Heading to Mitchell Creek Canyon
Holly and Danielle — two of my JCPenney partners-in-chaos — swoop in to pick me up from my condo around 11:30 a.m. I hop in, blissfully unaware that today I am both adventurer… and potential kidnapping victim.
We have a few errands before reaching Mitchell Creek Canyon, because nothing says “epic outdoor quest” like couriering cell phones and zig-zagging across suburbia. First stop: Holly’s boyfriend’s place to drop off his phone. Then on to Jeremy’s house, who joins us for the hike and quickly becomes my fellow conspirator in determining that Holly is 100% kidnapping us.
Why? Because as we take unfamiliar back roads — the kind where GPS quietly whispers, good luck, you sweet fool — prairie dogs pop up everywhere like fuzzy little scouts. I squeal every time, because how does one NOT squeal at prairie dogs? There are dozens. Entire prairie dog nations. Security companies wish it had this level of adorable territorial surveillance.
Finally, Holly parks the car in a cozy neighborhood and announces our arrival.
Ma’am. A neighborhood?
I thought we were headed to a canyon, not a cul-de-sac!
She points down the hill behind a house. There’s a hidden path leading into the woods. Oh. Well that makes more sense. Derp. Into the enchanted suburban forest we go.
The Hike
The trail begins smooth and civilized — a sidewalk flanked by trees, like nature offering a polite handshake before dragging us deeper into her kingdom. A creek babbles beside us, bubbling and purring as if trying to gossip about who last crossed her waters.
Soon our hiking party splits naturally into two clans:
- The Photogs (Danielle and I — blessed be the shutter-obsessed)
- The Non-Photogs (Holly and Jeremy — those reckless souls who walk with intent instead of delirious artistic distraction)
They stride ahead like they are determined to finish the hike before we've barely begun. Meanwhile, Danielle and I stop every ten steps because the bark has texture like snap poetry, the rocks have dramatic angles like Maleficent's cheekbones, and the wind is whisper-singing some Elven hymn.
Even in winter, the landscape is magic. Stark branches, chilled air, ridges carved into stone like ancient ruins. I half-expect a wizard to round a corner and tell us we're late for council.
My favorite discovery?
Tiny trickles of water cascading over rocks — miniature waterfalls that sound as dainty and whimsical as they look. We perch on boulders like awkward birds, trading spots so each of us can capture our photos. Danielle shoots film exclusively. I can’t wait to see the results once the rolls are developed. I'm dabbling in film too and hoping to have my darkroom ready before summer - Because nothing says cottage-core-meets-mountain-witch energy like developing film in your own lair.
Eventually, we catch up to Holly and Jeremy — not because we gained speed (lol, no), but because they mercifully paused to make sure we weren’t claimed by the squirrels or swept away by whimsical daydreams.
Heading Home
Eventually we turn back, stomachs rumbling from all our nature-frolicking. The only sensible move? The Crave in Castle Rock — a burger joint. We order adult milkshake monsters (dessert cocktails disguised as milkshakes — dangerous, glorious) and sandwiches. I go for the Nutty Professor Burger (yes, peanut butter and bacon, don't judge art) with fries and a Mud-Slide shake.
And listen. I learned about milkshake straws. As in — giant straws made specifically to actually drink a milkshake instead of waiting until it melts to sadness soup. Excuse me Wisconsin, but why did you betray me with those sad little coffee stirrers masquerading as straws? How was I supposed to drive AND inhale dairy glory at the same time?
Oceans rise, empires fall, but milkshake-sized straws?
That, my friends… is civilization.
