We cast the dice and we lost. With blue skies overhead and a grey line of rain clouds on the horizon, my kids and I gambled that we were faster than the weather rolling in.

We cast the dice and we lost. With blue skies overhead and a grey line of rain clouds on the horizon, my kids and I gambled that we were faster than the weather rolling in. Our hike at Stephen’s Gulch wouldn’t take long; the well-blazed trail at the newly reopened conservation area north of Bowmanville measured just three kilometres.

Spraying on some Deep Woods Off – we’d heard the hemlock woods could be a little buggy – we chose the broad grassy path that led uphill to our left. Sunlight spilled through the meadows and dappled the deeply-wooded areas. We picked out chickadees, cardinals and blue jays from among the birds’ voices; there were many more we couldn’t identify.

When we left one thickly-forested stretch, the sunlight had disappeared. The birdsong stopped. A high-noon twilight dimmed the woods. Gentle rain began to fall.

My son, a fair-weather hiker, grimaced. “It’s raining!” he complained.

“It is.” I grinned. “But have you noticed the mosquitoes have vanished?”

We walked through a hushed woodland where raindrops bouncing off leaves made the only sound and the only movement. The warm rain accentuated the deep, living smells of the woods: evergreens, wildflowers, leaves and the honest scent of dirt under our feet.

At roughly the halfway point on the trail, the storm upped the ante. Rain pelted down. Thunder growled a low warning. My children, who know thunderstorm is another word for “head for cover,” grew concerned. With no shelter and nowhere to go but onward, we cast worried looks overhead and hiked on.

The thunder soon stopped, leaving a strong, steady downpour in its wake. Our worries about lightning dissolved and we settled in to enjoy the rain and make the best of the situation. We gave up skirting the puddles that quickly formed and hiked right through them. We noted that each time the trickle of meandering creek crossed our path, it was wider and faster.

It turned into a great teachable moment. The former Lake Iroquois shoreline passes through Stephen’s Gulch, creating a sandy ridge of higher ground and lower, marshier terrain. The water escaped quickly in the sandy sections – no puddles there. Raindrops cast little craters and cut runnels in the sand.

In the areas with more organic matter mixed into the soil, the rain collected on the surface, soaking in slowly. Sodden leaves and wood chips marked the route the runoff took; they edged miniature rivers and formed tiny crescent-shaped dams that cupped the water.

Alison raced ahead, exploring each charming bridge and pool of water, every twist and turn, sprinting back to announce what she’d seen. Michael and I set a more leisurely pace, accompanied by a slow drip, drip and the squelch of wet running shoes. We spotted the end of the trail just as the sun broke through and the birds started chirping again.

“That was fun,” I said. Alison agreed. Even Michael admitted that hiking in the rain had its appeal.

As we drove away, soggy but satisfied, the only traces of the thunderstorm were wisps of mist chasing each other across the fields. We may have gambled and lost our race with the weather, but in the end -- I think we won.

To get to Stephen’s Gulch, take Taunton Rd. to Bethesda Rd. and turn south. Turn left on Stephen’s Mill Road. You’ll find the parking lot on your right at the bottom of the hill. Bring a loonie to throw in the honour parking box; all funds collected are reinvested into Stephen’s Gulch.

Trail Tales is a series to introduce you to Durham Region Trails, an inexpensive way to experience nature and an active lifestyle. Walk, run, hike, bike, ride, ski … ENJOY! To learn more, visit www.durhamtrails.ca.

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