Woods Wanderer

The other day I felt a powerful urge to get into the mountains and walk a beautiful brook. After giving the matter some thought, I remembered Ranch Brook in Stowe. Hadn’t been there in many years, though, so I could only vaguely recall how to get there. I headed out anyway.

Remarkably enough, I recognized the dirt road off Rt. 108 when I saw it. Not far down that road, I pulled my car over to the side and parked it. I walked the unimproved road past a washed-out section to a small parking lot. There a footbridge on my left went over the brook onto Trapp Family Conservation Land. I continued up the road, coming to a closed gate and a sign indicating that I was now entering Mansfield State Forest. I kept a leisurely pace as I walked the wide track following the brook.

The Ranch Brook ran steady and clear – one large pool after another. This is exactly the kind of trout stream I like to fish, so wished I had brought my fly rod with me. I passed three smiling fishermen a short while later, convincing me that the stream hadn’t been fished out. No matter. I had a rucksack on my back, a hiking stick in hand, and was in the mood to stretch my legs.

As the track branched into several trails, I took the one following the brook until I reached a point where few people tread. Then I bushwhacked along the brook until I found a nice spot to sit along the water’s edge. There I lounged in the rocks, eating lunch while listening to the brook sing its never-ending song. With temps in the low 60s on a partly cloudy day, I was quite comfortable. I eased into daydreams while grooving on the endless green all around me. Eventually felt the urge to get moving again. I took my sweet time hiking out.

By the time I reached the car, I had resolved to come back to the brook with my fly rod soon, real soon. Those big pools are calling my name. I’m thinking the crack of dawn would be the best time to fish them.

Tags: early summer, Green Mountains, mountain brook, trout stream, walking

Back in Niquette Bay State Park yesterday, a hermit thrush sang its morning song as I meandered along the perimeter trail. I took my time, hiking as slowly as possible, checking out the wildflowers along the way.

White trilliums flowered conspicuously. Miterwort, columbine, wild ginger, and a host of other wildflowers were also in bloom. False Solomon’s seal and a few more will flower soon. They’d better hurry, though. The leafy canopy overhead is already thickening.

Dozens of other hikers, mostly gray-haired like me, were also enjoying the sunshine, warm temps, fresh air, and mostly dry trail. I chatted briefly with some of them in passing. The general mood was delight at being in the woods on such a beautiful day in May. On a day like this, it seems like all is right with the world, despite the darkness that humankind brings down upon itself.

I broke a sweat while ascending the hill to a lookout. I was wearing a wool shirt when a T-shirt would do. Flush with vernal joy, I listened to robins, chickadees and the familiar song of a bird whose name I couldn’t recall. No matter. That didn’t make the chorus any less pleasant to hear.

After cresting the summit, I stopped at the lookout to snap a picture of Mount Mansfield in the distance. I marveled at the unfurled ferns all around me during the descent. I hadn’t noticed them before. Upon reaching the brook, I squatted down next to the clear running water and gave thanks for simply being alive in such a wonderful world. Then I finished my walk, with a pileated woodpecker appearing along the way.

This morning a hermit thrush sings once again as I write this from my backyard. The sun shines brightly from an azure sky, illuminating the verdure all around me, and the natural beauty of it all is almost too much to bear. How could heaven be any better than this?

Tags: songbirds, springtime, vernal green, walking, wildflowers

With temps shooting into the 50s yesterday afternoon, I pulled on my boots and went for a walk on the nearby Rail Trail. The sun shining through a mostly clear sky hastened the big melt-off currently underway. While there was still a thin layer of packed snow and ice on the trail, walking was easy. The punky ice and slush gave way with each step I took, and the slight imprint of my boot in the half-thawed earth of the exposed places made me smile.

Robins foraged along the edges of the trail. The nearby brook ran ice-free here and there. A gentle breeze rocked the naked branches overhead. The mildness of late winter air caressing my face came as something of a pleasant surprise. It’s not even mid-March – way too early to say winter is over here in northern Vermont. But I couldn’t help feeling that spring is imminent.

