Woods Wanderer

In theory I am trout fishing, but that’s not really why I’m here. Oh sure, I have a fly rod in hand and I cast my line into every stretch of water that looks like it might have a brook trout in it. But my eyes are drinking in the wild beauty all around me so it’s hard to care whether or not I catch anything. I am simply here.

Recent rainstorms have brought to life the forest, turning everything green. Not just a color wheel green, but a deep, surreal green convincing me that life is good. Elsewhere on this planet, forests are burning up and the landscape is drying out. But not here. This corner of the world is still lush.

Why am I so lucky to be slowly making my way up this mountain stream, deeper into the wild? I wade across crystal clear water that has a chill to it despite summer heat. I crawl over boulders reminding me that I’m no longer a young man. I kneel before emerald pools to keep from spooking the trout in them. I frequently stop casting just to look around, marveling at the tenacity of life taking root in every nook and cranny. All this I’ve done many times before, but today it feels like a moving meditation, a wordless prayer.

There is no philosophy or religion that adequately captures the wonder and beauty of existence. I have certainly tried to formulate a worldview that does so, but my efforts always fall miserably short of the mark. Some poets come closer, but even they can’t do it justice. What my senses tell me during an outing like this cannot be turned into a credo – not even a hedonistic one. While I’m out here, I am astounded by the sudden realization that I am a part of this incredible world. What else can be said? Words fail us all – philosopher, theologian and poet alike.

At some point, one must simply let go. I let go, sitting before a small waterfall, listening intently to the constant gurgle of running water as glimmering light dances across a rock face. Through the years I have become a lousy fisherman. I just don’t care about that anymore. Now it is only wildness that interests me, and I can’t get enough of it. Wildness draws me deeper and deeper into the forest until some part of me disappears – the part that believes that what I am and what I do is so important. Wildness tells me otherwise.

Tags: forest solitude, mountain stream, natural philosophy, trout fishing, wildness

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

Nearly three weeks have gone by since Judy and I sojourned briefly on the Maine coast in a little cottage overlooking Goose Rocks Beach. I can still hear, someplace in the back of my head, the sound of waves breaking to shore. After listening to that steady beat for days, it is not something one easily forgets.

Judy is drawn to the ocean the same way that I am to wild, forested mountains. We have been going to the coast for decades, usually staying in a hotel, motel, or someplace located somewhere inland. But last year Judy had a dream come true when she found a somewhat affordable place right on the shoreline, literally a stone’s throw from the sea at high tide. She spent two ecstatic weeks alone there while I was traveling across the country.

This year I joined her for a week in that cottage, enjoying the sparsely populated beach in the cool, breezy days before Memorial Day – before the onslaught of the summer crowd. It was quite the experience. There’s a world of difference between staying in a place close to shore and being right on it. No wonder the cost of oceanside property is so high!

I noticed the rhythm of the sea most when I ventured inland on day hikes. Or I should say that I noticed it when I returned to the cottage, where Judy was ensconced in the enclosed porch with windows partially open. The calming effect of waves coming to shore, along with the cadence set by the high and low tides, does something to the mind that is indescribable. It’s similar to what I experience when I’m alone in deep woods for a few days. While immersed in either world, all the concerns that dog me during my workaday existence here at home don’t matter nearly so much. The waves slowly wash all that away, just like the deep forest silence does.

I am a landlubber at heart. I’m more comfortable in the woods, camped next to a clear mountain stream, than anywhere else. Still, I look forward to spending another week right on the shoreline next year. In that regard, Judy’s dream has become my own.

Tags: Atlantic Ocean, shoreline, the Maine coast, tides, waves

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

Remarkably enough, there were no black flies out yesterday when I set foot on the mountain brook. I don’t know why. They’re out in force in my backyard. A bug-free outing in the spring is a real treat, though. I walked the brook for several hours, pretending to fish for trout. But what I really wanted was the sound of rushing water, a cool breeze wafting up the stream, and wildflowers in bloom along the banks. I got all that and more.

