Our three-hour tour

"This isn't a good idea," said Cassie as I carried her across another little stream that crossed the trail. She was right. It was now dark. The temperature had dipped below freezing. The five of us, Cassie, Tess, Sandra, Marley, and your scribe were in the woods, on a trail to be sure, but we didn't know where we were, much less than where we were going.
It was almost a good idea. We'd set out at three o'clock on Wednesday for a walk at Trout Brook, a conservation area in town. There are several trails through the woods, identified with red, white, and/or blue markers on the trees. We decided to take the blue trail. For a time, Cassie led the way, shouting out with joy at each blue marker that she saw.
On Tuesday, there'd been heavy rains. Because of the unseasonably cold weather during the last two weeks, the ground was frozen, meaning that it couldn't absorb the water. Instead, the water stayed on the surface, creating many, many, (did I say many?) streams and puddles across the trail.
Each watery section slowed our progress. Tess was really good at finding stepping stones, bits of firmament, and tree roots that we could use to make our way across. Nevertheless, we had to walk carefully and that meant slowly. From time to time, Sandra carried Cassie across some of the wider puddles.
The sun set at 4:17. When we were in the parts of the forest that were made up of evergreens, it got dark quickly, but then we'd move into a hardwood section and enjoy a bit of brightness. We reach civil twilight at 4:48. (Here's the almanac data for that day.) We could just barely see the markers on the trees. I held up my Blackberry so the light from the screen could show whether it was a blue marker or not.
The trail was hilly. Each time we reached a crest, our spirits lifted, thinking that we could see openings in the tree cover ahead and maybe we were getting back to the parking area. We then went downhill, into more water and more twists of the trail, no closer to anywhere. 
All the while, our outward spirits stayed positive. A few times, Cassie did wonder aloud whether she would ever see her mother and father again. I assured her that she would, that we were on an adventure and that we'd have a great story to tell when we got home.
Before long, we weren't able to avoid the water and all of us had wet shoes (except, of course, for Marley, who soldiered on with four wet feet).
There were a few old foot bridges across the proper streams. The bridges were wet, though, and becoming icy. It was too slippery to try to carry Cassie across. So, I got on my hands and knees, facing backwards. Cassie held on to my head as I worked my way across the bridge.
When it was finally, really dark, we started seeing lights from a road. They were car headlights. We were elated. The trail broadened and flattened and became a dirt road and then out to the street. But what street? We took a left and started walking down the narrow road. A few hundred yards later, we reached an intersection. I clambered up the side and again held my Blackberry up to the street sign. Wood Street.
Google Maps showed that Wood Street intersected with Wachusett Street.
I called Mike. I told him where I thought we were just as the battery on my phone quit. The battery rejuventated itself long enough for me to call him back and confirm that we were under the sign on Wood Street. The five of us sat down on the banking and sang songs.
It turned out that we weren't on Wachusett, but on Mason. Mike drove up Wachusett to the Princeton line, came back, and then followed Wood Street to the other end where we were sitting. It was six o'clock. Relieved and embarrassed, we hopped into the car. Mike drove us back to the parking area, several miles away. Sandra and I then followed Mike back to his house where Lynn had prepared a comforting dinner of soup and BLTs. The kids were home, safe and warm, seemingly not traumatized, but not likely to go for a walk in the woods with Buppy and Iso again for a good, long time.