The first time it was the middle of winter, dark, and we missed a turn in the trail.

From the same trailhead the kids and I tried to climb to an overlook, but it wasn't meant to be.

The next time there wasn't nearly as much snow, but somehow we still missed the right trail.

It wasn't until the fourth trip from this trailhead that I actually made it to a destination.

Amazingly, trip #5 was also a success.

On that last trip I felt the beautiful trail along the creek definitely deserved a return visit. We got started nice and early so we could huff up the steep and less appealing section of the trail before the sun came out and then enjoy the winding, duffy trail through the forest as far as we wanted.

But of course, the trailhead is cursed so this trip was in jeopardy from the outset. Treen was doing great. Eric was doing great. I was doing great... until I wasn't. I don't have back problems, but BAM it hit and I could hardly breathe. Eric was leading and he stopped when I cried out. The entire upper right side of my back seized up. I dropped my pack and caught my breath a bit.

A few minutes later it was still sore, but surely I could continue. NOPE. Another spasm left me gasping for air. It was pretty clear I wasn't going anywhere. I prevailed upon Eric to take Treen a bit further up the trail so he could see what it looked like and why I had chosen it. While they were gone I started a slow retreat.

Although the pain eased it was pretty clear there was no opportunity to continue. Especially not with big trips coming up with the kids. So I looked at the creek and then we got some views before heading all the way down.

The good news is that the pain never returned. Not even with heavy loads and long days. The bad news is the curse persists. Do I dare return?