I had to do this.
The other day, I finally made time to hike one of my favorite trails—Car Wreck, in Aliso and Wood Canyons.
Usually, when I'm out there, I'm riding my mountain bike. But every now and then, I need to slow down. Get off the bike. Just walk and take it all in.
For months, I’d felt this pull to hike Car Wreck. Honestly, it felt like an unending nudge. But with my upcoming book launch and other major projects on my plate, it kept getting pushed aside.
Still, the feeling stuck around.
"I think I'm supposed to hike Car Wreck."
So, last week, I finally listened. And what unfolded felt like a conversation with the natural world that I might have missed if I hadn’t slowed down.
Instead of hiking in from my house, which I usually do, I decided to drive up to Top of the World to start at the peak of the canyon. This way I could walk down into the heart of it and climb my way back up.
As soon as I stepped onto the trail, the crows showed up—loud, playful, and full of energy. We’ve gotten to know the local crows by leaving out cashews each morning, and they’ve learned to recognize me, sometimes following me when I ride which is always fun.
But this time felt different, like they weren’t just saying hi.
It felt like they were celebrating.
About a mile in, the crows decided to stay behind, and a raven appeared. Bigger than the crows. A deeper call. A diamond-shaped tail. Unmistakable differences.
It swooped low over my shoulder and started following me, keeping a steady pace just ahead, rising up and circling, and calling out now and then as if to make sure I stayed on track.
As I normally do with the crows, I whistled back and smiled. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love corvids—crows, ravens, magpies. Having a raven as my hiking companion felt like a little bit of magic.
As I worked my way down Mathis, something lying across the trail caught my eye. At first glance, it looked like a stick. But as I got closer, I realized it wasn’t a stick—it was a snake. And like me, it was just moving at its own pace as it crossed the fire road.
I stopped to give it space, admiring how calm it was as it slithered on.
But not everyone notices the life around them when they’re lost in their own head.
Cue the hiker coming up the trail toward us—head down, AirPods in, sunglasses on. He didn’t see the snake, and he definitely didn’t hear me call out.
It wasn’t until I waved my arms frantically and raised my voice that he finally looked up. He pulled out one AirPod and laughed.
"Thanks! I didn’t even see it!"
Thankfully, neither the hiker or the snake was harmed, and we each went our separate ways.
But it made me wonder.
Maybe I had been feeling pulled toward this hike for that moment?
Maybe saving that snake—or saving that guy from a very bad day—was the reason I needed to be there?
Or maybe it’s bigger than that. Maybe what we notice, what we save, what we slow down to see—maybe it all ripples out in ways we’ll never know. The butterfly effect.
Reaching the base of Mathis, my raven friend turned and flew back up from where we came. I was a little bummed it didn’t stay but grateful it had even showed up at all.
I picked up Oak Grove and made my way toward the bottom of Car Wreck, the trail’s namesake—a rusted-out car half-buried in the dirt, like a steel skeleton fossilized from another lifetime.
The climb past the car is steep and rocky, what I refer to as "The Gnar Garden," and even on foot it takes some focus. I had the whole trail to myself. No one else around. Just the sound of my breath and the heat of the sun.
That’s when I caught a blur of green out of the corner of my eye.
At first, I thought it was a jeweled beetle buzzing along the trail. But as I looked closer, I realized it was a hummingbird. Flitting to and fro keeping pace just ahead of me.
It didn’t dart away. And it didn’t seem afraid. It just stayed with me like an excited child impatiently wanting me to keep up with them.
I kept climbing, grateful for the energetic company.
About a third of the way up Car Wreck, I stopped to catch my breath and soak in the stillness.
That’s when the hummingbird floated right up to me.
It hovered about a foot from my face. Close enough that I could see the impossibly fast blur of its wings and the tiny movements of its head as it studied me.
Frozen in awe of the moment, I smiled and softly said, "Hi."
To my surprise, it didn’t fly off, it just hovered in place, as if to say:
"Adam, are you listening?"
And in that suspended second, everything else faded away — the projects, the deadlines, and more importantly the stress I’ve been carrying.
It was just me, the bird, and a sense that something much bigger was unfolding.
Maybe it was random and normal. Just a bird checking me out or maybe protecting something nearby. But maybe it wasn’t.
And to be honest, I prefer to live in a world where magic is still possible. Where sometimes the universe taps you on the shoulder and says:
"This is important. Pay attention."
And I don’t want to miss it.
After a few more heartbeats, the hummingbird zipped off and I climbed the rest of the trail feeling lighter than when I started.
When I reached the top, my raven friend had returned, soaring overhead and calling out as if to say, "So, how was it?"
And when I reached the parking lot, the crows were waiting. Cawing and celebrating, like I had finally done what I was supposed to do long ago.
So now what?
Well now I find myself still reflecting on the hike.
Maybe I was called on this hike to feel celebrated by crows? Or maybe I was called on this hike to save a snake? Or a hiker from stepping on a snake? Or to receive a message from a hummingbird.
Maybe it’s all of it.
Whatever it is, something in my spirit feels affirmed—that no matter what life looks like now, all the setbacks, disappointments, and challenges will resolve better than I could have planned.
And also, maybe this hike wasn’t just for me.
Maybe it’s for you too.
For this moment right now.
For the reminder that just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not happening—you just have to slow down enough to notice.
Maybe there’s something in front of you right now that’s been patiently waiting to be seen.
I'd love to hear what you think this was all about.
Shoot me a reply to this email or a DM on Instagram: @adammock.lcs
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