|Snowy Stagecoach Hollow|
If you follow a crooked road west, heading towards the row of blue mountains charged with procuring the setting sun, you'll discover a steep canyon carved by a ribbon of black ice. The secluded glen is called Stagecoach Hollow.
Local legend has it that a tenacious mistral prowls the area bedeviling visitors. Winter snow creates a monochrome landscape where white aspen contrast with the dark pine. Because the rugged terrain is a mosaic of mud, rocks, snow and ice, navigation requires the nimbleness of a goat.
Howling like a ghostly demon, the relentless wind chased us down into the brooding forest. The mysterious sanctuary was a tangle of gnarled tree trunks and broken limbs. Confined to a murky chasm during the December dusk, a daunting staircase was the only way out.
The stiff breeze kept pace, whirling through the treetops and over cliff edges like an insane daredevil. Across a footbridge and finally back up top, a final blast of blowing snow stung like gunpowder. Despite the blustery fiend's ability to drive one mad, we managed to keep our heads.
A hazy, full moon guided us back to our hillside home. With imaginations intoxicated by hot chocolate, we spun ghost tales late into the night and recounted our spooky escape from that frightful abyss known as Stagecoach Hollow.
|It's a secluded glen|
|Carved by a ribbon of black ice|
|The landscape is monochrome|
|The wind chased us into the forest|
|Tangled trees and broken limbs|
|A daunting, snowy staircase|
|The breeze is like a daredevil|
|We made it back up top|
|We managed to keep our heads|
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