I found this place almost by accident—or perhaps not by accident at all. Following the quiet inner nudges that often guide my explorations, I arrived at a small forest trailhead with no expectations beyond enjoying a peaceful afternoon. What I found instead was a place that gently reminded me that sometimes the most meaningful journeys happen unexpectedly when we’re willing to let go of our agenda and simply follow where life leads.

An Unexpected Experience

After leaving Conkles Hollow, it took me a little while to understand where I was being guided next. It took a few times of checking the maps and trying to figure out how to ask specific enough questions until eventually everything clicked into place. A few miles later, I arrived at a small gravel parking area with only three vehicles. I smiled with delight. Compared to the crowds I’d just left behind, this felt wonderfully remote. The drive itself had already asked me to slow down. The road was narrow, with a steep rise on one side and a drop-off on the other, and I found myself grateful that I hadn’t met another vehicle coming the opposite direction. When I stepped out into the warm afternoon air, the forest felt completely different from the busy preserve I’d just left. It was still. Quiet. The kind of quiet that seems to settle not only over the trees but over your thoughts as well.

I followed an old service road that gently descended through the forest for nearly half a mile before reaching a place where a trail branched away. As usual, I paused and followed the quiet guidance(muscle testing) I rely on while exploring. My feet wanted to continue down the road. So I did. The only problem was that I was exhausted. I had already spent hours exploring that day, and the thought of several more miles wasn’t especially appealing. I knew there was a waterfall and a cave somewhere nearby, but the trail map was small enough that I couldn’t quite understand how everything connected.

For the first time that afternoon, I began wondering whether I should stop listening to my intuition and simply choose the easier option. Then something unexpected happened. Without warning, an overwhelming feeling of fear washed over me. There was no obvious reason for it. The woods were peaceful. Nothing appeared out of place. And yet every part of me suddenly felt afraid. My first instinct was to ignore it. To push through. To prove to myself that I wasn’t going to let fear decide what I could or couldn’t do. But then I remembered something a friend had once told me: “Don’t do that to yourself.” Those simple words changed everything. Instead of forcing myself forward, I gave myself permission to stop.

Just inside the trees beside the road was a fallen log. After quietly asking if it felt right to sit there, I did exactly that. For a long while I simply sat. I tried to understand what I was feeling. I questioned myself. I wondered if I was overreacting. Part of me even felt embarrassed. How could I be this frightened when nothing around me seemed frightening? The harder I tried to make sense of it, the less sense it made. Eventually I realized I didn’t have to solve it. I simply had to be honest about it. So I quietly reached out, in the way that has become natural for me, to what I think of as my Sasquatch family. I didn’t ask for answers. I simply admitted that I didn’t know what to do. “If you’d like to help,” I said inwardly, “I’d really appreciate it.” Almost immediately, a loud stick cracked somewhere across the road, perhaps forty or fifty yards away. My first thought was that some large animal had entered the forest. Then, before I had time to think further, another sharp crack sounded much closer on the opposite side.

Something about those two sounds felt different. I quietly checked in using the intuitive practices I personally rely on, and I felt reassured that I wasn’t alone. The moment that realization settled in, everything I had been holding back came rushing out. I cried. Not because anything terrible had happened. But because I finally felt safe and supported enough to admit how frightened I felt. I told them I was ashamed of being afraid when I couldn’t point to any logical reason for it. As strange as it may sound, simply speaking those words to my unseen companions seemed to dissolve the fear. Within a minute, the tightness in my chest was gone. The tears stopped. I felt like myself again.

Then something curious happened. A lone hiker came walking up the service road, singing to themselves as they passed. They seemed completely absorbed in their own little world and I wondered how they didn’t notice me sitting there. Moments later, I heard voices to my right as another couple emerged from the trail I had almost taken earlier. After a brief discussion, they too headed back toward the parking lot. To me, it felt as though the timing of everything had quietly arranged itself so that our paths never crossed. Whether someone sees that as coincidence or guidance is for each person to decide. For me, it felt like one more gentle reminder that I was exactly where I needed to be and that I was being watched over.

Once the trail was quiet again, I finally felt guided to take the path I had passed before. It led me to the top of the waterfall. At the time, I still didn’t understand the map and had no idea another trail descended into the ravine below. A passing comment from another group of hikers made me wonder if there was still more waiting to be discovered. There was.

Eventually I found the trail leading to the bottom of the gorge. From there, the rest of the afternoon unfolded peacefully. There were no more unusual experiences. Just solitude. The waterfall. The quiet beauty of the ravine. And eventually, another couple searching for the cave, which we each managed to find after a little wandering. By then my camera battery had given up for the day, and I needed to save what little remained on my phone so I could navigate the drive home.I would have loved to photograph the cave more thoroughly. Perhaps that’s simply a reason to return.

The hike back to the parking area was long, and somewhere along the way the rain began. Instead of hurrying, I welcomed it. After a warm day of hiking, the cool rain felt wonderfully refreshing. By the time I reached my car I was basically soaked and couldn’t have cared less. I was heading home. As I drove toward the main road, the rain intensified until it was falling in shimmering sheets across the windshield.

Then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The sun broke through the clouds. Stretching across the sky in front of me was one of the most beautiful rainbows I’d ever seen. Perhaps it was simply perfect timing. Perhaps it was something more. Either way, I drove home with the quiet feeling that the forest had offered me a blessing before saying goodbye.

What This Place Gave Me

This forest reminded me that courage isn’t always taking another step. Sometimes courage is sitting down on a fallen log, admitting you’re afraid, and allowing yourself to receive the kindness you’ve been trying so hard to earn. Sometimes the path forward only becomes clear after we’ve stopped fighting ourselves.