Woods Wanderer

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

Yesterday Judy and I went for a walk around Aldis Hill. Our dog Matika came with us, of course. There was rain in the forecast so we wasted no time getting out of the house. We knew we wouldn’t be in the mood to go anywhere once it started.

The early morning mosquitoes were there to greet us. We did our best to ignore them, focusing upon the lush forest instead. Recent rains have brought all the vegetation to life. I can’t remember the last time the woods looked this green.

Judy skirted the mud holes; Matika went right through them. I did something in between. One’s attitude towards mud often reflects one’s beastliness. I’m not quite sure why.

Daisies and buttercups were in full bloom on the grassy top of the Hard’ack ski slope we crossed, but the wildflowers that cover the forest floor in late spring were nearly gone. With the Summer Solstice only a few days away, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. That said, I am always amazed by how quickly the warm season goes by. There’s not a day to be wasted.

Lately I’ve been too busy promoting my new book, The Allure of Deep Woods, to get into the mountains as much as I like this time of year. In lieu of deep woods, I slip away to nearby pockets of wildness whenever I can. There is something ironic about this to be sure. No matter. Aldis Hill and places like it are enough for now.

Tags: hiking, seasonal change, wildflowers, wildness

During a recent trip to the Maine coast, my wife Judy and I signed up for a ride on a 55-foot schooner. Funny thing about sailing, you can’t come and go as you please. We had to wait two days for fair wind. Even then, there was no telling where we’d end up.

While Judy gravitates to the Atlantic shore with all its beaches, salt marshes and waves crashing against rocks, I’m more at home in the woods. We both get what we want while exploring the many parts of the Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge scattered along the southern Maine coast. That said, it’s good to step out and try something different every once in a while.

Sailing is definitely something different for a landlubber like me. From the moment the boat pulled away from shore, I felt exposed. The ocean is big and dangerous. Nothing but water below and sky above. As we motored out of the harbor, I tried to shelve my apprehension and enjoy the cruise.

Shortly after gaining the open sea, the captain cut the engine and ordered the crew to raise the sails. Then everything changed. Suddenly the wind was carrying us along. The schooner rose and fell rhythmically as it rode the waves. The sun shined brightly through the cloudless sky, a gentle breeze caressed our faces, and the coast rolled past slowly. The sails flapped quietly in the wind as we changed course. And all our hard, land-bound concerns faded away.

Judy was napping in the lifeboat by the time we turned back towards shore. I couldn’t stop smiling. After the sail, we wandered along the coast aimlessly. We could do nothing but eat, drink and be happy. The ocean had massaged us. We were putty in its hands.

Tags: Atlantic Ocean, Maine coast, sailing

My narrative about hiking the Northville/Placid Trail, The Allure of Deep Woods, is now in print. I couldn’t be happier. The folks at North Country Books did a fine job with it.

The NPT passes through some of the most beautiful country in upstate New York’s Adirondack Park, traversing one wild forest and four wilderness areas. I was wet and muddy during most of that two-week trip but didn’t care. Just thinking about it makes me want to plan another big outing. What’s wrong with me?

As most of you know, I can’t walk a mile without making an observation about the natural world, commenting on the importance of wildness, or breaking into some historical rant. This book is chock full of it. I didn’t hold back.

You can order a copy by calling North Country Books at (315) 735-4877, or going to my website: woodthrushbooks.com. Enjoy!

Tags: Adirondacks, backpacking, nature writing, Northville/Placid Trail, wilderness, wilderness travel

Instead of hiking a well-maintained trail as planned, I changed my mind yesterday morning and opted for a bushwhack along a favorite mountain brook. Glad I did. A great weight lifted from my shoulders the moment I stepped into the trackless forest.

A carpet of foamflower in full bloom was there to greet me. The mountain brook, bank-full from the previous night’s storm, roared nearby. The intoxicating smell of ozone and raw earth hung thickly in the air. And when a vireo called out, its wildly undulating song filling the trees, I too felt like singing.

The dripping understory soaked my pants. Soon my shirt was damp with sweat. I crossed the brook several times to avoid the mudslides on steep slopes, thereby drenching my boots. After tramping for an hour and a half, I knelt down beside the brook and dunked my head to cool off. Then I was wet from head to toe.

I howled with delight as my eyes drank in the brilliant green world surrounding me.  I reveled in the wildness of it all – the mud, the bugs, unfurling ferns, rotting wood and leaf litter, moss-covered stones, songbirds, wildflowers and all the rest. I was crazy happy, or was it only the ozone going to my head?

Springtime in the Green Mountains. It doesn’t get much better than this. I hiked out a much healthier man.

Tags: bushwhacking, Green Mountains, mountain stream, springtime, the forest, wildflowers

A tidal wave of green sweeps through the Champlain Valley during a succession of warm, dry days, giving me a serious case of spring fever. There’s no sense fighting it. I load my backpack, usher my dog into the car and head for the hills. Next thing I know, I’m hiking up a logging road winding deep into the mountains.

