Woods Wanderer

A trace of snow on French Hill. My dog Matika and I tramp down the leaf-strewn trail. No sound except our shuffling through leaves.

Rifle shot in the distance. No matter. We’re wearing bright yellow and blaze orange. No one here but us… and a spooked partridge.

The sun plays peekaboo through the clouds overhead. Dried leaves still clinging to beech trees rattle in a slight breeze. Stick season: the world mostly brown and grey.

The air cold enough to justify the wool and thermal layers I’m wearing. I break a sweat while moving all the same.

Leaving the main trail, I follow the tracks of animals. It’s like this sometimes. Getting out of town isn’t enough. Sometimes I have to leave any semblance of human improvement behind in order to clear my head.

Glad I am not carrying a rifle. I take a few photos but even my camera is a distraction.  I put it away.

In due time I achieve no-mind – the goal of true woods wanderers everywhere. Not so much what I think as what I don’t think… until the forest and I are one, until I have nothing to say. The ancient Chinese wanderer Han Shan would approve.

I wander aimlessly. Oh yes, now I remember: the wild defines me.

Tags: forest solitude, immediacy, woods wandering

Yesterday I drove to New Hampshire to scout the trailheads and exit points of the Cohos Trail in anticipation of hiking it next year. I took my dog Matika with me even though the trip was more about driving than hiking. She didn’t complain.

With temps in the 40s, snow in the higher elevations, and all the leaves on the ground, it felt more like November than October in the White Mountains.  No matter.  I was able to get a good feel for the landscape.  There is plenty of rugged, remote country north of the ever-popular Presidential Range. I look forward to immersing myself in it.

Halfway through my scouting trip, I grabbed my rucksack and headed south along a yellow-blazed trail hugging South Pond for a short while.  Both Matika and I needed to stretch our legs and South Pond seemed like a good place to do that. The recreation area where I parked the car was completely abandoned and the shoreline trail looked very inviting.  I’m sure South Pond will look completely different to me when I’m trekking through here with a full load on my back, finishing a leg of the CT next year. The terrain always looks different when I’m making tracks.

After finding the exit point at Dixville Notch, thus completing my scouting trip, I marveled at how new the Cohos Trail is.  Aside from the yellow blazes, one wouldn’t know that such a trail even exists.  It’s definitely a work in progress, and not for those who like to plod mindlessly along a well-beaten path. But northern New Hampshire seethes wildness, which is why I am drawn to it.  And soon enough I’ll be following those yellow blazes for days on end.

Tags: Cohos Trail, New Hampshire, White Mountains, wildness

On a balmy, partly cloudy day, while driving around the Champlain Islands admiring autumnal color with my wife Judy, I detoured to Isle La Motte to check out a rare geological phenomenon called Chazy Reef.  It’s the stony remnant of a coral reef that existed 480 million years ago, transported to Lake Champlain by the movements of Earth’s tectonic plates. Well aware of it for many years, I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

I parked the car at the entrance to Fisk Quarry, where more practical folk once cut and removed stones for buildings. It is now a preserve and national landmark – one of two in the area. Judy stayed in the car, more interested in the here/now than fossils. I understand. Like gazing at the stars, any venture into the depths of natural history is an exercise in imagination. What one sees is only a rough sketch of what once was.

At first I saw nothing as I walked around the preserve. After all, I have only a layman’s understanding of geology. Then I spotted a swirl embedded in solid rock. Then another, and another. The skeptic in me assumed that someone had carved them, but a closer look dismissed that notion. I knelt down and touched those ghostly apparitions, half expecting them to disappear when I did so. My fingers traced the fossils as if reading braille. Then I got it.  That is, I sensed an order to things in a world that so often appears to be utterly random and chaotic.

Truth is I have always been something of a pantheist. I don’t particularly like that label, but it comes closest to describing what I feel during those precious moments when I see the hand of God in nature, when the yawning chasm between mathematics and mysticism suddenly vanishes and I understand, on some level, how everything connects.

The swirls I saw in the rock, the vague outlines of marine creatures that lived hundreds of millions of years ago, remind me of the swirls of hurricanes and galaxies. There are forces at work in the universe that press our ability to reason to its limit. And when confronted by the Real, all I can do is genuflect. Nature, it seems, is wilder than our wildest imagination.

Tags: Chazy Reef, fossils, Lake Champlain, natural religion, pantheism

I am pleased to announce that Walt Franklin’s fine collection of fly-fishing essays, River’s Edge, has been reprinted. I first published this book under the Wood Thrush Books imprint back in 2008, but now it is available at Amazon.com as well as the WTB website. And it will stay that way indefinitely.