This morning I hear the unfamiliar call of some bird, or is it just my imagination? I step outside, binoculars in hand, glassing the trees for some newcomer. Temps are seasonably cold today, yet the sun burns with vernal potency, scrambling my thoughts. I had planned on staying indoors today and getting lots of literary work done, but now I realize that’s not going to happen. The natural world is awakening right now, despite the calendar, and I need to be a part of it. Are there any migrating birds moving up Lake Champlain yet? If so, which ones? There’s only one way to find out.

This morning early, I immersed myself in yet another long winter writing session, toying with my abstractions about the natural world. But now it feels like I need to get out there and mix it up with the wild. I need to get down and dirty with the reality of nature and witness the first hints of spring despite whatever cold temps and snowflakes may come during the next few weeks. I’m not being rational about this. Much warmer temps are only a few days away, and that’ll be a much better time to venture outdoors and celebrate seasonal change. But there’s no time like the present. Oh yeah, I’m a sucker for spring – even the slightest suggestion of it.

Tags: early spring, seasonal change, the wildness within, walking

With the sun shining brightly through a cloudless sky and temps hitting 50 degrees, I couldn’t resist going for an afternoon hike. I was not in the mood to drive far, so I headed for the Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge. It’s only 15 minutes away.

I donned a blaze orange vest and hat, then set foot on the Black & Maquam Creek Trail. Not long after hiking down the well-groomed main path, I heard gunshots in the distance. Yeah, the deer hunters are out in full force this time of year.

A few leaves still clung to branches, but the trees around me had clearly retreated into dormancy for the winter. Stick season, it’s called here in Vermont. During November, we Vermonters expect the snow to fly any day now. The snow is coming late this year. Oh sure, the mountaintops have been dusted, but the ground is still snowless here in the Champlain Valley – a little longer, anyhow.

At the first trail junction, I turned right, following the trail along Maquam Creek out to the lookout. The creek was incredibly still. Nothing was happening despite several beaver lodges being tucked into the banks. I meandered a lengthy boardwalk traversing a dried-up wetland adjoining the creek, then stepped onto something looking more like a footpath. Upon reaching the lookout, I scanned the surrounding waters for waterfowl. Nothing. Too late in the year.

My mind wandered as I backtracked a little then looped around, following Black Creek back to the main trail. Couldn’t help but think about the changing seasons, the passage of time, and me laying down so many tracks through the years. Life is a long journey, it seems – one foot in front of another, occasionally resting. The destination doesn’t really matter. Sometimes this simple fact is hard to grasp.

Tags: Champlain Valley, Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge, seasonal change, the passage of time, walking

A couple days ago, I drove over to Isle La Motte to visit the Goodsell Ridge Preserve. I haven’t been there for several years, so I had to follow directions on my cell phone to find it. But once I arrived it looked quite familiar. It’s not the kind of place one easily forgets.

The Chazy Reef is on full display at this preserve, just as it is a few miles away at Fisk Quarry that I’ve written about before. This reef was created by sea sponges that lived 480 million years ago. Plate tectonics has moved it from the tropics to Lake Champlain over that immense expanse of time.

I walked through a field and over patches of exposed rock loaded with fossils from the Ordovician Period – long before there were dinosaurs or any other land creatures. I have delved deep into natural history recently, reading dozens of books about life on this planet since it first appeared over 3.5 billion years ago. The Cambrian Explosion, 540 million years ago, is when all kinds of strange and wonderful creatures inhabited the Earth’s seas. This is as close as I can get to encountering that event while still being in Vermont.

As I walked, I could see the faint outlines of ancient creatures in the rock underfoot: cephalopods, gastropods, bryozoans, and much more. It’s a surreal experience for anyone who can grasp the reality of what has been written in stone.

I had the place all to myself on a calm, cloudless day with temps in the 50s. Late afternoon shadows cast by surrounding cedars made the fossils a little hard to see so I gravitated to sunnier spots. At first I followed the White Trail, but soon I was wandering all over the preserve, through field and forest, from one rocky outcropping to another. It felt as if I was sleepwalking through one of the natural history books I had just read.

A spider crawled over a fossil, juxtaposing the past with the present. I am just as clueless as this contemporary creature is about the nature of things – why it all came to be. All I have are the stories I tell myself, scientific or no, as I walk through time. Somehow that’s enough.

Tags: Chazy Reef, fossils, Goodsell Ridge Preserve, natural history, walking

Sometimes a walk in the woods is just a walk. Other times I think on my feet. I intentionally went for a walk yesterday afternoon just to process some thoughts that way.

