Woods Wanderer

No one else stirred as I crept from my room at the Adirondack Hotel as quietly as possible. I ate a bowl of cereal on the front porch overlooking Long Lake as wisps of dark gray clouds drifted beneath a yellow-gray sky. There was no sunrise to see, thanks to the Canadian wildfire smoke. The only sounds were distant songbirds just now awakening and water dripping from the porch roof. Heavy rain had fallen overnight.

I was quite comfortable drinking hot coffee in a rocking chair on the porch, but the wild was calling. Before finishing the coffee, I stashed my gear in my car then headed out. The Owl’s Head Mountain trailhead was only a few minutes away.

After signing into the trailhead register, I slipped into the dark, wet forest. I could barely see the trail underfoot. I felt my way along it with my trekking poles. Deer flies appeared in the incredibly humid air to greet me. After an initial ascent, a hundred feet or two, the earthen path leveled out. I could feel the wild surging from deep within me. Right in the middle of a two-day road trip, visiting stores and hawking my wares, I reveled in deep forest solitude.

Patches of yellow sky peeked through the dark green canopy overhead. I sweated profusely as the trail twisted back and forth, up and down for an hour. Then began the steady ascent up the mountain along what seemed at times like a dry stream bed. When I stopped to look at my map and slake my thirst, a light rain fell. Or was it just the air reaching its dew point? The rain stopped before I could even dig out my rain hat. I kept going.

It took another hour with plenty of stops to reach the top of Owl’s Head. I immediately dropped my pack then climbed the fire tower. Above the treetops, the forested mountains stretched in all directions beneath a smoky sky. Long Lake remained half-hidden below, not far away. I lounged for a while beneath the fire tower, munching trail mix, before commencing the long, three-mile hike back to the trailhead. I passed two parties of early morning hikers along the way.

Upon reaching the trailhead, I ducked behind my car, stripped off my sweat-soaked hiking clothes and cleaned myself up. Back in street clothes, I put on my best book-hustling face then shifted into business mode. But my heart wasn’t into it. Talking about the wild and peddling books about it isn’t the same as being in the wild. It was a good day all the same.

Tags: Adirondacks, book promotion, Canadian wildfire smoke, hiking, midsummer, wildness

Another hot day. It has been that kind of summer. Before going over to my old house to do some more renovation work, I slip into a pocket of local woods for a short, relatively cool hike. I know my dog Matika will appreciate it. They call these dog days, but this certainly isn’t her favorite season.

The forest is shady for the most part even though sunlight filters through the canopy. The bright hues of fresh springtime verdure have given way to a more mature midsummer green. The trail looks moist because of a recent rain. I am not deceived by it. I know that down deep the earth is still dusty. Thunderstorms are numerous this summer, yes, but we haven’t seen an all-day soaking rain for quite some time.

Hot and dry. I resist the urge to jump to environmental conclusions, hoping that August and September will be a little cooler and wetter overall. I plan on doing some serious hiking at that time, after finishing up the renovation. Lord knows I’m overdue for it.

But for now these woods will have to do. A few deer flies follow me as I amble up the trail. Aside from their buzz and the occasional songbird, all is quiet. Matika sniffs around, wondering where the squirrels are. My mind clings to work-related matters until I catch a whiff of forest decay. Then I entertain faraway thoughts. Yeah, a serious hike very soon – one to make me forget all the nonsense in these lowlands that passes for civilization. That’s what I really need.

Tags: beating the heat, hiking, local woods, midsummer

My wife wants me out of the house while window shades are being installed. That’s all the excuse I need to drop everything. Never mind that thunderstorms are in the forecast for this afternoon. As soon as I finish doing the bare minimum work for my business, I grab my fly rod, load my dog Matika into the car, and head for the hills.

By midday I am bushwhacking downhill to a favorite brook. A tremendous sense of relief sweeps over me as I tramp through the woods. This is my first excursion into open country in months.

The stream is low, even for midsummer. We need rain. That said, I hope the dark clouds gathering overhead hold off long enough for me to make a few casts. After that, it doesn’t matter.

The stream is beautiful. Crystal clear water finds its way down a rocky streambed surrounded by lush green vegetation. I have walked this brook or ones like it a thousand times yet they never fail to charm me. The rush of flowing water, the cool shade, and that earthy smell – I’m a real sucker for this kind of wildness.

Matika sniffs around as I ply the water with nearly invisible line and tiny fly. When I pull an eight-inch brook trout from its hiding place, she dances around me, chomping at the creature flipping about desperately in my hands. I release it into nearby shallows so that Matika can give chase. She doesn’t stand a chance. The brookie torpedoes out of sight in seconds.

Dripping sweat and menaced by biting insects, I hobble over rocks and around fallen trees for another hour or two, maintaining a low profile to keep from spooking the fish. I catch and release a couple more brookies despite the less-than-ideal fishing conditions. When finally thunder rumbles in the distance, I splash cold water into my face then leave the brook.

The uphill scramble to a dirt track is hard. The amble down the road is easy. I reach my car right before the first raindrops fall. It’s raining by the time the wheels touch pavement. On the highway it’s a downpour. All the way home, I marvel at how lucky I’ve been.

Tags: brook trout, fishing with dogs, fly fishing, Green Mountains, midsummer, mountain stream, the elements