Woods Wanderer

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

After a steep, one-mile hike, I arrive at Sterling Pond just as the sun is cresting Madonna Peak. I’ve come here early to fly fish the pond before the crowd arrives. Situated between two ski resorts and a well-beaten path out of Smuggler’s Notch, this is a popular place. But I haven’t been here in years so thought I’d check it out. I’ve done well fishing this pond for brook trout in the past.

Water laps to shore as a gentle breeze rocks the conifers surrounding the pond. Chickadees and veerys call out, otherwise it’s very quiet here. I cast a dry fly repeatedly upon the pond’s surface then switch to a wet one. No result either way. The trout aren’t rising. But with temps in the 60s, a blue sky overhead and no mosquitoes or black flies, I don’t really care.

I hike to the far end of the pond and try my luck again. Day hikers show up back where I was fishing before but I can barely hear them. I cast for a half an hour or so, then make an entry in my field journal while eating a mid-morning snack. Again, no trout rising.

While hiking the trail around the pond, I try my luck again at a couple other places. Still no action so I pack up my rod and hike towards Spruce Peak. Atop that mountain, I eat lunch while gazing across Smuggler’s Notch to Mount Mansfield. No one else is here. And the summer breeze, still blowing steadily, keeps the black flies at bay. I lounge near the edge of a cliff thinking about nothing, nothing at all. I’m happy just being in the moment.

Eventually I leave Spruce Peak then hike down the beaten path to the notch. Dozens of hikers pass me – most of them on their way up to the pond. I step aside, letting them pass. It’s early afternoon and I’m in no rush. I’ve already enjoyed a good day in the mountains, even though I caught no fish.

Tags: fly fishing, Green Mountains, hiking, summer

The good thing about being self-employed is that you can take a break whenever you want. But actually doing so isn’t as easy as one might think. My little book biz makes demands. I’ve been working hard at it ever since I came off the Cohos Trail a little over a month ago. All the same, at noon today I felt the urge to pull on my hike boots and make a beeline for a patch of nearby woods right after dropping off the day’s shipping at the post office. So that’s what I did.

Midday, high summer. Okay, maybe not the best time to go hiking. With temps in the upper 80s and the humidity through the roof, the forest would be a sauna. But I needed to stretch my legs while traipsing through the woods, if only for a short while. And I was prepared to sweat. Sometimes you just have to go for it.

The hike wasn’t as sweaty as expected. The shady woods diffused some of the heat, and an occasional gust of wind made the humidity quite tolerable. I meandered along the trail happy to be back in my element again, if only for an hour or so. Had the woods all to myself, of course. That was a bonus. And the bugs were nothing like they were a month ago. Is there really such a thing as a bad time to go for a hike? Thoreau would have said no.

While walking through the sultry forest, I thought about my hike on the Cohos Trail last month. Told myself that I really should start writing about that outing while my memories of it are fresh. But I’d rather be hiking. Funny how it goes. Hiking and writing about hiking are two different things. Ah, well… I do as much of both as I can. I’ll be able to do both in August, now that my book biz has been squared away. It all works out.

Tags: balancing work and play, hiking, hiking and writing about hiking, summer

After months of not feeling so great, Judy finally came to me and said she wanted to go into the woods. In particular, she wanted to spend a little time sitting on a mountain brook with no one else around – just her, me, and our dog Matika. No problem, I told her, so we headed out yesterday late morning for a place that fit the bill.

It was a short, easy hike to the brook, mainly because Matika can’t handle much. Old dog on her last leg. The slightest obstacle, like a downed tree, is a major challenge to her these days.

When we reached the brook, Judy found a nice spot on a large rock to sit and groove on both flowing water and the surrounding forest. She took off her shoes and dipped her feet into a crystal clear pool. It was colder than expected – a pleasant sensation on a warm day in July.

Matika rested on a gravel bar next to the brook. I sat a few feet away, propped against another large rock. The stream rushed by incessantly, clearing our heads of all urban workaday noise. A slight breeze wafted up the brook occasionally, rustling the leaves in the green canopy overhead ever so gently. We eased into dreamtime.

When leaving the brook, we were surprised by how hot the afternoon had become, and by how much time had passed. Before reaching the car, Judy said she wanted to get into the woods again soon. Next weekend if at all possible. We’re both looking forward to the backwoods retreat we have planned next month. That can’t come fast enough, even though each of these long days of summer should be cherished.

Tags: forest, mountain stream, summer, woods retreat

Daisies. Such ubiquitous wildflowers. You find them in clearings in the woods, open fields, or anywhere there is ample sunlight. Summer is in full swing when they start to bloom, so is it any surprise that so many of us associate them with happiness?

There are domesticated varieties, of course. I planted some daisy mums in front of my old place years ago and they took over my garden. Pretty, yes. Dainty, no. Give them half a chance and they’ll grow just about anywhere.

The other day as I was weed-whacking the drainage ditch in my front lawn, I noticed that a patch of daisies had taken root there. I steered clear of them. I let them do their thing, adding a little floral delight to the greenery.

Like so many other wildflowers, daisies gravitate to marginal areas. The other day I found them growing near the entrance to a nearby woodlot where I like to walk. Their carousel of bright white petals is an endless smile. They strike me as nature’s welcome mat – ambient to say the least.

