Woods Wanderer

A few weeks ago, when Mason turned five, I promised my grandson that I would take him hiking and fishing for a day.  Just the two of us – no brother or sister along.  Incessant rain and my busy work schedule made it difficult to make good on the promise right away, though.  When finally a rain-free day appeared on my weather website, I called Mason’s mom to arrange an outing.  I picked up Mason right after breakfast and we headed for the nearest body of water.

We caught a few sunfish at Arrowhead Lake, but it wasn’t the kind of rock-and-roll action I’d been hoping for so we drove over to the Lamoille River.  Didn’t do any better there.  Surprisingly, Mason didn’t complain.  When I suggested that we go for a hike next, he was all for it.  We went to Niquette Bay State Park and hiked down the broad, flat path towards the beach.  Mason shouldered a teardrop pack loaded with all kinds of stuff, keeping the park map firmly in hand.  I carried along a fishing rod, just in case.

While standing on the shores of Lake Champlain, we saw the forested point where the park attendant told us to fish.  We headed for the point, walking the beach until it disappeared into reeds.  The lake is high this year, due to heavy rains.  No matter.  Mason charged up a goat path heading straight uphill.  I warned him that it looked like a tough climb but he didn’t care.  He was ready for the adventure so up we went, huffing and puffing, our feet slipping in sandy, loose soil all the way.  At last reaching the Beach Bypass Trail on top, we took a break.  We drank water and ate trail mix and talked about stuff until we were ready to go again.  I said we could take the easy path back to the car if he was tired, but Mason wanted to keep going to the point.  Okay then.

Beyond a deep ravine, the path narrowed as it wound up and down through woods and rocks until we reached the point.  There a broad, flat rock dropped into deep water and, sure enough, we got into a few more fish.  But it was nothing to brag about.  We were distracted once by a frog leaping across the rock and again by a gaggle of teenage girls nearby who started jumping into the water.  Mason wanted to do the same, but I reminded him that we didn’t have bathing suits with us – truly an oversight on such a warm, sunny day.

While hiking out, Mason and I took turns spotting chipmunks and red squirrels half hidden in the surrounding forest.  “Good eye!” I told him.  Then we talked about coming back here with his mom and brother and sister someday.  I took a deep breath, then exhaled, saying how much I love the smell of the woods.  Mason did the same.  Then I mentioned how lucky we were, with all the rain lately, to have such good weather to hike.  “Yeah,” Mason said, “It’s a perfect day!”  I smiled at that, all the while thinking how the day could have been better.  Then I agreed.

Tags: expectations, fishing, hiking with children, summer, wild nature

Although Kaylee had camped in the woods in years past, she had never climbed a major mountain or backpacked any significant distance. A few days ago, we changed that. With walking stick in hand and an adult pack tugging at her shoulders, my 11-year-old granddaughter followed me and my dog up the Emily Proctor Trail, deep into the Breadloaf Wilderness.

While the trail ran flat in places, it was a steady uphill climb for the most part – three and a half miles to the Emily Proctor Shelter. Halfway up the trail, we forded the headwaters of the New Haven River. Usually an ankle-deep stream, it was a torrent thanks to all the rain that had fallen in previous weeks. We crossed barefoot to keep our footwear dry. Kaylee’s pants were wet to mid-thigh by the time we reached the other side.

About a mile shy of the shelter, the wet, muddy trail steepened considerably. I started huffing and puffing; Kaylee bore it all stoically even though her sneakers were soaked. “The shelter can’t be that far ahead,” I kept saying, but secretly I feared that we’d taken on too much of a hike and my young woodswoman’s spirit would be broken by it.

The two fiftyish women hanging out at the Emily Proctor Shelter were surprised when Kaylee popped into the clearing with girlish buoyancy. They had hiked up the trail earlier so they knew how hard it was. Kaylee and I chatted with them briefly, then found a tent platform not too far away where we set up camp for the night. I cooked dinner on my stove. Kaylee wanted a campfire but I pointed out that the surrounding woods were so wet that it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Kaylee noticed how fast the clouds were moving overhead. I explained how they gain speed as they cross over the mountains and how quickly the weather can change as a consequence. She soon found out for herself. When she left the tent to pee around midnight, the sky was full of stars – more than she’d ever seen before. Her second time out, she was in a dense, boreal fog. At daybreak the sky was partly blue, then dark clouds appeared out of nowhere and it drizzled.

Ours was an easy ascent to the summit of Mt. Wilson only a few hundred feet higher than our camp. We perched at the lookout around mid-morning. There we watched some clouds roll over the ridge then drop into the valley below. “Amazing,” was all Kaylee could say. That’s when I knew that the difficult climb the day before had not been in vain.

I patched Kaylee’s blisters as we descended the Emily Proctor Trail and tried to lighten her pack when it started digging into her shoulders. I made a mental note to get her real hike boots and other appropriate gear in the near future. It was now clear to me that she was into backpacking.

After recrossing the stream, we fished for trout without success. That, fatigue, and the threat of rain made us change our plans. We had intended to camp a second night along the river, but hiking out and having dinner at Friendly’s suddenly seemed like a better idea. The flash floods that struck the area the next day assured me that we had made the wiser choice.

“You’re lucky,” the two women at the shelter had said to me. I had agreed. You can’t beat the company of an open-eyed child on the trail. The sense of wonder that one feels in the wild erodes over time, but the fire burning strong in young hearts can rekindle it. I only hope that my creaky, old knees hold up as I backpack with Kaylee in the years ahead. After all, she is just beginning to explore the world and I want to be there for as much of it as possible.

Tags: backpacking, hiking with children