The trail begins in damp shade. Spring has transformed the forest. Bushes and insects have returned after the winter, and the smell of wet grass rises from the ground. It is different from the smell of a freshly mowed lawn. It smells wild, growing, and alive. Sunlight slips through gaps in the leaves and flashes briefly on my hiking boots.
Loose gravel covers parts of the trail, forcing me to watch my footing. Yet I am constantly distracted by the scenery. Every so often, I look up through the trees to see how far I still am from the top.
Birds chirp from the forest canopy, though they are not alone. From Route 9W below, the sounds of cars and motorcycles drift up the mountain. The forest and the highway seem to occupy the same air, sharing the afternoon together.
At a bend in the Black Rock Forest trail sits a large flat rock that hikers often use as a resting place. Below it, the hillside drops into a cliff. By the time I reach it, the heat has usually settled into my clothes and the humid air clings to my skin.