Woods Wanderer

During the drive over to the Adirondacks, I pay close attention to rivers running high and fast, wondering if I’ll be able to reach Blue Mountain Lake. Last week heavy rains flooded parts of Vermont and northern New York, washing out bridges and roads. All’s clear to Tupper Lake, but I get into washouts around the hamlets of Long Lake and Blue Mountain Lake where construction crews are patching the shoulders of the road. I start thinking that maybe this outing isn’t a good idea.

Then there’s the smoke from wildfires raging in Canada. Yesterday the haze was bad. Health authorities advised against doing any rigorous exercise in it. Today the smoke isn’t bad at all, still I fret about it. Will the smoke roll back into the area during my hike?

Anyone who dismisses climate change simply has their head in the sand. Record breaking heat is happening in the American southwest and elsewhere in the world. I can’t help but fret about my grandchildren’s future – what this planet will be like for them, their generation, and the generations to come. I worry as the car I’m driving kicks even more greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. What are we doing?

Upon reaching Blue Mountain Lake, I find the trailhead I’m looking for. The narrow, muddy path going off into the woods looks inviting. I park my car and try to leave my worries behind. I tramp up and over a hill before reaching a footbridge crossing the waterway between Rock Pond and Lake Durant. I’m thinking it won’t wash out if there’s a sudden downpour – not between these two quiet bodies of water. Beyond the footbridge I’m in the forest and headed for Cascade Pond. A pleasant two and a half-mile hike puts me there around noon.

Upon reaching Cascade Pond, I encounter a washed-out footbridge over the outlet stream. A single board still spanning the stream keeps my feet dry as I cross. Not far from the outlet stream, I sit next to the pond, enjoying a gentle summer breeze and the great wild silence while eating my lunch. I linger at the pond afterward, munching blueberries ripening on the low bushes along the shoreline. It’s a good day to be in the woods. Still there is much cause for concern.

Tags: Adirondacks, climate change, flooding, hiking, summer

In theory I am trout fishing, but that’s not really why I’m here. Oh sure, I have a fly rod in hand and I cast my line into every stretch of water that looks like it might have a brook trout in it. But my eyes are drinking in the wild beauty all around me so it’s hard to care whether or not I catch anything. I am simply here.

Recent rainstorms have brought to life the forest, turning everything green. Not just a color wheel green, but a deep, surreal green convincing me that life is good. Elsewhere on this planet, forests are burning up and the landscape is drying out. But not here. This corner of the world is still lush.

Why am I so lucky to be slowly making my way up this mountain stream, deeper into the wild? I wade across crystal clear water that has a chill to it despite summer heat. I crawl over boulders reminding me that I’m no longer a young man. I kneel before emerald pools to keep from spooking the trout in them. I frequently stop casting just to look around, marveling at the tenacity of life taking root in every nook and cranny. All this I’ve done many times before, but today it feels like a moving meditation, a wordless prayer.

There is no philosophy or religion that adequately captures the wonder and beauty of existence. I have certainly tried to formulate a worldview that does so, but my efforts always fall miserably short of the mark. Some poets come closer, but even they can’t do it justice. What my senses tell me during an outing like this cannot be turned into a credo – not even a hedonistic one. While I’m out here, I am astounded by the sudden realization that I am a part of this incredible world. What else can be said? Words fail us all – philosopher, theologian and poet alike.

At some point, one must simply let go. I let go, sitting before a small waterfall, listening intently to the constant gurgle of running water as glimmering light dances across a rock face. Through the years I have become a lousy fisherman. I just don’t care about that anymore. Now it is only wildness that interests me, and I can’t get enough of it. Wildness draws me deeper and deeper into the forest until some part of me disappears – the part that believes that what I am and what I do is so important. Wildness tells me otherwise.

Tags: forest solitude, mountain stream, natural philosophy, trout fishing, wildness