Me and son on the castle trail

Last week youngest son and I escaped the smog and in the process documented one more Davis County hike. This trail starts by the "Castle," a house which, as you might guess, looks like a castle. I'm told it actually only has one or two bedrooms, not your family style type house.

It's a strange gothic looking house, gargoyle type creatures strewn throughout the yard. In reality the trail starts out at the Fernwood picnic area but we just call it the Castle trail. There are several trails which start from here. We take the main trail which runs behind the castle up along Kays Creek and then eventually connects with the Great Western Trail.

Here son is eating snow. What a trooper--it was about 20 degrees but I heard nary a complaint. Amazing how little it takes to please a 5-year old. His favorite amusement, as always, was the variety of sticks which he then dragged along in the snow.

The bent over trees maintain moss throughout the winter from the with melting snow. Son had to touch the moss and then we were on our way (three sticks in tow at this point).

Bridges over snow covered rivers and water holes in which to throw rocks and "crash" the ice by stomping, cracking and distorting the ice hole.

Son was hell bent on returning the next day in order to show his brother, sister, and mommy the damage he'd done.

Now on to the south facing muddy slop where we found amazing little patches of green grass; we could hardly believe it.

We climbed up the south face and then turned along the spine of the ridge heading west (off the trail which connects to the GWT) and higher, deeper and deeper snow. We looked back; son couldn't believe it was the same bridge.

Our toes were getting colder in the higher elevation snow...

...but we had indeed escaped the smog; we were free of it all for a moment,

the dark gunk a sharp contrast to the blue sky; it stuck down in the gut of the valley where it hung in our hair, in our lungs, but we had conquered it for now.

The castle in sight we were almost back, a respid for our frozen toes only minutes away.

We'd stomped and tromped in the snow for much longer than I'd thought we would. A stellar little 5-year old as proud as can be, "We were on the moutains, daddy."