High Line Canal at Mamie Doud Eisenhower Park

Tess Johnson - 11 October 2024

A slight, fleeting chill in the breeze, as well as the growing number of fallen leaves, indicate fall is approaching its peak. I sit at a cement picnic table painted green, under a tree at Eisenhower Park. The volume of the soft rustling of leaves is matched by the rush of traffic on the neighboring 4-lane street. A woman speed walks past another woman with her dog (his name is Charlie, and she loves talking to him like a person). Twenty feet away, directly across from the parking lot entrance, is a slew of single-story homes, with their shiny cars parked in the driveway and their dogs sitting in fenced yards. The park itself houses picnic tables, tennis courts, plenty of grass and trees, and the Eisenhower Recreation Center (a small, single-story facility with an outdoor pool and colorful art).

Through the park travels the High Line Canal Trail, a well-marked oath venturing from Aurora to Lone Tree. Here, the path is gravel, flanked by trees changing with the seasons. As I prepare myself to venture onto this trail, and perhaps discover something new (or old), these questions are foremost on my mind:

• To what extent does individual identity play a role in a trail experience?

• How is the nature of a trail changed by its users?

• At what point is an unused trail no longer a trail?

• Of all of the interactions on the trail, both seen and unseen, where is there tension? Where is there release?

• How might I use or need the skills from the Wilderness First Responder course?

After spending 15 or so minutes reflecting on these questions, noticing things and people I am curious about, and simply observing the comings-and-goings of the park.

To start my exploration of the High Line Canal Trail, I walked through the park, away from the busy road. The area wasn’t busy; I was passed by a handful of cyclists and couples walking their dogs. A sign with colorful graphics advertises “University Hills Turkey Trot”, calling readers to join their community for a run on one of the most gluttonous days of the year. I wandered along the trail for a total of 2 miles, turning back to my vehicle after 1 mile. The trail itself followed an irrigation ditch—the High Line Canal—which was mostly devoid of water but there were a few puddles here and there. Opposite the canal were homes and parks, with people’s fences backing right up to the trail so I could look in if I wanted to. At one point the trail crossed a two-lane road, where cars stopped for any joggers or cyclists using the High Line Canal Trail. A few things stood out to me during my walk, including a lost child’s sock that was placed on a tree and the occasional fallen branch. When I finally turned around, I found a piece of art next to the trail—a wooden bench with carved woodland creatures. My walk was much slower than most of my other hikes and adventures, which I credit to putting most of my energy into taking notes, photos, and notice of the interactions on the trail.

The walk itself was leisurely, the flat trail and moderate fall temperatures providing perfect conditions. While I was comfortable along this walk, I did need to be aware as to not get run over by the occasional cyclist or runner, though most people were friendly and called out a greeting to let me know they were there. The experience was not physically tiring, but the mental energy I expended on observation and reflection was much greater than most of my typical outdoor adventures in my personal time.

Reflecting on how experiencing the trail changed my impressions, specifically comparing the before and after exploring this trail, I find overall a greater disconnect between the history of the place and the place itself. Before walking along the High Line Canal, I knew this trail was essential for people wanting to travel to Denver from the east, and the desperation of so many prospectors and pioneers to build a life elsewhere drove them to take the dangerous Smoky Hill Trail. I knew that indigenous groups used this trail first, and that a lot of this trail used to be marked by conflict. After I walked along it, however, I found that I viewed the trail more in the context of its current uses. For example, a good place to escape the traffic of the city of Denver, or do my long run, or meet a friend at a park. There is evidence of history, of course as history is merely evidence of change, such as the canal that runs alongside the trail. But the intentions of the people actively using the trail seem to take precedence over the meaning and greater purpose of the trail. Rather than preserve or convey history, I perceive the High Line Canal Trail to be a place for the community to be active and bond with one another, such as with the University Hills Turkey Trot.

Now, onto why I even went to the High Line Canal in the first place—How do trails influence the preservation and telling of human history, and what skills are needed to safely and ethically participate in outdoor recreation? In this case, the infrastructure of the Smoky Hill Trail, and the canal, are physically preserved. The water that was essential for the lives of so many early Denverites is still here, just for recreation and health rather than basic needs. While there was nothing communicating the history of the trail, the struggles and flaws of the people who used it 150 years ago, the trail did work to share today’s culture. Side trails led directly to parks, schools, and neighborhoods, creating access to anyone in the area. Art pieces, most notably the wooden sculpture, reflect a shared value of nature and environment. And of course, the people. There were families, groups of teenagers, runners of all ages, cyclists, couples walking their dogs, and middle-aged friends catching up on a walk. The trail seems to be telling the values of the community of today.

As far as the skills needed to safely and ethically recreate in this environment, there were plenty of opportunities to exercise wilderness medicine if the need arose (particularly the very adventurous toddlers on the playground equipment). There was some signage calling for certain behaviors to be avoided or encouraged, such as picking up one's trash, that informed ethical participation on this trail. Generally, I tried to be courteous to the other trail-goers, in whatever way felt right (mostly being aware of my physical location and moving when necessary).

The High Line Canal Trail, despite occupying the same space as the Cherokee and Smoky Hill Trails, is now a place where local values and art are on display. I wonder if community will be so clearly advertised on my next practicum adventure.