Nightfall casts a long shadow over this hike

Peace and solitude on the trail. . . .

A panoramic view that leaves you breathless. . . .

Consultation of the watch, a gasp of disbelief followed by a frantic attempt to escape the wilderness before being swept up by darkness. . . .

Don’t you just hate these ridiculously short days?

They make it nearly impossible to abandon the workaday chaos and reclaim your sanity with an afternoon stroll in the Santa Monica Mountains.

I’ve set out to accomplish just that, having arrived at Topanga State Park and asked a local to suggest a simple hike with a rewarding payoff.

Easy, she says. East Topanga Fire Road: three casual miles to the Parker Mesa Overlook, which surveys what seems half the planet, and three casual miles back.

I’ve no way of knowing that she’s only partially correct, given the time and my misguided perception of a three-mile hike as being akin to a jaunt around the block.

I hit the trail at 2:45 p.m., sure I can wander leisurely and savor the sights and sounds.

The sky is radiantly blue. Birds dart among the branches of scrub oaks that line the unpaved road. I probe a side trail that leads to a small meadow, and spot a dark-colored critter bolting over a tiny ledge.

I venture back onto the fire road and pass an old man walking briskly toward the lot. He says hello but does not stop, so I march forth.

This is not the prettiest route in the park, but it leads past beautiful rock and cliff formations and affords spectacular vistas of expanses of chaparral.

I pause often to watch hawks in flight or venture off trail in search of something to photograph.

There was only one other car in the lot; perhaps the old man’s, in which case I’m now truly alone in a wilderness park surrounded by millions of people.

Of course this cannot be the case. There are 36 miles of trails meandering through, over and across 9,000 acres of what is billed as the world’s largest wildland within the boundaries of a major city.

But this trail, on this afternoon, belongs to just me and my shadow, which, as the afternoon wears on, keeps materializing.

It’s trying to tell me something and I finally clue in: Three miles is much longer than I had imagined it to be, and the hour is getting late.

Concern washes over me.

I quicken my pace, sure the overlook is around the next bend. Finally, the ocean bursts into view.

But this cannot be the overlook. Have I missed a turn? Could this trail be six miles in and six back? I consult my map and see there are no turns to miss, that the mileage is correct.

The mind races. Should I turn back? Was the local pulling my leg with her tale of recent mountain lion sightings on this very trail? “You’d better not stay out there too late, because dusk is when they begin to come out to hunt,” she’d cautioned.

Stubbornly I press on and finally I reach a sign that reads, “Parker Mesa Overlook, .5 miles.”

I break into a trot and find, 1,525 feet above sea level, two empty benches aimed seaward.

I’m literally breathless.

To my left, beyond the Palisades, are the Westside and downtown Los Angeles skylines and, in the distance, the San Gabriel Mountains, and perhaps even the San Bernardinos.

Before me is the glassy Pacific, sprawled out for miles like a soft-blue blanket. The hills of Santa Catalina Island poke through a brown haze.

On a truly clear day, I’m sure, one could view the skylines and the island in vivid detail.

A rewarding payoff, to be sure.

But there’s no time to enjoy. My cellphone clock informs me that it’s 4:29.

I’m astonished nearly to the point of dialing 911.

It’ll be dark in 30 minutes! I look back and see the deeper canyon recesses are already bathed in black. My mind conjures a mountain lion in one of those recesses, emerging to prowl.

I wish I’d brought a flashlight. I don’t even have a stick.

What I do possess, however, is ample leg power and, I hope, a strong heart, because I’m sweeping back across the trail, in rapidly shrinking twilight, as though on a conveyor.

I feel stupid for wasting so much time during the approach, but proud at how quickly I’m able to retreat, having been provided powerful impetus.

Familiar landmarks are comforting but not until I’ve reached the final downhill stretch, leading to the parking lot, am I truly relieved.

I climb wearily into my SUV, place the key in the ignition and twist to the right, and the digital clock illuminates in bright green numbers: 5:06.

Quite an experience, I say to myself, but next time I visit I think I’ll try a morning hike.

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pete.thomas@latimes.com