I donned a blaze orange vest before stepping into the woods. It’s that time of year, after all. Riflemen are on the hunt for the ever-elusive buck. Even though I don’t have antlers, I didn’t want to be mistaken for their quarry. Safety first.

The November woods always look so stark. It takes a while to get used to all these leafless branches. The dusting of snow in the creases and shadows of the understory hint at things to come. The days are noticeably short this time of year and getting shorter. It’s best not to dwell on that.

With temps in the 30s beneath an overcast sky, I meandered along not even breaking a sweat. That made it easy for my mind to wander. With leaves covering the trail, I had to pay close attention in order to stay on it. Otherwise I was free to dwell upon some rather deep philosophical notions. Like what reality is instead of what we think it is.

Some people always trust their senses. Others lean heavily upon logic, as if the world we inhabit can be fully grasped that way. I suspect there is more to What-Is than any mere mortal can conceive. Certain things are unthinkable. Think long enough about infinity, for instance, and you’ll go mad. I’m certain about that.

I have tried to make sense of infinity and have gotten nowhere. At best my thoughts regarding it become a meditation upon God’s nature; at worst it’s an endless feedback loop. What is Nature, anyhow? Nature spelled with a capital “N” that is. Infinite, no doubt, as the night sky attests. While considering the whole of it, not just the particulars, I contemplate the infinity of this universe or whatever lies beyond it until my head explodes. Yeah… it’s best to do that while putting one foot in front of another. That way I can cling to the illusion of getting somewhere, at least.

Maybe that’s why I feel the need every once in a while to think on my feet. Nature is dynamic. Everything in it is changing, evolving. The entire universe is constantly on the move. What a mistake it would be to sit still, try to grasp What-Is and make that sit still, as well. So much better to simply go with the flow.

Tags: infinity, meditation, November woods, philosophical speculation, walking, What-Is

Sometimes walking is a form of meditation, enabling me to center myself. Other times it’s an escape from the computer screen – a much-needed break from the cyber world and all its abstractions. Quite often it’s form of therapy, working out the kinks in the psyche through sheer physical exertion. But on rare occasion, a walk is just a walk.

Yesterday I walked a section of the Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail about eight miles from my home. I just needed to be outdoors for an hour or so, stretching my legs. I kept a good clip, but not intentionally. I sweated a little, but it wasn’t a work out. Not really.

Sometimes I ruminate while I’m walking, digesting difficult philosophical problems. There was none of that this time. Sometimes I daydream while walking, especially during long, lazy walks in high summer. No, not this time. This time I simply walked, as if walking itself is reason enough to be alive.

The Rail Trail – a wide and improved gravel path – is close to being flat. It passes through forest and field, skirting the occasional wetland or housing development, and often runs parallel to a stream or a road of some kind. My favorite section of it is this mostly wooded stretch east out of Greens Corners. I like the way the trees canopy the trail. I find that comforting, as if nature is giving me a great big hug.

Bicyclists cruised past while I was walking. I encountered the occasional dog walker. A hint of color in the trees, goldenrod in full bloom in the sunnier places, poplar leaves quaking in a gentle breeze – not much else to report. Temps in the sixties, which is ideal for walking. Partly cloudy sky overhead. No bugs. The perfect recipe for Saturday morning happiness. No frills.

Tags: early autumn, Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail, walking

I was wrong. I thought the mildness of winter this year would lead to an early spring, but that hasn’t been the case. Here it is the Spring Equinox and there’s still a blanket of snow on the ground, along with temps barely above freezing at midday.

Desperate to get out of the house, I go for a walk anyway. Judy suggests that I walk the access road to Mac’s Bend in the Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge. It’s not far away. It gets plowed and will probably be clear of snow. She’s right. I leave my car in the parking lot just off Route 7 and walk the gravel track, leaving boot prints in the fine crushed stone between puddles of meltwater. This will have to do.

Binoculars dangle from a strap around my neck, but no birds appear. That too is wishful thinking. Naked trees creak in the light breeze. The brown heads of ferns poke above the snow, ready to reproduce as soon as the weather breaks. A bright vernal sun plays peekaboo in a partly cloudy sky, teasing me with its warmth. I tramp down the road, happy enough to be stretching my legs and getting some fresh air. Still I long for the arrival of spring – promised but not yet delivered.

