When Sunday arrived we decided to take advantage of a trail definitely not on most people's list of 'must-do' hikes, one unfamiliar to us, but we theorized since it was a minor trail it would be unlikely we'd come across hordes of nature-tourists. It was highly unusual to see major trails' parking areas packed with vehicles at this time of year, but of course the weather had everything to do with that. And the proximity to Boston.

The night before I had suddenly awoken for some reason and lay awake for awhile, and then suddenly I heard a deep boom and realized that light that was barely emitted from the outside creating a dark twilight within the cottage was suddenly snuffed and everything was pure black. It was evident that the electrical connection had failed, and my mind worked feverishly imagining no heat, no water, an end to our idyll. Hours later though, it came back on and we learned later that a transformer had blown nearby. So, even while we were immersed in nature, enjoying the experience in a cottage within a densely forested area, but when our comforts of  reliance on the vital services we take for granted are suddenly threatened, we dissolve into apprehension.

In any event, after breakfast we drove off to the Sandwich Mountain road, a narrow, twisting mountain road paved for the first mile and then gravelled. We passed several farms on the way to our destination. There were two vehicles driving ahead of us. Each in succession turned eventually in to a narrow parking area alongside the road. And we did too; parked alongside the road in a shallow area meant to accommodate two or three vehicles, and another one a hundred yards further on. There was a barely discernible trailhead; no signage marking this trail, though we had consulted the White Mountain Guide for directions to get there.

The other vehicles' occupants accessed the trailhead assuring us they knew where they were going; likely locals, we thought, since the trail was unmarked and a huge old fallen tree trunk lay alongside the trailhead, obscuring it. We too then plunged into the forest along a narrow trail where the deciduous trees were well advanced in their colour pageant of autumn's landscape. It wasn't particularly comfortable maintaining Jackie and Jillie on leash though they didn't seem to mind. We simply were too hesitant to trust that off leash they wouldn't wander off, away from us or suddenly leap forward after something that had provoked their interest, in a place strange to both them and us, far from home.

The forest, comprised primarily of hemlock, fir, birch, maple and pine was equally colourful as the Peak Hill hike of the day before. The trail was fairly flat and relatively short, with ample excellent views. A switch took the trail to begin rising, and eventually we reached a small forest lake. It sparkled in the sunlight, and we could see an intake at one end where wind ruffled the surface of the lake and the rippled effect overtook the entire, small lake sporadically. We could see a pair of other hikers with a large hound ahead of us, and they continued on, while we stopped to relax on boulders above the lake.

Jackie and Jillie know that stops like this mean they can anticipate treats, and water; they didn't need the water so much, but really craved the little doggy biscuits they most appreciate. We stayed a short while looking over the lake, the quietly serene drama of wind-on-water, sun-on-foliage and the backstop of mountains and vibrant-coloured forest.

And then we decided to call it a hiking day, to return on the trail back to our truck. To our surprise, the pair we'd seen going on from the lake had already returned and were preparing to leave before us with a friendly wave.