Woods Wanderer

I have just released Walt Franklin’s new book, Beautiful Like a Mayfly, under the Wood Thrush Books imprint. As most of you probably know by now, I’m a big fan of his, having published his work repeatedly in years past. In 2014, I reprinted his collection of fly-fishing essays, River’s Edge, thus assuring that it would stay in print. This newer work complements that older one.

Beautiful Like a Mayfly is both a travel narrative and a collection of nature essays. Even though it spans four decades, Franklin is reluctant to call it a memoir. Rightly so. It’s more a celebration of life lived simply: roaming through Greece and Germany, fly-fishing out west and here in the Northeast, and engaging the world as both a naturalist and a conservationist while always keeping a watchful eye for songbirds. And Franklin gives it all to us with generous helpings of humor, erudition and insight, per usual.

I couldn’t be happier about publishing this. While I’ve been busy cultivating an online bookselling business this past summer, I’ve pushed this project ahead, one step at a time. Now here it is, the finished product – a fine addition to the Wood Thrush Books list, and a welcome break from a long parade of self-publications.

You can get a copy from Amazon.com or by going to the WTB website, WoodThrushBooks.com. If you are new to Franklin’s work and want to sample it first, check out his blog, RivertopRambles. He posts there regularly.

Tags: birdwatching, conservation, far west, fly fishing, Germany, Greece, memoir, nature essays, travel essays, travelogue, upstate New York

In the middle of the workday, I load my dog Matika into the car and drive to the town forest just a few miles outside of Saint Albans. Cooped up for several days running, Matika needs to get outside and stretch her legs. Quite frankly, so do I.

The trail is still damp from yesterday’s daylong rain, but the sun shines brightly through the forest canopy. I break a sweat in a manner of minutes. Summer lingers like an unwelcome guest at the end of a party, despite the fact that the trees are starting to turn.

Not far from the parking lot, I come upon a small pond with a few birdhouses around it to encourage avian habitation. I stop for a moment to take in the juxtaposition of summer heat and the rusted leaves of a couple red maples. It’s a win/win situation as far as I see things. I like autumn just as much as fall.

Continuing along the trail, I notice blue asters in bloom. That’s a between-season wildflower to be sure, just as comfortable in summer heat as autumn coolness. Seeing it reminds me of my long September hike through the Adirondacks a few years back. Since then I haven’t been able look at blue asters without smiling. They are denizens of the deep woods in late summer and early fall, even though they grow pretty much everywhere.

The smell of the forest in September – that’s what I like most about this time of year. It’s a dry, earthy fragrance with just a hint of floral sweetness. It’s as if the forest is satisfied with itself. Once again the growing season has been a success. Now there is only this pleasant coasting towards colder, darker days.

And yet I am not complacent. Wildness stirs within me with each step I take. Even though this is only a lunch hour hike, I hunger for a much longer excursion into the woods. Soon, very soon, I hope – before the snow flies.

Tags: blue asters, day hiking, seasonal change

Judy said I should go into the woods overnight. She’s been around me for 30 years so she knows better than I do what I need. Between publishing, book promo, and my online bookselling, I’m going to be very busy this fall. Best to get out while I can.

I packed up a few essentials, loaded my dog Matika into the car, and headed for a mountain brook where, surprisingly enough, I’ve never camped before. I followed a trail a mile back, until it veered away from the brook. Then I bushwhacked upstream. Sweating profusely in an unseasonably hot afternoon, I looked for a pool at least the size of a bathtub. There I would make camp and dunk by overheated body.

I struggled up the steep, rocky ravine nearly an hour, until the brook was a mere trickle. Then it suddenly appeared: one of the biggest pools I’ve seen on any mountain brook in a long while – thirty feet across. But there was no good place to camp.  There was nothing even close to flat. I pitched my tarp on the overgrown remnant of an old woods road not far away, calling that home for the night. Then I stripped off my sweat-soaked clothes and went for a swim. Matika waded along the edge of the pool, getting her belly wet. That was good enough for her.

After cooling out, I settled into camp for the night. Building a small fire then cooking on the sloping ground was a little tricky. My things kept rolling away. Sleeping was even trickier. Matika and I gradually slid downhill through the course of the night. By morning I was in her place and she was no longer beneath the tarp. Poor dog! But it was worth it. A pool that big in such a wild and beautiful setting is the stuff of dreams.

Tags: bushwhacking, Green Mountains, mountain brook, swimming hole, wild beauty, wildness

Once again my wife Judy and I took our grandkids to the Nicholson cabin in Stowe. We all had such a good time there last year that it only made sense to go back for seconds.

Once again we had the two-acre pond at its base all to ourselves. That’s the main attraction. The kids swam in the pond daily during a run of 90-degree heat, kayaked on it, and hiked its perimeter so many times that we lost count.

