Woods Wanderer

Judy misses camping on a mountain stream now that her backpacking days are behind her. So last week we did the next best thing. We secured a cabin only steps away from the Otter Creek, a few miles outside the western boundary of the Adirondack Park. It turned out to be quite the place: a nearly new cabin with all the amenities. Quite comfortable. A lot better than camping, that’s for sure.

Judy left the cabin only to walk down to the creek and groove on it. A pair of Adirondack chairs just outside the cabin was the best place to be, with a full view of the stream. She spent considerable time there. I, on the other hand, explored the area – restless soul that I am. On the second full day of our stay, I walked the nearby Independence River with a fly rod in hand. For several hours I saw no one or any kind of development. Caught and released a couple trout in the process.

The fishing was pretty good for this time of year, but I opted for a one-day license since I was more in the mood to hike. I scouted a couple trailheads in the Independence River Wild Forest. Oddly enough, I ended up hiking at Whetstone Gulf State Park instead. I figured that way Judy wouldn’t worry about me. “State park” sounds safe, doesn’t it?

Whetstone Gulf turned out to be a bona fide canyon. A big sign at the trailhead says you must be 18 or be with someone who is in order to hike it. I hiked the North Rim Trail out, and the South Rim Trail back, completely circumnavigating the gulf. Five and a half miles altogether. Most of the time I was no more than a couple feet from the edge of the precipice. Some fantastic views along the way. A lot more than expected.

Our last evening at the cabin, we enjoyed a campfire in the fire pit down by the creek. With temps cooling off fast, thanks to a wide-open sky overhead, we sat close to the fire. Once again in comfy Adirondack chairs. The amber stream rushed past as the campfire crackled. It was a good finish to a very pleasant getaway. We’re already talking about doing it again next year.

Tags: Adirondacks, cabin in the woods, hiking, trout fishing

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

A combination of smoke from Canadian wildfires and stormy weather has kept me indoors lately, but I did slip away for a short hike on Tuesday. That whetted my appetite for more so yesterday I went to Niquette Bay State Park for a longer walk on the perimeter trail. Rain was in the forecast but I didn’t care.

I headed out mid-morning hoping to beat the crowd and just maybe get in a hike before the worst of the rain. I was surprised to find over a dozen cars at the trailhead. I set forth at a good clip, happy to be stretching my legs even though I’d be running into people. Whatever.

With temps in the 70s, it took a while to break a sweat. But when I did, the sweat just kept coming. So it goes when hiking on a humid day. Grin and bear it.

The trail was still damp from a shower the day before. Yeah, it’s been a wet summer so far, following a dry spring. The forest vegetation is loving the moisture, of course – especially the ferns. Everything is looking so green and lush these days. I don’t mind sweating for that. The bugs are loving it, too. Hmm…

I picked up my pace, happy to be hiking instead of sitting in front of a computer screen. While breathing heavily, fresh air filled my lungs. No forest fire smoke today. Even clean air shouldn’t be taken for granted.

A hermit thrush sang in the distance. Thrush songs are reason enough to hike in the woods, I think. I encountered a few people on the trail but it didn’t matter. I was alone for the most part – just me and a deep forest quiet.

Surprisingly enough, I got back to my car long before the rain started. Got back home even. Sometimes it’s best to ignore the weather forecast and go for it. Soaked with sweat instead of rain, but it was well worth it. A hike is good for body, mind and soul.

Tags: hiking, humidity, lush vegetation, summer, weather

I’m pleased to announce the release of my collection of short hiking narratives set in Vermont. It’s called Wandering in Vermont Woods appropriately enough. A few years back, I published a collection of hiking narratives set in the Adirondacks, and that has gone over well. My bookseller friend Donna at The Eloquent Page suggested that I do the same for narratives set in Vermont – my home turf. So here it is.

This collection opens with a relatively long account of a solo excursion in the Breadloaf Wilderness 35 years ago called “Tracks Across the Forest Floor.” Some of you may remember that from a previous publication. I’ve reprinted 10 other pieces from previous publications, as well – several of those books now out of print. There are two pieces in this collection dating back over 20 years that haven’t been published until now, and three brand new pieces seeing print for the very first time. It’s quite a mix, actually. But the spirit of the wild graces them all.

The Long Trail, southern Vermont, the Northeast Kingdom, or close to home – I’m all over the map in this collection. Sometimes backpacking; other times just out for the day. Sometimes bushwhacking; occasionally trout fishing some mountain brook. Usually alone, but not always. Sometimes contemplating philosophical matters while banging around in the Green Mountains; often just being being in the moment. Always the woods wanderer.

You can get a copy from Amazon.com, or by going to the Wood Thrush Books website. I hope this book inspires some of you to venture into the woods this summer. There’s nothing else quite like a little time spent in a wild place.

Tags: bushwhacking, Green Mountains, hiking, nature writing, trout fishing, Vermont

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

This week I did two day hikes in the Adirondacks on two completely different trails. One took me deep into the wild. The other provided great views.

