Woods Wanderer

I drove into the Adirondacks the other day to spend a night in the forest. The following day I would hike with my friend Rob at Ticonderoga, but I wanted to camp out before then. It had been too long since I’d last been alone in the wild for more than a few hours. I desperately needed a woods fix.

I left my car at a trailhead parking lot then hiked a mere half mile to a small, nondescript backwoods pond. The trail to it went straight up the mountainside like a goat path. The so-called primitive campsite at the pond was nothing more than a large stone fire pit surrounded by trees. I pitched my tent nearby. The open ground between my camp and the pond was too boggy to walk on, but a narrow path went down to an abandoned, overgrown beaver dam at the pond’s outlet. There I could draw water.

Temps dropped fast that afternoon as it started raining. While I was in shirtsleeves at first, I soon donned a sweater, jacket and rain hat. I wandered around for hours, grooving on the deep forest quiet as it rained. I took shelter beneath on old white pine for a while. The rain stopped just before dusk, so I peeled away the plastic bag covering the wood I had collected beforehand and started a fire. I enjoyed ramen noodles, a beef stick and hot tea while tending a small smokeless campfire.

Darkness settled slowly over the dripping forest. A few spring peepers called out, then more chimed in, then more, until a full chorus broke out. After dousing the remnant embers of my campfire, I donned a headlamp and meandered down the narrow path to the pond. I expected the frogs to quiet down as I approached, but they ignored me. I knelt on a flat rock at the pond’s edge, turning off my headlamp and setting it aside while splashing water into my face. The frenzy of amphibious mating calls seemed to grow louder as I knelt there. Looking up through total darkness, I noticed that the sky had cleared. I saw the Big Dipper pointing towards the north star. And that’s when I felt it: my presence in the universe, on a planet teeming with life. The chorus was deafening.

A barred owl joined the peepers as they sang all night. I slept the best I could as temps continued dropping. I turned over frequently to keep my old bones from aching too much. The peepers quieted down as the sun rose, falling silent as I munched a granola bar in morning warmth. Then I packed up and hiked out, happy to have gotten what I came for.

Tags: Adirondacks, early spring, forest solitude, spring peepers

The day before yesterday, I went for a short hike around Niquette Bay State Park. With temps in the 50s and the sun shining brightly, it was a good day to be in the woods. I wasn’t alone. The parking lot was nearly full, and I passed about 20 people during my 3-mile jaunt. Usually I don’t care for crowds, but on a day like this in early spring, who cares about such things?

I had hoped to see some wildflowers. I wasn’t disappointed. Not more than five minutes into my hike, I spotted a patch of round-lobed hepatica in bloom. Then I saw another patch of them, then another. Every time I looked down, in fact, I saw yet another patch – all the way around the park. I also saw a solitary bloodroot in bloom, but it became quite clear to me that it was Hepatica Day. And rightly so, since hepatica is usually the first wildflower to bloom in these northern woods.

While it may be a few more days before spring beauty flowers – their scent giving me an instant case of spring fever – the mere sight of hepatica breaking through the bleached brown forest duff exhilarates me. Soon the landscape will be awash in dazzling green vegetation.

A woodpecker knocked loudly as I raced along, dancing around the roots and rocks on the trail. I moved fast enough to break a sweat, even though I could have avoided that in the cool forest air. Peepers peeped from a wetland spilling into Lake Champlain. Moss and overwintering ferns hinted at the vernal explosion soon come. Snowmelt rushed through the ravine. And suddenly it felt like all is right with the world.

Today’s a different story with a light snowfall dusting the ground here at home. No matter. Migrating birds are joining goldfinches at the feeders. The green thumbs of irises and lilies are pushing up through the mulch. And Chippy, my chipmunk companion, has awakened from his long winter slumber. This snow won’t last. Despite the fluctuations in temperature this time of year, the growing season is well underway. I look forward to getting out there and enjoying it again soon, very soon.

Tags: dayhiking, springtime, wildflowers