For three days and nights, the cabin was our home base. From there we ventured not-so-far-afield to Cotton Brook where we hiked then went for a dunk in a clear, cold pool. We also did the tour at the nearby Ben & Jerry’s factory then ran into Stowe for some good food and a little entertainment. But the cabin itself, both primitive and charming, was what the kids really enjoyed. Judy and I were somewhat surprised by their sustained enthusiasm for it.

When I was younger I dreamt of having a cabin in the woods – a simple little place where I could live close to nature. In my advanced years now, I must admit that I like having electricity, indoor plumbing, and easy access to the amenities that a small town provides. When I feel the tug of wildness, I like to venture into deep woods where there are no amenities at all, not even a roof and four walls. But it’s a pleasure to live simply for a few days in a humble abode surrounded by trees.

When we returned home, all our grandkids were glad to have access to their electronic devices again. That said, I’m sure they won’t forget that cabin in the woods or the fun they had there anytime soon. The Thoreauvian ideal of living simply might be a bit much for most people, but there’s something to be said for the occasional exposure to Walden all the same. Living close to nature, if only for a few days a year, reminds us what we are and how little we really need.

Tags: cabin in the woods, children and nature, rustic cabin, simple living

This morning I had the presence of mind to step away from my computer and go for a little hike with my dog Matika. Glitches in online systems have been frustrating me lately, making me short-tempered.

I could say that the digital world, the realm of ones and zeros, is not my world, but that’s only half the story. The other half is that I’m trying to do too much in the short time remaining before my grandkids come to visit. At any rate, I headed for the nearest pocket of woods to collect myself.

While charging down the trail, grumbling about that which I do not control, I noticed the light breaking through the forest canopy, illuminating the understory. It was a green too vibrant to be real, or so it seemed. Next thing I knew, I felt the tug of wildness – a desire to leave the all-too-linear trail and just meander about the woods. I did just that. Then I settled down. Then I suddenly realized what is important and what is not. I called Matika to my side as I wandered around. Unlike me, with my head full of abstractions most of the time, she is always in the moment.

When I returned home, I found a message in my email inbox from a tech support guy, telling me that the system was experiencing “technical difficulties.” He hoped that they didn’t inconvenience me. I just shook my head and stepped away from the machine once again.

Technology is always difficult for those of us who would rather be immersed in wildness. My grandkids will be here soon. I look forward to spending as much time in the woods with them as possible. Then perhaps those technical difficulties won’t matter so much to me.

Tags: off trail, technology, wildness, woods wandering

I drove all around southern Vermont earlier this week, visiting libraries, thrift shops and church sales in my search for secondhand books. My fledgling book business is coming along nicely but it’s a lot of work, and it sometimes puts me in some funky situations. Wednesday evening, after a long day of book hunting, I headed for the nearby Green Mountain National Forest to spend the night before resuming my search the next day. Talk about out of context!

Car camping isn’t my favorite way to be in the wild, but it beats a motel room. Much cheaper, too. For a few bucks I could have stayed in a campground, but that’s not my style. I prefer running up some dirt road until I find a track slipping into the trees to some primitive campsite in the middle of nowhere. Places like that are few and far between these days, even in national forests, but they can be found if one looks hard enough.

After finding a place a mile up a forestry road, I threw up my tent and tossed a sleeping bag inside of it. Home for the night, just like that. Then I stood there in street clothes, looking around in fading light. A light breeze rustled the maple leaves overhead, otherwise all was quiet. I breathed deeply, relaxing in a way that’s hard to do in the developed lowlands.

Dueling owls hooted as I slept that night otherwise the forest was quiet enough for me to hear the leaves and twigs occasionally shed by trees hit the ground. Book sales seem noisy by comparison.

In the morning I quickly broke camp and followed Kelly Stand Road back to the lowlands. Along the way, I stopped to groove on a mist-covered beaver pond clearly visible from the road. A couple hours later, I was back in the business of sorting through books. I gravitated to the science/nature table, of course. That made the transition from wildness to commerce a bit easier.

Tags: book hunting, car camping, national forest, on the road

After weeks of relatively cool, wet weather, temps are suddenly very summerlike here in the North Country. To beat the heat, I went trout fishing on a mountain brook yesterday – not so much to catch fish as to wet-wade a shady stream and keep my dog Matika chilled out.

I was not disappointed. The forest canopy blocked out most of the direct sunlight and the water was cold enough to keep the trout happy. Wearing old, worn out hiking boots, I didn’t hesitate stepping into the fast-moving water. Matika was a little reluctant to get wet so I intentionally crossed deep sections of the stream several times, urging her to follow. She complied.

Despite the heat of midday, the trout rose to my fly. I caught and released half a dozen brookies and browns, losing that many again. I’ve been working a lot and not fishing much. That’s my excuse for not landing the surprisingly large brown trout that darted out of a deep side pool. Truth is, the white flash of its torpedo-like body rising to my fly excited me to the point where I overcompensated while setting the hook.

Towards the end of my afternoon fishing, I came into a deep pool way out of proportion with the small stream. I knew there was a bunch of trout holed up there, but for some reason I decided to let them be. Or perhaps I’d taken my fill of angling joy. I chose instead to sit on a stretch of high, flat ground and eat a simple lunch with my dog.

