slow glance, the bovines seemed unconcerned about a panting beagle yearning to get closer. We continued, past barns, fields and wetlands. This trail was once part of the CP railroad, traveling from Port McNicoll to Orillia, making it flat and easy to walk, and letting my mind wander as the Mr. ran in zig zags in front of me. The sound of train whistle had me jumping and whirling, expecting to see some phantom train barrelling down on us. Once my heart rate settled down to a more manageable pace, I was able to enjoy the sounds of the train rattling down on the active tracks running parallel to our route. By this time the grey clouds were piling up on the horizon threatening rain. We turned back to reach our car just as the skies opened and the cold rain pounded down. I never did get out to that hiking spot I wanting to try, but it will still be there next week. As to the Mr., he will only be around for short time, and this walk means the world to him. Priorities.