River’s Edge is primarily about the joy of fishing for trout on thirty streams, both large and small, in northern Pennsylvania and upstate New York. But Franklin also does an excellent job seasoning detailed descriptions of his outings with cultural observations, natural history, and streamside ecology. There is plenty of fly-fishing lore thrown in for good measure.

Franklin and I have been friends ever since we encountered each other’s writing back in the early 90s and started corresponding. Through the years we’ve gotten together many times to hike, fish, drink beer, and talk literature. I’ve learned a lot about fly-fishing from Walt. In fact, it was he who taught me the mysterious ways of aquatic flies when I first took up the sport.

In addition to fishing narratives, Franklin also writes travel essays and nature-related verse. To promote these books, I have added a new section at the Wood Thrush Books website: Other Books by Walt Franklin. Check it out. I will soon have these books in stock. In the meantime, you can sample River’s Edge by going to Amazon.com and clicking on the “Look inside” button. Or you can visit his blog site, Rivertop Rambles.  If you’re the least bit interested in fly-fishing, you won’t be disappointed.

Tags: fly fishing, nature essays, River's Edge, trout fishing, Walt Franklin

At long last, Judy and I went for an overnighter. We had planned on doing so this summer, and had tried again Labor Day, but circumstances kept preventing it. No matter. With unseasonably warm temps holding, we cancelled appointments, shouldered our packs and slipped into the woods together.

We have a favorite spot next to a mountain brook where we like to camp. Although there’s nothing special about it, we’ve infused the place with fond memories through the years. As a consequence it has become our number one destination whenever we feel the need to get away.

A hard September frost brought out autumnal color earlier than usual. The forest canopy was a beautiful mix of green and gold leaves. The stream, though running low, broke over and around rocks as it made its way downhill. The sound of it unraveled our nerves. We sat back and let rushing water work its magic.

As the forest filled with evening shadows, Judy and I conjured up a small campfire. We kept it going well past dinner – flickering flames dancing in the darkness. With each stick thrown on the fire we grew more reflective, more philosophical, slowly gaining perspective on the world beyond the forest. Campfire gazing is like that sometimes. While meaning with a capital “M” was not forthcoming, we went to bed with a better bead on things. And the incessant rush of the nearby stream washed away all worry.

The next day we sat all morning and part of the afternoon, tending the fire and listening to the brook. Eventually we broke camp and hiked out. Then we returned home refreshed, though we’d be hard pressed to explain why.  Every woods retreat is like that.  Simply reconnecting with the wild seems to do the trick.

Tags: campfire, camping, mountain stream, reflection, woods retreat

Strong winds the past few days have knocked leaves to the ground, making it clear at a glance exactly what time of year it is. The leaves are both green and colorful – both reminiscent of summer and harbingers of autumn.

Light and dark are in balance now, along with warmth and cold.  Since late August I have been bemoaning the passing of summer, which is always too short here in northern New England. But while meandering along a local trail, a part of me comes to accept it. After all, a fall forest has its delights. Best to look forward to that.

Autumnal Equinox. Already a hard frost has stricken my garden, and I’ve closed up my house more than once. During the day I open windows to catch the moody breezes, but at night I close them again. So it goes during these harvest days.

Soon I’ll be hard at my literary work. I’ve already begun, actually. It’s easy to sit down at my desk and write when it’s chilly, raining and the wind is howling.  It will be even easier when the snow flies. But there are a few sunny, warm days ahead, no doubt. I’ll be sure to put my pen aside when they come along.

Tags: autumnal equinox, leaves, seasonal change

Monday morning I stuffed a few essentials into my rucksack and headed for the hills. I had plenty to do at home, but when the wild beckons the work can wait. I was overdue for a night alone in the woods.

I had my canine companion Matika with me, of course. Together we humped up the Long Trail two and a half miles from the trailhead parking lot to a small stream called French Hill Brook. From there we bushwhacked west, following the stream until I found a nice place to camp.

I didn’t set up camp right away. Instead I left my rucksack leaning against a tree and fished the brook for a while. In most places the overhanging vegetation made it difficult to cast, but I stumbled upon a few large holes where I could present my fly properly. There a couple wild trout rose to it, taking me by surprise. I didn’t expect to find 7 to 9-inch brookies this high up. I pulled them out of the water long enough to admire their beautiful markings then put them back.

I set up camp as late afternoon shadows overtook the forest. Matika lounged about, chewing on some of my firewood. Then I settled in for dinner and a little campfire meditation. The fire burned away all my concerns as I fed sticks into it. After the sun departed, a full moon rose into the cobalt sky. It’s light filtered through the trees. A cool September breeze kicked up. In the cusp between summer and fall… I reveled in it.