Sometimes it’s enough just to sit quietly and look around. The wild re-creates us in a way that recreation cannot. Afterward, I hiked out as slowly as the biting insects would allow. It was another good day in the woods.

Tags: brook trout, brown trout, fly fishing, mountain stream, summer heat, wet wading

Even though temps haven’t reached into the 90s yet here in northern Vermont, the daisies and black-eyed susans in full bloom along roadsides, as well as in my garden, make it clear what time of year it is. The early blooming day lilies in my front yard are on their way out, along with any remnant of spring. It is summertime, replete with thunderstorms, mosquitoes, and that fecund smell wafting through the window at dusk – the smell of happy vegetation at the end of a long, hot day.

I suck down as much water as I can during my book-hunting road trips. I keep the car windows rolled down whenever it’s not raining, so that I can bask in the hot, dry wind. Camped overnight in the Green Mountain National Forest between book sales, I listened to coyotes singing at dusk, the hoot of a great horned owl at midnight, and blue jays at dawn. I swerved around a turkey crossing the road in early morning, and spotted deer in open fields as made my rounds in southern Vermont and New Hampshire. Even while immersed in a work-a-day mindset, the wildness that runs amok in midsummer gets my attention. It’s hard to miss.

Back home between road trips, I work at my desk in shorts and a t-shirt, occasionally wandering around my back yard whenever I need a break from the computer screen. The grass is thick this year, thanks to all the rain we’ve been getting. My wife Judy loves this green carpet. I’m not quite as enthusiastic about it, especially when I’m sweaty from having just mowed. My yard often resembles a cut hay field.

Circumstances have nixed my backpacking plans this year, but I find myriad ways to enjoy the season regardless. High summer – what’s not to like? The first fresh fruits and vegetables are out, the birds sing every morning, and the sun blazes at midday in a way that makes dark winter thoughts impossible. Why not revel in it?

Tags: daisies, high summer, summer, the senses

Ten days after my brief stay alone in the Broadleaf Wilderness, I returned with my wife Judy to spend some more time there. We camped in the same spot where I had been before, along the edge of the headwaters of the New Haven River, miles away from the nearest road. With fair weather predicted, neither Judy nor I could imagine a better place to be on the 4th of July weekend.

A little rain fell the first night but we were comfortably situated in our tent by then. The rest of the time it was cool and dry – perfect weather for lounging in camp. Judy knitted or read while I gathered wood, tended a campfire, or puttered about. Twice I fished the mountain stream for brook trout, which Judy had for lunch. Our dog Matika chewed on sticks when she wasn’t following me along the stream. We napped. We listened to the endless rush of water breaking over rocks. Yeah, we did a lot of nothing.

Black and white butterflies overran our camp in the middle of the second day. Later we would identify them as the birch-loving white admirals. They gathered on the clothes hanging from a line strung between trees, on our tent, my backpack, and whatever other gear we had strewn about. They were not shy. I had encountered them on this stream before, but never in such abundance. Clearly the headwaters of the New Haven is their world.

Judy had some trouble getting comfortable in our primitive camp. I could relate. It’s not as easy to lounge in the wild at our advanced age as it was thirty years ago – not while living out of a backpack, anyhow. But we were glad to be out there all the same. We returned home on the third day feeling more than just a little relaxed. The wild has a way of massaging all concern into oblivion, temporarily at least. Wish there was some way to can it.

Tags: backpacking, brook trout, butterflies, Green Mountains, mountain stream, primitive camping, relaxation

I’m going gangbusters on the bookselling business these days, but earlier this week I put it aside long enough to spend a little time in the Broadleaf Wilderness. My dog Matika accompanied me, of course.

I hiked to a favorite spot along the headwaters of the New Haven River and set up camp. After casting my fly onto the roily waters of that stream, and a simple dinner of ramen noodles and summer sausage, I settled into a comfy spot in camp. There I pondered matters while drinking tea and feeding sticks into a small campfire.

Every once in a while, I jotted down something in my field journal. But mostly I just took in the sights, smells and sounds of the forest, and appreciated the great good fortune of being alive and well in such a beautiful green world.

It’s easy to get caught up in the frenzy of modern living. Happens to me all the time. But every once in a while, I head for the hills to reflect. Such outings rarely disappoint, and on occasion I come away from them with a little insight into the human condition. If nothing else, it clears my head.

I threw a few more sticks on the fire and talked to the mountain stream tumbling incessantly towards the lowlands. In the face of such fluid eternity, nothing seems as important as simply being in the moment. I pondered that for a while.

Matika lounged nearby, chewing on a stick. The sun slipped into the trees and twilight soon followed. A thrush called out. I threw a few smaller sticks on the fire until all that remained was a pile of glowing orange embers. Then I went to bed, feeling more at home in the wild than anywhere else. Yes indeed, safe and secure in wildness.

Tags: Breadloaf Wilderness, campfire, mountain stream, reflection, wildness