By Julia Beauregard
Hometown Weekly Editor
It was late March, and the bare trees and crunching of fallen leaves beneath my feet gave the impression that it was a warm October afternoon. It had been many months since I had last hiked through the trails at Rocky Narrows, though on one warm Wednesday afternoon, I decided to make my return. As I traveled along this familiar path, it made me wonder about all of the people, present and past, that had ventured through these same woods.
Rocky Narrows was especially barren this day; I was the lone traveler. The only sounds that echoed through the trees were the birds signing above and my chucks thumping against the dirt. Buds were beginning to blossom all around, as the first signs of spring were coming to life right before my eyes. While trekking forward, I came across the stream of the Charles River that flowed effortlessly through the heart of the trail.
In homage to Robert Frost, I elected to take the trail less traveled by on this hike. I barred left further along the yellow path, leading me to a far less frequented trail. There is a break in the man-made walls on the yellow trail, where a secret path is cut out on the right and I began hiking in this direction.
As I ventured deeper down this side trail, I was once again greeted by the Charles River; although, a bigger body than the stream that weaves through the main trail. I took in the beauty of the sun glistening off the dirty water, before continuing my quest to the train tracks yards ahead. Once my feet find the old, wooden train tracks, I knew I was nearly there. After looking both ways and venturing across the way, there is another path to be found on the other side of the tracks. There is where the brisk walk transforms into a heart-racing hike, as I find myself entering the blue trail.
After hiking uphill for a couple of hundred feet, I found a pile of rocks on the right-hand side of the blue trail, assembled by hikers who wanted to say “I made it!” I picked up a rock, as I have done so many times before, and tossed it to the top of the pile, before entering this portion of the trail.
I raced to my destination, knowing the beauty that awaited me. A walk turned into a hike which transformed into a run, as the euphoria and anticipation coursed through my veins. Finally, I reached the top, touching down on my final destination: King Philip's Overlook. I drank in the intoxicating view of the Charles River below and the serene greenery that surrounded me. I looked down to see a train barreling down the tracks, which was a friendly reminder that those old tracks are still very much in use. As I stood atop that overlook, moments passed and the euphoria inevitably faded, leaving me to realize: now I have to walk all the way back.