Up at daybreak, I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before breaking camp. The hike out was easy: downhill all the way. Soon I was back home and getting ready for a half-day shift at the store. No matter. I got my fix of wildness so I’m all set for a while.

Tags: backpacking, brook trout, fly fishing, hiking with dogs, primitive camping

It’s a warm, very humid morning and I’m as restless as my dog Matika. We need to stretch our legs. Have to do a shift at the store later on so I should stay close to home.  With that in mind, I head for a town forest only a ten-minute drive away.

The trail system in the town forest has been forgotten. Either that or no one has gotten around to improving it yet. Not that it matters. When I’m in the mood to wander, the slightest hint of a trail will do. Don’t even need that, really.

Having only been here one time before, I wander in circles. That’s how I get to know a place. I check my compass regularly to keep myself oriented. I visit the small pond twice and loop back to the parking lot three times before it’s clear just how small this town forest is. Fine by me. This is all I need today.

I wonder as I wander, allowing my train of thought to loop around and crisscross as the trail system does. This is how, as a thinker/writer, I orient myself. It’s September now and I’ll soon be returning to my literary work. Although it’s still technically summer for another three weeks, I’m feeling the tug of autumn.

I return to the car soaked in sweat then head back home to make plans for the months ahead. What’s the best use of my time? That’s the driving question. As I grow older, this puzzle becomes more difficult to solve. So much depends upon what one holds dear, and at my age the list is long.

Tags: thinking ahead, town forest, train of thought, woods wandering

A warm summer day. Not a cloud in the sky. After dinner Judy and I go for a walk on the Rail Trail. Our dog Matika is excited by the prospect, having been cooped up in the house all week. She bounds ahead as we amble along the path. Crickets, the smell of cow manure, and a low-hanging sun that sets the surrounding verdure aflame: Vermont at the end of the day in late August.

I look around for blue asters – that unmistakable indicator of the season coming to an end. I don’t see it. Instead I find Queen Anne’s lace, bladder campion, and a few other wildflowers that have filled the fields and lined pathways all summer long. Goldenrod is in its glory, of course. It’s that time of year.

When the trail enters the forest, I sense the air getting warmer. It’s more humid, actually. Both Judy’s eyeglasses and mine fog up. And the mosquitoes come out. No matter. We keep walking.

Having broken a sweat I suggest that we turn around. Judy wants to go a little farther. We go as far as the cluster of houses just beyond the wild, wooded section of the trail. That’s when I find a patch of blue asters barely discernible in the fading light. Yeah, the season is winding down.

On the way back to the car, we spot an owl flying low through the dark woods. It lets out a high-pitched screech after landing on a limb. In the semidarkness all we can see is its silhouette, yet the way that stealthy predator dips its round head is unmistakable. The owl flies off silently into the night.

We catch a sliver of bright orange light on the western horizon while finishing our walk, then relive some of the highlights of our grandkid’s visit as we drive home. It all happened so quickly.

Tags: barn owl, dusk, late summer, walking, wildflowers

For ten years Judy and I have had our grandkids stay with us for several days during the summer – no parents allowed. This year we decided to change the game a bit. We would pack up all six of them, along with the necessary gear, and take them camping. But a rainy forecast nixed our plans so we opted for the next best thing. We rented a primitive cabin in the woods and took them there instead. No electricity, no running water, and we didn’t have a chance to check out the place ahead of time. It was a risk to be sure.

The kids were excited when we got there. The cabin overlooked a 2-acre pond. We had it all to ourselves. After helping Judy and I haul food and gear into the cabin, they gravitated to the water. The older kids kayaked while the younger ones fished. Then they swam out to the floating platform to play. A light rain fell but they didn’t care.

We ate dinner by candlelight. Judy played charades with the kids while I cleaned up. Some of the kids slept with me in the loft. The others slept with Judy in the bunkroom. Rain pelted the cabin’s metal roof that night, assuring Judy and I that we’d made the right choice.

The next day the rain let up so we all went hiking. That evening I built a campfire in the fire pit next to the pond. After dinner, when it grew dark, we roasted marshmallows and told stories. It wasn’t easy getting them to settle down and sleep that night.

After playing on and around the pond in the morning, we packed up and left just as it started raining again. Everyone was glad to take a hot shower when we got home. All the same, the kids want to go back there next year.

It wasn’t what Judy and I had planned but it worked out better than we could have hoped. The kids took to the natural setting as if they had been born to it. One could make a strong argument that all kids are.

Tags: children and nature