Пешеход с собакой прошел пятимильный маршрут в горах за час до игры в пиклбол

3 min read http://www.bozemandailychronicle.com offers audio versions of articles using Instaread. Some words may be mispronounced. I glanced at my watch as I rolled into the South Cottonwood Trail parking lot. 3:13 p.m. Two-and-a-half hours until I had to be back in town for pickleball. The hike was five miles round trip, and less than 600 feet of elevation gain. Quick mental math told me it was doable. In the back seat, my dog sat upright, tongue out, ready to rock. “Alright, Koda bear,” I shifted into neutral and threw on the emergency brake. “Let’s hit it.” On this Tuesday afternoon, the trail was significantly less busy than it was on our last hike the previous Saturday. On previous weekend afternoons, the path had been crowded with families, trail runners, on- and off-leash dogs, and mountain bikers. But midweek traffic was light, with a handful of cars at the trailhead. Just half an hour out of town, with little elevation gain and ample opportunities to add distance, South Cottonwood is a popular trail for people hoping to get out of town on a weekend or after a shift. On this particular afternoon, I departed the Chronicle’s College Street office around 1:30, and scarfed a quick lunch before driving south to the trailhead. As we ascended the initial switchbacks, the shade of the overhanging trees kept us cool, cutting through the high-80s sunshine. Full foliage shades the majority of the trail as it cuts across, above, and below South Cottonwood Creek. We approached the first of three creek crossings a little less than a mile into the hike. A felled, flattened log serves as the bridge’s deck. A handrail fashioned from several smaller trunks offers support as users navigate the roughly two-foot-wide deck. As I watched Koda run across the bridge, I thought back to his inaugural South Cottonwood lap in April, weeks after I adopted him. Unfamiliar with me and his new life, he was hesitant to cross. Haunches dropped, ears pinned, eyes pleading, he resisted as I tried to beckon him across. I walked backwards in front of him, knees bent almost into a squat, pulling his leash gently forward, guiding him across. Hesitantly, he followed, running excitedly up the trail the second his paws returned to solid ground. Today, he met the bridge without a flicker of hesitation, sprinting across before following the trail up and out of the drainage. I followed, lifting my watch to illuminate its face. 3:32 p.m. Two hours till pickleball. We picked up our pace, passing a young family stopped for a snack and water break. As we continued onwards, a group of returning trail runners passed us, smiling and waving as their pups trailed them. Koda looked expectantly at me, with the same begging eyes he always gives when we encounter dogs on the trail. “Leave it,” I said, continuing on. He huffed and ran ahead. As we climbed in elevation, the tree cover thinned out, sending thick beams of sunlight spilling onto the trail. With the creek babbling on our right, we followed the trail to the second crossing, dropping back into the shade. South Cottonwood Creek runs clear and shallow, paralleling the trail and providing ample opportunities for both human and canine patrons. Had I had more time and been adequately prepared, I would’ve dropped a chair in the creek and cracked a book. But today, time was against us, so we quickly crossed the second bridge and carried on. By the third crossing, the time had crept to 3:53, and I felt confident we’d be able to finish the trail. With less than half a mile to the turnaround point, I sat on the bridge, taking a moment to watch the water flowing lazily by and the flickering light bouncing off the water-blanketed rocks. The turnaround point lies just beyond the third bridge, roughly 2.5 miles into the hike. For those wanting a longer trip, the trail continues, eventually connecting with other trails in the Gallatin Range. As we worked our way back down the trail, I fought the urge to check my watch. I let Koda set the pace, stopping periodically to run down the the creek, take a quick drink and ascend giddily back to the trail. By the time we descended the final switchback and my Subie came into sight, the handful of vehicles in the lot had dwindled to two. I loaded Koda into the back, depressed the clutch, and fired up the engine. The time on the dash read 4:58, just enough time to drop Koda at home and bike to pickleball.