Woods Wanderer

It took me by surprise, I must admit. At home there was a mere dusting of snow so I wasn’t prepared to be tramping through a couple inches of the white stuff. But a few hundred feet of elevation change can make all the difference.

Usually I dread this time of year when the days are short, the growing season is over, and there’s nothing but months of cold and snow directly ahead. But this year is different. I have a different take on things this time around, that is.

Emerging from a months-long depression, I’m just happy to be alive in this incredible world of ours. Never mind all the craziness in the news these days. Being alive is a good thing, especially when one is housed, well fed, free of some debilitating disease or addiction, and not being shot at. I also have my writing to keep me busy, and it’s no small thing to have meaningful work to do even if all it brings is chump change. And having a loving spouse, well now, that’s icing on the cake. Yeah, I’m a lucky man.

So what difference does it make whether it’s hot or cold, sunny or snowing? Every day is a good day. Most of our despair comes from unrealistic expectations, from wanting every day to be a blue-sky day and everything to go perfectly all the time. Yeah, right. As if cars never wreck or break down, the power never goes out, and plumbing never leaks. Whose life is like that?

So I tramped thankfully through the snowy woods – thankful for being able to tramp, thankful for the woods, thankful for the cold season even. I slid around a bit, huffed and puffed, and even broke a sweat. But, more importantly, I reveled in the stark beauty of early winter. The forest was wonderfully quiet. Snow hung in the boughs of trees. No doubt about it, every season has its charms.

Tags: early winter, expectation, snow, thankfulness, winter walk

Sometimes hiking is a way to process my thoughts. Thinking goes well with walking, as Thoreau, Emerson, and so many others have preached. Other times a hike is just a hike – a way of getting out of my head. It all depends upon what precedes it, and what my frame of mind is at the time.

After writing an intense, philosophical essay yesterday, I took my wife’s advice and headed for the woods. I desperately needed to put an end to thinking in abstractions, at least for the day and just be physical for a while. I didn’t want to drive an hour into the mountains, though, so I settled for hiking at Niquette Bay State Park. It’s only 25 minutes away.

The parking lot was nearly empty when I pulled into it. No doubt the dark clouds overhead and sudden flurry of sleet had something to do with that. With temps hovering around freezing and a brisk wind blowing, more sensible people were staying indoors. But I needed to be outdoors, and was glad to have the park largely to myself.

I took my time meandering around the park on the outermost loop, comfortable enough wearing a hat, gloves and four layers. I was surprised to see a small tree, gnawed by a beaver, blocking the wooden walkway across the small wetland. Why hadn’t the park ranger removed it? Oh, that’s right – the park is closed for the season. I climbed over it and continued my hike.

I stopped to check out the rippling waters of Lake Champlain from a small beach and stopped again at a lookout on high ground to see Mount Mansfield peeking through clouds in the distance. Got my boots dirty in the muddy spots of the not-yet-frozen ground. Yet another flurry of sleet commenced as I was finishing the walk. By then I had broken a sweat and was feeling the chill. No matter. I got a good woods-fix during my hike and was happy enough to be indoors the rest of the day. The next time I go out, there will probably be snow on the ground.

Tags: being in the moment, early winter, solo hiking

Once there is less than 9 hours daylight, day after day, I find it hard to stay upbeat. Sitting in my study, writing essays about the human condition and other philosophical matters doesn’t help. Nor does all the holiday hoopla that breaks out this time of year. I try to play along, ignoring the worst of it, but the hoopla gets to me all the same. Bah, humbug?

Reading a few inspiring passages by some of my favorite nature writers made me realize that I’m slipping into an early winter funk. Despite the cold and snow, I need to be outdoors. So that’s what I did yesterday. I drove twenty-five minutes south then went for a hike around Milton Pond.

With only a couple inches of snow on the ground, a pair of Yaktrax was all it took to gain traction. I slipped them over my boots and set forth. I carried water in a small teardrop pack and stuffed my jacket in there, as well, once my inner furnace was cranked up. I walked fast enough around the pond to inhale deeply the fresh cold air without feeling like I was in a hurry. The pond was iced over already, surprisingly enough. The sun tried to burn a hole in the thin cloud cover overhead, but without much success. No matter. I didn’t mind the muted light.

