Woods Wanderer

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

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

It has been a strange year. A relatively mild winter ended with temps hitting 80 degrees in early April, and for a while there it looked like Vermont might be headed for a drought. Then the summer rains began and they didn’t stop. They climaxed with July flooding here and in other parts of the Northeast. Meanwhile the skies filled with smoke from Canadian wildfires.

Anyone with any sense knows why all this is happening – why the weather is so erratic these days. The climate of the entire planet is undergoing a radical change. But I have to admit, I didn’t think it would have an impact on Vermont’s annual display of eye-popping foliage.

Mild temps and all that rain has muted autumnal color in the Champlain Valley this year. Here it is the end of October, and we still haven’t seen a hard frost. That factors into the mix, certainly. But the seasons progress regardless, thanks to the passage of Earth around the Sun, so the trees are getting ready for winter. Consequently, splashes of leafy color have appeared in these lowlands, long after peaking in the mountains. In fact, the foliage is pretty much at peak in my back yard – a week or more later than usual.

I’ve already put the snow tires on my car, the sun now sets before 6 p.m., and the ladybugs are desperate to get indoors. But my little chipmunk buddy is still scurrying about, collecting food, and there’s a good chance I’ll be lounging comfortably on my patio tomorrow. Mixed signals to be sure. All the same when the wind blows the leaves come down. Winter is inevitable.

I suppose going with the flow is the thing to do. There’s no point getting all bent out of shape because the weather isn’t behaving the way it usually has in years, decades, centuries past. Early this morning, I poked my head out the door to get a good whiff of that dry-leaf smell of autumn and admire the fiery orange leaves in the treetops. And I smiled when a maple leaf floating down hit me squarely in the face. No harm, no foul. It’s that time of year, if only for a week or two before the first snow falls. Gotta love it.

Tags: climate change, fall foliage, seasonal change

With temps in the 50s and the sky full of clouds, I bundle up to sit on the patio and write some letters. I’ve been in something of a funk lately and want to share my dark thoughts about life, literature and what it all means with a few friends who can relate. But Chippy has his own agenda.

Chippy, the chipmunk that Judy and I have befriended during the past few years, wants more nuts. Winter is coming and he wants all the nuts he can get. Usually, I just ignore him after several handouts, then he goes foraging elsewhere. But recently Judy and I have brought home some acorns from a different location. Oh my… He can’t get enough of those.

Chippy is crazy about acorns. More acorns, Walt, more! He hops on my lap and gets into my face, giving me the stare that has so often led to one more handout, maybe two. I ignore him, or at least try to. I’m busy brooding. Can’t he see I’m how serious I am right now? But no, Chippy doesn’t care about my mood or my scribblings. Where are those acorns? He wants more acorns. He knows I have more. He knows I’m holding out.

I’m not quite sure how I got into this weird relationship with a little striped rodent. I keep telling myself that he’s still a wild creature. He’s not my pet, nor are we friends. But he has become quite comfortable with me over time and, I must admit, I like having him around. He reminds me that there’s more to life than deep philosophical speculation and the ol’ scribble, scribble. Like acorns, for instance. Acorns are very important.

So I stop what I’m doing and hand over the goods. He stuffs his cheeks with as many acorns as he can put in there, then heads for his burrow. But a few minutes later he’s back, wanting more. Can’t get enough of those acorns. Gotta have more acorns, he tells me in his own chipmunk way. Winter is coming. I don’t know what’s so special about acorns, but according to Chippy, they’re much better than peanuts. And Chippy knows a lot more about such things than I do.

Tags: autumn, befriending wild animals, chipmunks, feeding wild animals, foraging

I’ve just released a new collection of short non-fiction pieces, Confronting the Unknowable: Essays on God, Nature and Being Human. This is, I believe, the best half of the 40-odd essays that I’ve written for an online platform called Medium.

I’ve been posting my work at Medium for the past two and a half years. Most of my old, nature-related essays and hiking narratives have been uploaded to my profile page there, while my newer material has appeared at one of five Medium-based publications: A Philosopher’s Stone, Illumination, Socrates Cafe, The Apeiron Blog, and The Philosophy Hub.

This is my first sustained effort to write for the general reader, or as close to that as I’ll ever get. Oddly enough, my more philosophical pieces have garnered more attention at Medium than my hiking narratives. That’s just the opposite of what I’ve experienced elsewhere. Go figure.