There are long open seams of water in the Missisquoi River that the road hugs, but Mac’s Bend is completely iced over for some reason. When the road ends there, I tramp a partly thawed riverside trail until it veers into the snowy woods. Then I turn around. I reach down to feel the cold mud underfoot, genuflecting to seasonal change, telling myself that it won’t be long now. But it’s not quite spring.

I know the heaviness of winter within me will eventually melt away, along with the snow, and the winged migrators will ultimately return from the south. But that isn’t happening yet. So I go back home, back indoors, back to work for a while longer. Patience, patience. The cardinals, robins and other songbirds will be calling me out soon enough.

Tags: birding, early spring, late winter, seasonal change, snowmelt, walking

For a change of pace, I drive out to Kill Kare State Park at the end of Hathaway Point to groove on water instead of tramping through woods. Saint Albans Bay is half full of punky ice, but its mouth is ice free. I leave my car at a turnout next to the gate even though the gate is wide open. This will extend my walk. I amble leisurely, hands-in-pocket, up the road and into the park.

I spook several mallard ducks swimming close to shore. There are more waterfowl farther offshore, but they are difficult to identify in the grey light. My binoculars are still resting on the counter back home.

Lake Champlain is placid beneath an overcast sky. In the park, the silhouettes of leafless trees are motionless in the still air, freeze-framed against the clouds. A thin layer of snow covers the ground. Patches of bare ground, bleached of color, poke through the snow in places. It’s a mild winter this year but winter all the same.

I’m alone in the park. Usually there would be ice fisherman here this time of year, going about their business. I meander about, stopping occasionally to take in the lake’s expanse and feel the damp chill in the air. Suddenly gulls call out from ice floes a hundred yards off the north shore. When they stop, I realize just how quiet it is here right now. Interaction with the natural world is funny that way.

This morning I finished writing an essay about the fear of death and the will to live. While walking about the park, I think about that and the many occasions I’ve been in this park in the past, either alone or with others. Time seems to stand still as I gaze across the glassy surface of the lake, but I know that’s not the case. I can hear myself breathing. My heart is still beating. It will beat a while longer, perhaps for another decade or two. And I’ll stand here once again, most likely, gazing across the lake on a grey day.

Tags: Lake Champlain, reflection, walking, winter

“Why am I indoors?” I asked myself at noon yesterday after working at my desk all morning. With temps in the 60s, it seemed silly to be inside. After all, a long, cold season lies directly ahead. Even though I’m ready for it, there’s no sense wasting the few warm days left.

I hopped in my car. Judy and I drove down to Dead Creek the day before yesterday to enjoy the warm temps and do a little birding, so I wasn’t in the mood for a long drive again. The woody section of the local rail trail is only ten minutes away. I figured that would do. I drove there, then walked up the wide gravel path, kicking up leaves and spooking a couple garter snakes along the way. I stepped over a few woolly worm caterpillars, as well, warning me that it’s going to be a long, cold winter. Good thing I came out.

There was a little color in the leaves still clinging to the trees, but the so-called peak foliage has been gone for a while now. Between the last peak color and the first skiable snowfall in the mountains, Vermont belongs to Vermonters. I reveled in the beauty and solitude of the quiet woods, ignoring the occasional cyclist passing through.

After walking a mile and a half, I sat down on a knoll overlooking a small pond in a clearing. Crows cawed in the distance. There were also songbirds out there, flitting about in the half-naked trees, but they were too far away to identify. No matter. I just sat there a while, enjoying the warmth and still air, with sunlight filtering through the mostly cloudy sky. I marveled at how quickly the warm season passed this year. The fresh verdure appeared not too long ago, or so it seemed. The days go by a lot faster now that I’m in my 60s.

I took my time walking back to the parking lot. I drove past a farm selling pumpkins for only five bucks and thought about getting one. Sat on the patio in my back yard reading for a while as Canada geese flew overhead. I sat until the sun passed behind the house. Then I caught a chill and went inside. The small bag of nuts on me for the resident chipmunk never came out for my pocket. He never showed. Could Chippy be settled in for winter already? I don’t think so but I’m sure he will be soon.

Tags: late autumn, the warm season, Vermont, walking