Woods Wanderer

Once again, I stayed in a small primitive cabin on private land in the Adirondacks. This time for a week — a present to myself for my 70th birthday. After carrying my gear a mile and a half back to the cabin, I took a day to gather wood, draw water and get situated. Then I bushwhacked into the Hammond Pond Wild Forest nearby.

It was an easy bushwhack, actually. All I had to do was drop down to the creek that was the water source for the cabin and follow it upstream. My destination was Schofield Pond, only two miles away. I hugged the meandering creek at first but scrambled to higher ground when it narrowed to a gorge.

The private land had been select cut so entering the wild forest was obvious. Suddenly I was surrounded by white pines with trunks three feet thick. Moss, club moss and evergreen wood ferns flourished in the dark understory. I saw a patch of light ahead. A few frogs peeped from the wetland as I skirted it. Shortly thereafter, I tagged a narrow game trail curving around a huge pool in the stream fed by a waterfall. Then a beaver dam appeared. I had arrived.

The placid water of the pristine pond mirrored the cloudless sky as I approached. I passed some coyote scat with fur in it while following the shady shoreline. With temps in the 50s, I wanted to sit in the sunlight. Halfway around the pond, I found a dry rocky place to do so. There I drank water and munched trail mix while grooving on the deep forest silence. There I found trailing arbutus in bloom, sprawled across open ground. Midges fluttered over the water. A mink suddenly appeared –– as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He quickly swam away.

After hanging out at the pond an hour or so, I retraced my steps back to the cabin. I took a long nap then fired up the wood stove to shake off the chill in my bones. Oh yeah, it was the beginning of a blissful weeklong stay in Adirondack backcountry.

Tags: Adirondacks, backcountry pond, bushwhacking, early spring, wild forest

Deep in the woods, I return to a familiar a place along a mountain brook that I’ve visited many times before. This has become an annual ritual for me. Early in the spring, I come here to celebrate the unfolding of yet another growing season, well before the first lilies arise.

There’s a boulder twice as tall as I am and much wider, not far from the stream. Half of it is covered with moss coming back to life after a long, cold season. The sun illuminates the moss, along with evergreen ferns sprawled across the top. Icicles still dangle from the rock. Beyond it, patches of snow still lurk in the forest shadows.

This is the very beginning of it – a mere hint of what’s to come. Nearby rivulets full of snowmelt rush towards the brook, which is now a silted green torrent. The leafless trees creak in a faint breeze. The sun beats down upon the forest floor, turning the frozen earth into mud. Soon this forest will be teeming with fresh verdure.

I put my hand to the moss while giving thanks for simply being alive, for still being able to reach this place. Days away from turning 65, I no longer take anything for granted. I squint into the sun, feeling its heat. And the spirit of the wild washes over me while I do so.

Whether God exists or not I leave to others to contemplate. When I am alone in a wild forest, such matters seem moot. In springtime I know that Nature is unfolding in all its glory, and I am a part of it. That is enough.

Tags: awakening, early spring, illumination, nature, spirit of the wild, wild forest