A few of these essays address topical issues like climate change and overpopulation, but most of them go deep into philosophical matters: God’s nature, life’s meaning, the great mystery that is nature, and what makes us human. Naturally, I have more questions than answers. Mine is an iconoclastic worldview to be sure.

Last winter I released a dense philosophical work called Nature and the Absolute. These essays address many of the same issues but are much easier to read, I must admit.

This book is now available at Amazon.com. It can also be purchased at my website, woodthrushbooks.com. Check it out.

Tags: essays, nature, philosophy

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

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

With all the rain that has fallen lately, I was a little worried about driving the 6-mile, unimproved dirt road all the way back to the trailhead parking lot and leaving it there for the next three days. I could handle anything on the trail, but a washed-out culvert on the way out could confound me. All the same, the Whitehouse trailhead put me within a day’s hike of Canary Pond, and I really wanted to go there.

When I hiked the Northville-Placid Trail through the Adirondacks back in 2006, I passed a beautiful little pond and vowed to go back and spend some time there someday. So that’s what I set out to do three days ago, crossing the suspension bridge swinging over the West Branch of the Sacandaga River then plunging deep into the woods.

It was a 7-mile hike back to the Canary Pond, nestled in the heart of the Silver Lake Wilderness. I figured I could handle that and the 700-foot climb directly ahead, with only a 30-pound pack tugging at my shoulders. I was half right about that. Yeah, I managed to do it, but I arrived at the pond late afternoon completely wiped out. “What’s wrong with me?” I wondered as I slowly set up camp. Oh yeah, I’m 67-years old.

I crept from my tent the second day aching from head to toe but limbered up a bit after puttering around camp. That’s when the fun really began. A whole day doing a lot of nothing: watching dragonflies patrol the shoreline, listening to the faint summer breeze barely rustling leaves, and taking pictures of the many different kinds of mushrooms. I scribbled in my field journal until my mind went blank. Then I stripped off all my clothes and slipped into the surprisingly cold pond to swim around. After that I sat cross-legged in camp, completely lost in the moment. When I snapped out of it, I said: “Ah… now I get it, Buddha.”

Owls kept me awake the most of the second night with their incessant hooting, but I didn’t mind. I packed up early the third day as rain clouds gathered overhead then got back on the trail. Mostly downhill, it was an easy walk out despite the many bogs and mud holes. I saw no one, realizing that I’d seen no one since a couple of thru hikers passed me two days earlier. Yeah, it was a good outing. And the drive out of the woods was no problem. No rain fell until I returned home.

Tags: Adirondacks, backcountry, backpacking, solitude, wilderness

After a lengthy session on the computer, putting together a collection of philosophical essays, I pull on my boots, grab a teardrop pack then head out the door. I drive to the Milton Pond Town Forest only half an hour away for a day hike. I’m not in the mood for a longer drive into the mountains, but I need a woods fix. This’ll have to do.

Late morning and mid-week, there’s only one other car parked at the trailhead. This town forest isn’t a wilderness, but it looks like I’ll have the place pretty much to myself for a while. That’s good. That’ll make it easier to groove on the wild.

The three-quarter-mile Pond Access Trail is a beaten path, ten feet wide in places, but it gets me to Four Corners where there are several options. Usually I do the Pond Circuit Trail, as most people do, but this time I opt for the longer Ridgeline Trail. A much narrower trail, it winds deeper into the woods, away from the pond, then swings around in a 3-mile loop. I break a sweat as the path slowly rises to higher ground.

Numerous mud holes, high humidity, and red efts on the trail tell the story: it has been a very wet summer. The vegetation is thick, giving this forest a wilder feeling than one would expect while hiking anywhere in the mostly developed Champlain Valley. I’m digging it. I’m also maintaining a steady, two-mile clip and feeling the burn in my legs. Yeah, after nine straight days of philosophical abstractions, it feels good to be physical. It feels good to connect with my animal self.

Just before reaching a saddle between two hills, I stop long enough to catch my breath and drink some water. There’s no breeze, no birds singing, no sound at all. I’m pleasantly surprised by this deep forest silence. The rest of the hike is just as pleasant. A pair of hikers slips past me while I’m lounging at a lookout, eating lunch an hour later, but I’m still feeling the wildness. And before even finishing this hike, I resolve to come back and do this trail again soon, real soon. It’s so close to home.

Tags: Champlain Valley, solo hiking, Vermont woods, wildness

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