Oh sure, I casted my fly into every emerald pool of water and did my best to entice brook trout to the surface, but nothing happened. No rises, that is, until the last hour of my outing. I caught and released one brookie at that time, happy not to be skunked, then lost another on a second rise. Slow fishing. But when the forest comes alive with that luminescent, vernal green it’s hard to care about anything else. The sudden explosion of leafy growth, both overhead and across the forest floor, is reason enough to be in the woods. Trout fishing is just a good excuse to witness it.

When I stumbled upon painted trilliums in full bloom, I couldn’t help but smile. Plenty of other wildflowers come up in May, but this is one of my favorites. There’s something about painted trilliums that brings joy to me. Perhaps that is because I associate it with the Green Mountains – my home turf – and with my first mountain brook outings a long time ago. Eternal renewal. That flower shouts it.

When I was finished fishing, I sat down on a large rock next to the stream. I smoked a cigar in celebration of a recently published book and counted my blessings. I have many, including the crystal clear stream itself. Just then several dun-colored mayflies rose into the air, similar to the fly I had been using. I reveled in the beginning of a mayfly hatch even though I was too tired to take advantage of it. Sometimes it’s enough just to witness such things. The miracle of spring is that even the harshest winter can’t prevent it from coming. And that is reason enough, I think, to walk the brook this time of year.

Tags: mountain stream, springtime, The Green Mountains, trout fishing, wildflowers

Last week Judy and I made a much-anticipated pilgrimage to Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge to witness the spring migration there. Located in the Finger Lakes Region of upstate New York, we reached it in less than 8 hours. Even though the Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge is only ten miles away from where we live, one never knows what one will find elsewhere. Besides, birding destinations give us a reason to get away.

Monday was overcast and rainy. We saw shovelers, coots, mallards, teals, and other ducks in the marshes while slowly motoring along Wildlife Drive. Judy was in the passenger’s side of the car so she didn’t get any good photos. Visitors are not allowed out of their cars on Wildlife Drive this early in the season. But she was on the right side of the car to catch hundreds of carp in a spawning frenzy. Such is the nature of wildlife photography. It’s serendipitous, to say the least.

The weather on Tuesday was much the same: less rain but a more chilling wind. We explored the outskirts of the refuge, ending up in the Sandhill Crane Unit where Judy took a good picture of a gadwall half-hidden in the grass. We saw some ospreys, as well, before returning to the Wildlife Drive. This time Judy sat in the back seat so that she could shoot in either direction. I chauffeured her. She photographed a great blue heron eating a fish, a female red-winged blackbird close-up, and the coots doing their funky head-moving action as they swam. I can’t watch them without breaking into laughter.

Wednesday was partly cloudy sky, but the cool temps hardly felt balmy in the steady breeze. We drove the Wildlife Drive once again, seeing the usual suspects, before heading up to the Sandhill Crane Unit. There we parked the car at the end of a dead-end dirt road and watched waterfowl while enjoying the wild silence. I woke Judy from her nap when a bald eagle suddenly appeared, but she didn’t get a picture before it flew away. Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes.

Back on the Wildlife Drive late afternoon, we hoped to see the snipe spotted there the day before by someone else, as well as a sandhill crane. The snipe turned out to be a dunlin (bird identification is always tricky). Then, as luck would have it, we saw the sandhill crane. It was being harassed by a Canada goose most likely protecting an unhatched brood nearby. We were in the Golden Hour, as bird photographers call it – the hour before sunset. Light illuminated the crane’s wings as it defended itself against the goose. Judy caught it with her camera. And that made the trip. Serendipitous, indeed!

Tags: bird migration, birdwatching, Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge, sandhill crane, springtime, waterfowl, wildlife photography

When Judy and I were out birding a few days ago, we spotted an osprey in a platform nest near the Missisquoi Bay Bridge. Two more suddenly appeared, then the show began. At first we thought perhaps it was two males competing for the attention of a female. But that wasn’t what was happening.

The osprey in the nest became fierce as the other two swooped menacingly overhead. He was ready to defend his claim. Clearly he wasn’t going to give up the nest without a fight. It’s a prime piece of real estate not more than two hundred yards from Lake Champlain. An ideal place to fish, thereby enabling him to provide sustenance for any newly hatched ospreys to come. No doubt a female osprey would show up soon. Successful mating at a location like this is practically guaranteed.

