The first day, I chose to take the east side route. It was a plan I had never been before in a state that I had not visited in over 20 years and certainly not one that I knew anything about. The easterly route up the horseshoe ridge seemed to have the most people and while that is not usually the way I choose a path, it would be the right choice in this case…
For me, it was like being in the midst of an adventure race, but without the camaraderie. There were so many people all moving in the same direction up a mountain at the same time. People trying to maneuver up the dusty path at their own pace, bumping into the slower folks on the steeper sections as they try to pass. No one talking or even acknowledging each other, everyone just in their own individual worlds — A city walk just transported onto a ridgeline. But at least I was out of the city proper and could feel dirt under my feet. Well, at least until the paved descent.
The next day, I once again walked the few blocks to the park. But this time I chose the westerly route and actually turned back. For a moment. After making the 180 turn onto the trailhead, I stopped in my tracks. Literally. The welcoming sign for the trail was anything but. Here, in this overpopulated public park was a simple sign reading: “DANGER Rattlesnakes.” I stood there for a second and looked around. My eyes followed the sight of the trail and I could see almost a hundred people calmly hiking this route. Can we also talk about how weird it was that the complete lack of trees enabled the ability to even see all the people? So freakin’ weird, hiking without trees.
But all these people seemed completely oblivious to the trail sign announcing the rattlesnakes. No one was wearing boots or even high tops. Dogs were running about off lead, scampering through the bushes and sticking their noses everywhere. There were obviously no porcupines in the area, but wouldn’t a rattlesnake bite to the schnoz be even more dangerous??
If all these people weren’t afraid of the rattlesnakes, then I shouldn’t be either, right? Maybe it’s just a sign meant to scare tourists or something? So I waited until someone came and then walked about 50 feet behind them, thinking that they could take the bite and I would be the 911 caller instead of the victim. There were not as many people as the trail yesterday, but there was more than I would find on a busy uphill Saturday on Ramshead.
I was starting to feel a bit more comfortable as I followed the guy. Who was I kidding? The concierge had said to stay away from the bushes, as that’s where the snakes hang out but the trail was literally right through the bushes. Are these Californians simply crazy? My heard was beating rapidly, not for the exertion but from the anxiety as my eyes were constantly searching out snakes and my ears were stretching for the rattles. It was the most stressful hike I’ve ever done in my life and no one else seemed phased at all.
We ducked around a half knocked over chain link fence with a sign from the city saying that the bridge precariously hanging off the side of the mountain was off limits. But everybody just walked over it like they didn’t have a care in the world. Anyway… as we got to the top, there was a part where you could choose the path or continue on a dirt road. Me being me, I chose the path that continued through the bushes. There was no warning sign, so I figured I was good.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
As I turned the corner about 200 feet in, I quickly froze. Immovable. Trying not to be noticed for the few moments in time as the western diamondback rattlesnake with four tiers on its rattle calmly made its way across the path.
Nope. Nope. Nope. I quickly turned around and made my way back through the bushes and onto the big wide open trail with thousands of other people. Back along the dirt road, just underneath the bushy path I saw a sign up on the trail “CAUTION: RATTLESNAKE BREEDING GROUND.” What in the actual?? Who in their right mind would build an urban hiking trail around a rattlesnake breeding ground???
As I descended on the wide, paved fire road, I repeatedly gave thanks under my breathe for the beautiful state we live in. Where I can walk for hundreds of miles without the fear of rattlesnakes randomly crossing my path. Where I am surrounded by trees and not people. Where I now celebrate the variety of non-venomous life nestled under the thick canopy. I have never loved Vermont more than in that moment.
Merisa Sherman is a long time Killington resident, elected town lister and member of the Development Review Board. She is a global real estate advisor and Coach PomPom. Reach out to her at [email protected]