My wife prefers daisies to roses. My kind of gal. Roses are aromatic and elegant, no doubt, but daisies shout a different kind of beauty into the world – a beauty accessible to everyone and not easily diminished.

We are well into the growing season now and this humble wildflower is everywhere. The simple, earthy pleasures of this time of year are manifest in daisies. I’m no mindless optimist, nor do I readily engage in frivolity, but the world seems less dour to me whenever daisies are in full bloom. One look at them and my soul takes flight. Silly me.

Tags: daisies, simple pleasures, summer, wildflowers

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

A few days ago I went to a favorite brook to do a little fly fishing. Trout season had opened three and a half months earlier. I hadn’t been out yet. An outing was long overdue.

My dog Matika was with me, of course. When I grabbed her leash, she knew it was going to be a good day.

It mattered little whether or not I’d actually catch fish. Like Matika, I just wanted to sniff around. Yeah, the smell of the forest and the sound of cool, clear water tumbling through it is reason enough to be on a stream.

A mountain brook in late summer charms a guy like me in a way that is difficult to describe. My mind empties as I scramble from one promising riffle to another, stalking the wild trout, until suddenly I am face-to-face with unspeakable beauty: a flume, overhanging cliff, waterfall, or some deep, quiet pool that I must show my wife Judy someday. Then a hungry mouth splashes towards my fly, yanking me out of my reverie.

I’m not a very good fisherman. The rising trout usually catches me by surprise. I am easily distracted by the call of a thrush in the distance, the rustle of a forest creature in the nearby understory, or a wildflower blooming along the rocky bank where only moss should grow.

Two small trout landed in my lap despite my best efforts, not because of them. Then I meandered up the brook a while longer, rod in hand but no longer fishing, in search of god-only-knows-what. Deep within lies some vague desire to walk the brook for no reason at all. Sometimes I give into it.

I quit the stream around midday, hiking through the forest to the nearest road then daydreaming back towards the car. No doubt other motorists were cursing me as I slowly made my way home. Under the influence of the wild, I shouldn’t have been on the road.

Tags: fly fishing, mountain brook, reverie, summer, the wild, trout fishing

My brother Greg drove all the way from Ohio to visit Judy and me, and to reacquaint himself with Vermont. He lived here for several years so he knows well what this part of the country has to offer. Seeing waterfalls and mountains, and doing a little antique hunting were on his to do list, but when temperatures climbed into the 90s, a cool stream grew more appealing. We grabbed a picnic lunch and headed for one yesterday.

Judy had to work so she couldn’t go. My dog Matika had nothing on her calendar, though. She was happy to escape the hot, stuffy house for a day. As soon as we reached the Brewster River, I tossed a tennis ball in the water and she went after it with a vengeance. Matika’s not a big one for playing in the water, but she likes both playing ball and staying cool. I kept throwing the ball. She kept going in after it.

The Brewster River is more of a mountain stream than a river, actually. Its clear, cool water flows out of Smugglers Notch, making it a good place to be during a midsummer heat wave. The dozen cars in the parking lot convinced us that we weren’t the only ones who had figured this out. No matter. We hiked in flip-flops up the trail following the stream until we found a nice pool to call our own. We didn’t have to go far.

I gravitated to a small, sandy beach in the shade next to the pool. Greg went directly to the two-foot waterfall feeding the pool to groove on fast-moving water. We both got sufficiently wet then lounged on big flat rocks, completely chilled out. Yeah, this is the thing to do in Vermont on a hot summer day. Hard to beat. Leave the more sophisticated entertainments for another day.

Tags: mountain stream, summer, Vermont

You know it’s a wetter-than-usual day when the red efts come out. They disappear when the forest is dry and seem to be everywhere after a good rain. On a particularly wet day, it is hard to keep from stepping on them. And that’s exactly the kind of day it was yesterday. 

Savage forest: hot, dripping wet, incredibly humid, and overgrown. Pools of water everywhere, and the trail underfoot nearly hidden by knee-high vegetation. Mosquitos in their glory. Not for the feint of heart – for those who think the good life is all about being comfortable all the time.

The savage forest brings out the savage within. Twenty minutes into it, I was bug-bitten, sweaty, wet from the waist down, and happy. A mood like this cannot be explained. One either recoils from savagery or embraces it. There are no half measures, not when the woods get like this.

Nature isn’t just pretty flowers, rare glimpses of wildlife, picture postcard waterfalls, and rainbows. Sometimes it has an edge. Sometimes it can be downright inhospitable. Yet there is something magnificent about its endless variations. I wouldn’t want it any other way. So let the mosquitoes and red efts have their day. I will wander the woods all the same.

Tags: red efts, summer, the forest, wildness

Despite my poor gardening skills and general negligence, the day lilies that grow in front of my house do quite well every year. The first one opened today, bright and cheery enough to overrule the dark clouds that ushered in a thunderstorm this morning.

While I was on the road yesterday, showing my book to store owners, I couldn’t help but notice the deep, rich smell of the Vermont countryside – a luxuriant blend of pollen, forest humus, and happy vegetation. Recent rains have intensified it. The word “lush” doesn’t begin to describe what’s going on these days. The growing season has kicked into high gear.

What a pleasant surprise to discover this explosion of color in my yard at the start of the day! I am astounded by this overt display of earthly delight. Who can love nature and hate summer?

Tags: day lilies, growing season, summer, verdure, Vermont