The defender took to the air, flipping upside down to meet the intruder’s talons with his own. Neither Judy nor I had ever seen anything like it before. Such acrobatics! Judy caught it on camera while I looked on with my binoculars.

A moment later all three birds were circling overhead in something of aerial dance. It was a dogfight of sorts. Who would prevail? Two of the ospreys were determined to have that nest while the third one held back, apparently unsure whether or not he was up to the task to taking it.

We watched them fly together in great circles overhead, curious to see how the contest would be resolved. It went on for quite some time… They were still at it when we reluctantly drove away. They could have been at it for days.

Now we are anxious to return to that spot and see who won. Most likely the defender. We’ll make it a point to follow the rest of the story as it unfolds later this spring and into the summer. It’s an old story, played out year after year, over and over throughout the natural world. Quite common yet no less enthralling.

Tags: birding, ospreys, springtime

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

Last week I went into the mountains with my snowshoes, but when I saw how little snow there was on the ground, I left them in my car. A mile and a half back, though, the snow was over half a foot deep. That made for a somewhat rigorous hike, post-holing most of the way. Hmm… with temps above freezing, I would have been lifting a lot of heavy snow had I been wearing the snowshoes. It was a tough call.

A couple days ago, after a late winter storm had dumped another half foot of the white stuff, I went out again. This time there was plenty of snow on the ground, but the trail had been packed down by weekenders, so it was pointless to put on my snowshoes. Once again, I walked instead.

Even though it has been a mild winter, spring has not yet arrived. That said, there are sure signs that it’s right around the corner. Woodpeckers are knocking on hollow trees, the days are over eleven hours long, and the sun on cloudless days is very strong. I stopped on a footbridge during my walk to relish the open leads of water in the rivulet below. A few more days with temps above freezing could melt away all the snow around me. Some years it happens fast.

I’m looking forward to tramping in cold mud again but walking through the woods on a sunny day without sinking into the snow is pleasant enough. And the forest silence always works its magic no matter what time of year it is. Breathing fresh air, stretching my legs, and running wild for a couple hours – sometimes that’s all it takes to make my day. It’s a good thing to be alive and well in Vermont woods when the sap is running, even if you don’t tap into a maple tree.

Tags: signs of spring, Vermont woods, winter hiking

Yesterday while shoveling the driveway, it suddenly occurred to me that I was enjoying it. Not only the task at hand, but the bright sunlight breaking through the leafless trees, the blanket of fresh snow covering everything, and even the nip in the air. The air was completely still so 10 degrees didn’t feel bad at all. A finger frostbitten in years past ached a bit, but I was dressed for the weather and quite comfortable overall. I was quite comfortable despite the sweat soaking my undershirt as I worked.

Enjoying winter… What’s wrong with me?

My plow guy had cleared most of the storm’s accumulation from my driveway the night before, but there were still a couple inches of snow to push around. Instead of calling him back for a second swipe, I took care of it. Two hours of upper-body exercise – that’s how I approached the task. And lots of fresh, clean air to breathe.

It has been a mild winter this year so I’m reluctant to say that I enjoy the season, now and forever. I’ve never been a big fan of winter in the past. But after living 40 years in northern Vermont, the long white has grown on me. I wouldn’t want to live in a place where it never snows. The darkness of December still gets to me, but by February winter is just heavy precipitation and frigid temps. And springtime is right around the corner.

Part of my change of heart is due to getting older, I think. Now that I am keenly aware of my mortality, each and every day is precious. And there are simple pleasures to be had in every season. Sometimes sitting indoors sipping tea while a great wind blows is pleasure enough. The other day we lost power for a couple hours and I ended up reading by headlamp before going to bed. That wasn’t bad at all.

I still prefer spring to any other season and look forward to that unfolding soon. But these last days of winter are fine by me. Who knows? I just might break out my snowshoes and put them to good use before the big melt off happens. I’ll get a lot more reading and writing done during the next month regardless.

Tags: daylight, seasons, simple pleasures, snow, Vermont, winter