First I went to Pigeon Lake Wilderness on the western side of Adirondack Park. I hiked a narrow, mostly earthen path in a 7-mile loop through the woods. The trail was wet and muddy in places as I skirted beaver ponds and wetlands. I stopped at Queer Lake for lunch. It was so quiet there that I could hear water lapping to shore and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. After lunch I sat against a fallen log and let my mind wander. I closed my eyes and napped for a short while. Then I slowly packed up and hiked out. Even though I took my time leaving the forest, I still worked up a good sweat. And I never saw anyone the entire time I was out there.

The next day I drove to the trailhead for Blue Mountain –– one of the most prominent features in the central Adirondacks. I got there early. There were no other cars in the parking lot when I arrived. I set forth up the mountain, following a heavily eroded, rock-strewn path about five feet wide. It was uphill all the way for about two miles. Even though I took lots of breaks, I managed to do the 1,800 feet ascent in less than 2 hours. The view from the fire tower on the summit was phenomenal. The Adirondack Park spread before me in all its glory, making me truly appreciate the sheer size of it. Two young hikers appeared just as I was descending the fire tower. While sitting below the fire tower, I listened to them chatter excitedly as they pointed out the summits and lakes in the distance. On my way back down the trail, I passed nine or ten more parties of hikers. There were over a dozen cars in the parking lot when I reached it, with more arriving.

Without a doubt, the view from the fire tower on top of Blue Mountain was well worth the climb. And I enjoyed the endorphin rush that came with the physical effort necessary to get up there. But hiking up that mountain wasn’t a wilderness experience by any stretch of the imagination. For that I would recommend a venture into Pigeon Lake Wilderness, or something like it. There is something about being alone in an undeveloped, rarely visited place that completely changes the way one looks at the world. Doing both was great, of course. But if I had to choose between the two, well, I’d choose the latter.

Tags: Adirondacks, climbing a mountain, deep woods, hiking, wilderness experience

Sometimes I just have to drop everything and go. Yesterday I worked in my study from dawn until mid-afternoon, building up my online bookselling biz and putting together yet another WTB anthology of nature writing. But enough is enough. I shut down the desktop computer, pulled on my boots, and slipped out the door. Less than an hour later, I was tramping through the forest following a dusty, rock-strewn trail winding through the trees.

It felt good to stretch my legs, breathing heavily again. I hadn’t planned on a vigorous hike but my body wanted it. With no wind, high humidity and temps in the 80s, I was sweating in no time despite the shade provided by the canopy overhead.

My eyes feasted on the endless green. The smell of midsummer vegetation and the soothing forest silence convinced me that I’d made the right call. A pileated woodpecker sang in the distance. A nearby hermit thrush serenaded me. Frogs croaked from the wetland I easily traversed, thanks to a boardwalk. And my highly organized morning thoughts gave way to afternoon daydreams.

When the trail started climbing steadily, I felt an overwhelming urge to hike as hard and fast as I could. There was no one around to hear my grunts and groans or to see me soaking my t-shirt. That had a lot to do with it. Sometimes I like to meander through the woods simply grooving on the wild. Other times I like to charge along a trail as if my life depended upon getting somewhere. It has nothing to do with any given destination and everything to do with wanting to feel fully alive and completely in the moment.

Late July already. Amazing. Summertime doesn’t last long, especially in northern Vermont. As I returned to my parked car, I wondered what else I could do to make the most of these halcyon days. Winter is a good time of year for think work, no doubt. But in high summer, it’s better to go outside and get physical.

Tags: forest solitude, hiking, summer

This morning I awoke to temps below zero. Yesterday the same. The day before that I went for a short hike once temps had climbed into the teens after a similar dip. In the depths of winter here in northern New England, one is wise to get outdoors when one can.

The trail cutting through a local patch of woods was well traveled. Clearly I wasn’t the only person taking advantage of the occasional bouts of fair weather between snowstorms and deep freezes. Surprisingly, I passed only one other restless soul during my hike. The rest of the time, I had the woods all to myself.

Aside from the distant hum of traffic, all was quiet as I walked. No songbirds, no wind in the trees, nothing. I listened to the sound of my own breathing as I ambled along. The clean, cold air filled my lungs, and I barely broke a sweat beneath my layers. It always feels good to be physical after long hours of screen time.

Yeah, I work too hard at my desktop computer this time of year. That’s one way to get through winter – to make the most of it, to be productive. I work much less and get outdoors a lot more during the warmer months, as most Vermonters do. But even during the coldest months, one needs to recreate every once in a while. Skiers look at things differently, of course.

I’ve lived in Vermont for nearly 40 years. During that time, I’ve developed an appreciation for snow. Winter isn’t my favorite season, but there is something about a snow-covered landscape beneath a clear blue sky that is quite charming. Dare I say beautiful? I wouldn’t want to live in a place that gets no snow. A walk in the woods this time of year reminds me of that. And 15 degrees above zero isn’t bad at all when the wind isn’t blowing.

Tags: forest, hiking, snow, Vermont, winter

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