I ran into only a few other hikers and their dogs so I was alone most of the time. That felt good. It felt good to tramp through the forest, over snow-covered ground, simply grooving on the wild. I am, after all, a nemophilist – one who loves the woods and haunts them regularly. My wife discovered that obscure word the other day then brought it to my attention. It fits.

Today I’m still in something of an early winter funk, but it’s not quite so bad after yesterday’s outing. I’ll have to get out again real soon, for a second dose of the wild. And that’s how a woods wanderer like me keeps the faith. While hiking through the forest, everything makes more sense to me, and life seems much more worthwhile.

Tags: early winter, hiking, hiking alone, nemophilist, seasonal affective disorder, winter solstice

Winter arrived in northern Vermont last week with the first snowfall blanketing the earth. Only a couple inches of the wet, heavy stuff, but it has lingered as temps have stayed around freezing. And so the long white begins…

I went for a short hike yesterday despite the inviting warmth of home. Didn’t go far away. The 3-mile loop in Niquette Bay State Park was good enough since deer hunters are prowling the Green Mountains these days. I passed half a dozen people on the trail, but was alone most of the time. Alone while making tracks in half-frozen mud, inhaling cool air.

A steady wind rocked the naked trees overhead, causing them to creak and groan – a woody conversation while I moved silently below. The late afternoon sun, setting so early this time of year, sank towards the western horizon. Forest shadows beneath a mostly azure sky. I hiked at a pace slower than usual to keep from chilling in my own sweat.

Just a few patches of snow here and there, but more will come no doubt. I’m ready for it. I’m ready to spend entire days indoors thinking, reading and writing. I’m as ready as I can be for holiday darkness, and the frigid temps that will follow. I polyurethaned my snowshoes when it was still warm enough to do that outdoors, so I’m ready to lay tracks in the snow, as well.

There’s no sense fighting winter when you live this far north. Better to embrace it, making the most of a season that has its own charms. Hibernation simply will not do – not when the cold season lasts nearly five months. Yeah, much better for sanity’s sake to embrace it.

Tags: early winter, hiking, hiking alone, northern Vermont

I hunkered down to work as the length of day slipped below 9 hours, but I could feel myself sliding into a funk all the same. I needed to get outdoors. After a week of wintry conditions, with snow covering the ground and temps staying below freezing, I looked for a window of sunshine in the forecast. It came Friday morning as promised – the sky breaking open after a snow squall at breakfast. I took care of what business had to be addressed then headed for Niquette Bay State Park.

Niquette Bay, on the shores of Lake Champlain, isn’t exactly deep woods but I figured the snow covering the ground would be negligible here, unlike the mountains. Sure enough, there was only a trace of white stuff left. Rain the day before had washed away most of it. I had tucked a pair of Microspikes into my jacket but didn’t have to use them. My boots provided traction enough as I hiked at a brisk pace across the half-frozen ground.

The clouds cleared out during my walk, allowing sunlight to wash over the landscape. That’s what I came out for primarily, but stretching my legs and breathing in the cool, clean air also felt good. I cut my pace, in no hurry to do the three-mile loop around the park. A short climb uphill gave me a bit of an aerobic workout. After cresting the summit of the hill, I stopped long enough to enjoy a good view of the snowcapped Mt. Mansfield looming over the Champlain Valley. That and the forest sprawling at my feet reminded me why I live in Vermont. Nature struts its stuff here.

Life is good when the sun is shining no matter what time of year it is. The days are short this time of year so smart Vermonters get outdoors and enjoy the sunlight when they can. Like everyone else I’m a thinking creature, comfortable enough with indoor life and all my abstractions. But I’m a creature all the same. The elements leave their mark on me, and most of the time that’s a good thing.

Tags: early winter, hiking, moods, sunlight, the elements

Snow is falling right now. Not the first time this year. But it’s accumulating this time and will continue to accumulate through the night. I’ll probably be shoveling it tomorrow morning. So it’s safe to say that winter has begun. The way I see things, winter began this afternoon.

