Trying Trail

The trail starts innocently enough – a wide-open gravel path leads to a soft, narrow track covered with old pine needles. From there, a well-kept wooden footbridge traverses marshland by the edge of a lake. You would think it’s a city park. Just past the bridge, however, the trail narrows abruptly, and large roots crisscross the footpath, creating a labyrinth of ankle-twisting serpents, ready to trip anyone caught daydreaming.

“I’ll go last so you don’t get lost,’’ comes a voice from behind me, shattering my quiet reverie, dragging me back to a harsh reality: I’m supposed to run this trail that’s rugged enough to give experienced hikers pause. It’s 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday and we’re heading off-road onto the Bluff Wilderness Hiking Trail in Timberlea, N.S., 15 minutes west of Halifax, for a taste of trail running, road running’s dirtier cousin.

“We used to walk this trail every week until someone got the stupid idea to try to run it,’’ laughs Russ Bryden, the runner behind me tasked with making sure I don’t get lost. The Bluff Trail is a series of four interconnecting loops, winding its way around the Woodens River and Nine Mile River watersheds. Its only trailhead is off the Beechville-Lakeside-Timberlea Rails to Trails system. It’s a popular spot for hikers and a crazy band of runners who, every Saturday morning, all year round, eschew the urban jungle for the call of the wild.

“This is in your backyard, this is out our back door,” says Paul Griffith, president of FitPro Lifestyle Consultants and the defacto leader of the group. “We are so lucky in Nova Scotia.” 

A quick web search will turn up the Woodens River Watershed Environmental Organization oversees the trail and the surrounding land. “The trail is a wilderness trail, designed to challenge and delight the experienced hiker,’’ reads their description of the trail. “Hikers should use caution at all times.” Indeed, caution is the only thing I have going for me as I skirt granite boulders the size of large dogs and gingerly pick my way across boggy spots oozing with thick black muck. 

‘At least the trail is somewhat flat,’ I think to myself. “Now we head uphill for a bit,” says Griffith, with the timing of a seasoned comic. Only I’m not laughing – closer to weeping, actually. The other runners take off, trying to keep up with Griffith, who I’m told possesses the agility of a mountain goat. I can’t attest to this first-hand, though, as I never do come close enough to see him in action. The laughter of the others recedes as their experience, agility and fitness carry them further and further away. Soon all I can hear is my own breathing and all I can see is the ground immediately in front of me – that is, when my eyes aren’t blinking against the sting of the sweat coursing down my face.

I can sense Bryden behind me, a comforting presence since I repeatedly turn the wrong way and lose the trail, but I can’t possibly be running fast enough for him. There are even times I forget that I am supposed to run, or that running is even possible. I was assured that I was physically capable of completing the Pot Lake Loop, which is about 6K long and considered an intermediate trail. Griffith said I could walk it if I wanted, or turn back instead of completing the full loop.

Give up in front of these runners? Not a chance. The uphill portion brings us to the bluff, a barren expanse of granite which supports only lichen, moss and stunted trees. Here the running is easier, far from the roots that make the first portion a delicate dance with disaster. But a new danger lurks: two loops intersect and a miscalculation can send a runner around a second, longer trail. It was just such a misstep that recently sent two runners for an unexpected slog that lasted nearly three hours. Rule Number one: 1: Never trust someone who only thinks they know the way. So, while a compass or GPS is a smart piece of equipment for this trail run, watches are generally left at home.

“It’s not about time. It’s about the experience,” says Griffith, who nevertheless knows that the fastest he has completed the trail is around 42 to 45 minutes. “I hate running,” laughs Griffith. “Running often gets equated with time and competition. That’s great, but personally, it’s not my thing.’’

Back out on the trail, I’m in agony. Around every rock is another rock. For every root I clear, there are dozens more. The trail, in certain places, is so steep I have to grab branches to haul myself up. Finally, the boulder-strewn track widens back into the blissfully soft pine needle path to the wooden bridge. I’ve made it around without major mishap, but I hurt, everywhere – quads, hamstrings, feet, even my hands from grabbing at branches.  It has taken me an hour and 15 minutes to run about 6K. I suspect it’ll take me months before I try again. It’s something like childbirth: you need to forget about the pain before you can repeat the experience.

Griffith, whose company runs fitness boot camps throughout Halifax, shows no such pain as he jumps into his car to head to a local coffee shop to digest the morning’s event. He does these trail runs purely for pleasure, not work. Out here, he’s not the instructor who makes clients churn out 20 more pushups; he’s just a fellow runner.

“You get nature, a full body workout, friends and great coffee, all before 8:30 on a Saturday morning,” Griffith says. “It just doesn’t get any better.”

Deborah Wiles is a Halifax newspaper editor and a freelance writer. Unlike childbirth, she has tried trail running a second time.