The time changed a couple weeks ago so today the sun sets a quarter past 4 here in northern Vermont. For a light-sensitive guy like me, that’s harder to take than the steadily dropping temperatures this time of year. But I’ve braced myself for it. The main thing is to stay busy. That’s what I’ve learned through the years. It’s not a good idea to be idle when the long darkness sets in.

It seems almost sacrilegious to live in Vermont and not be a big fan of snow, but I live here for the joys of the other three seasons. In winter, while the skiers are hitting the slopes, I stay indoors for the most part. I do a lot of reading and writing this time of year and get outdoors as needed to keep from going stir crazy. This arrangement works well for me for the most part. But the month between now and the Winter Solstice is tough, I must admit.

Every day is a good day, and all weather is fine by me so long as it’s not life-threatening. I like the variety. I wouldn’t be happy living a thousand miles south of here. This time of year, I remind myself of this on a regular basis. But I’m always a little melancholy when winter begins. I’m sure I’m not alone in this regard.

Tags: early winter, light, moods, seasonal affective disorder, snow

Judy is going deeper into birding. She has recently picked up several books on bird behavior and has spent the better part of the past few days reading about them. So I wasn’t surprised when she told me that she wanted to go to Lake Carmi because people from an online birding group had spotted bald eagles there. But a light snow was falling yesterday as we were getting ready to leave the house. I thought for sure she’d change her mind.

We ate our lunch in the car while parked at the Lake Carmi State Park day use area. That’s when we saw several bald eagles flying over the lake a good distance away. Shortly thereafter, while walking a nature trail around a nearby field, we spotted another one overhead, silhouetted against the grey sky. Judy wasn’t able to get a good shot of it, though. We wandered about the day use area a bit more, chilled by a steady wind out of the north before retreating to the car.

Now what? Judy suggested that we drive the road running along the northern edge of the lake. We did just that but spotted only a few songbirds in the process. Then I suggested that we drive the access roads to private camps along the west shore of the lake. It was a long shot, but we had the time so why not?

Most of the camps were closed for the season. A thin layer of snow covered the dirt road. Judy scanned the trees along the lake’s edge as we puttered along slowly. “There’s one,” she exclaimed, “Stop the car!” I did just that. Then Judy stepped out with her camera, shooting at a bald eagle resting on a branch. But the grand old bird was annoyed by my shutterbug wife so it flew away.

We sighted that eagle again a short while later. Judy stepped into the cold for a few more shots. That’s when I told her she was hardcore. Then I laughed. But I was right there with her, binoculars in hand. Such a funny pastime birding is. An endless hunt. So many different kinds of birds in all kinds of habitats. So much to learn.

Tags: bald eagle, birdwatching, early winter, nature photography

Once again I’ve found myself slipping into a funk – a Covid funk. The current surge of new cases means there will probably be another lockdown soon. Like the political bullshit and the shortness of the days isn’t enough to deal with. And then this morning I awaken to sub-freezing temps and a dusting of snow. Although previewed earlier this month, winter has arrived in force here in northern Vermont. Ug.

While my first thought was to stay indoors and continue stewing in my juices, I decided to go for a short hike in a local pocket of woods and embrace the season instead. Besides, the funk wasn’t going to go away on its own. I had to do something proactive.

After a round of writing and shipping out some books, I stepped onto the trail winding up and around Aldis Hill. Not much of a hike, really, but getting outside, stretching my legs and breathing fresh air for a short while was all I needed. It worked wonders, of course, as it always does. And it was nice being among trees again, even if they are in a city park. Nothing compared to that challenging Jay Mountain Ridge hike a few weeks ago, but not every outing has to be a rigorous one. Sometimes a 40-minute walk will do.

The funk had diminished considerably by the time I returned to my car. I know how this goes, though. I’ll have to get out again in another day or two to keep it at bay. Even then, the news will still be full of political bullshit and the days will keep getting shorter for another month or so. No matter. I do what I can to get through these dark days thinking: What a glorious year 2021 is going to be, once a mass vaccination has done a number on that nasty bug! Then we’ll all have a life again.

Tags: Covid, dark days, early winter, walking