The road narrows to a trail shortly after crossing a brook. I leave the trail, following the brook upstream until I reach the edge of spring. There I find painted trilliums just opening up. There I set up my tarp on a high piece of ground, just in case the clouds gathering overhead deliver the rain that has been forecasted.

The stream rushes along incessantly. A few black flies swirl around my head without biting. I collect enough dry wood to keep a small fire going after dinner. Matika chews a stick, then another. The intoxicating smell of pollen, warm earth and forest rot fills the air. A slight breeze spits a few raindrops my way. I don’t care.

I feed sticks into the campfire for hours on end. A hermit thrush sings in the distance. Darkness descends. Then an eerie calm overtakes the forest.

A light rain falls shortly after Matika and I slip beneath the tarp for the night. It doesn’t last. I toss and turn a while before falling into a deep sleep. I awaken to a Virginia waterthrush singing loudly at daybreak. Matika licks me until I rise.

I stumble down to the brook to splash cold water into my face. The sun clears the ridge, peeking through the trees as I lounge before a breakfast campfire. When all the sticks in my woodpile are gone, I break camp.

An hour hike out takes two hours. I admire a patch of bleeding hearts along the way and stop by the brook crossing to daydream. Matika sniffs around. A forest calm lingers within long after I return to the car. The green overtaking the valley seems richer than it was the day before. I revel in it.

Tags: backpacking, campfire, Green Mountains, hiking with dogs, mountain stream, spring fever, springtime

As most of you know by now, my book about hiking the Northville/Placid Trail will be released at the end of this month. In the meantime, check out the guest blog about the NPT that I have written for SectonHiker.com. It was posted earlier today.

Along with an overview of my two-week trek, there are a few photos of the Adirondacks in that guest blog. They give you some idea what the trail is like.

New York’s Adirondack Park is best known for its High Peaks, but the region has so much more to offer. The NPT is a grand tour of the sprawling forests and pristine waters that have attracted outdoor enthusiasts to the Adirondacks for well over a hundred and fifty years. I was fortunate enough to hike NPT in 2006, and have enjoyed many excursions into those deep woods over the years. It is truly magnificent country.

Tags: Adirondacks, backpacking, deep woods, Northville/Placid Trail, wilderness

The forest in April is mostly brown – naked trees, downed branches, patches of cold mud, and bleached leaf litter. My eyes hunger for green. The moss on exposed rock and conifers provide a little color, as do the evergreen ferns still pressed to the ground. But it is fresh verdure that I desire, and the small, delicate wildflowers that arise with it. Therein lies the promise of things to come.

Round-lobed hepatica is the first to bloom. I found the first of that wildflower in a brilliant green patch of wild leeks a week ago. I found it again a few days ago on Aldis Hill, and again while tramping around Niquette Bay. In late April, it seems to be everywhere.

Bloodroot and trilliums have pushed up from the earth, yet their flowers remain closed. It’s as if they don’t trust the season. Spring beauty is much more optimistic. Its tiny, candy-striped flowers appear suddenly one day. I drop to all fours to inhale its sweet perfume and am transformed – the last of winter passing out of me.

But it is always Dutchman’s breeches that take me by surprise. Those clusters of little, creamy pantaloons arise overnight from patches of green leaves growing in the ledges. They are forever maturing, but once they’re here, many other wildflowers soon follow. Already blue cohosh and early meadow rue are unfurling, and the mottled leaves of trout lilies are ubiquitous. Soon saxifrage will appear in the rocks. Soon marsh marigolds will illuminate the low, wet places. Already coltsfoot shines yellow from the dusty roadside ditches. The season is much more advanced than my green-starved eyes are willing to admit.

No matter how carefully I follow the advance of early spring, I always underestimate it. Like most people living in northern climes, I’m impatient this time of year. I so badly want the trees overhead to leaf out that I miss a good deal of what is happening at ground level. Only when I am prone on the forest floor do I fully appreciate it. The earth is brown, yes, yet very much alive.

Tags: forest floor, seasonal change, springtime, wildflowers

Yesterday I went into the woods searching for the sights and sounds of spring. I wasn’t disappointed. Despite naked trees and the conspicuous absence of green, woodpeckers telegraphed their desires, ruffed grouse drummed, and a chorus of spring peepers announced the beginning of the season.

I went searching for vernal pools and found them in likely places – slight depressions in the forest floor where snowmelt collects this time of year, where small colonies of frogs magically appear to croak away any remnant of winter.

I knelt down next to a pool oblivious to the cool dampness still in the earth, and watched the frogs swim about. The water’s surface rippled every time the frogs sprang forth. They croaked alarm to each other regarding my presence then went about their amphibious business unperturbed. I wasn’t a threat as long as I didn’t move.

A bit later, on a south-facing slope soaking up the sun, I found a patch of wild leeks flaunting their verdure. I tore off the tip of one and chewed it. The pungent flavor was both familiar and heartwarming. Then I spotted them: small patches of round-lobed hepatica in bloom among the leeks. Their delicate petals burst forth atop fuzzy stems curling away from the earth. The first wildflower of the year was emerging so early I could hardly believe it.

I left the woods feeling a little giddy. I get that way every time the wild takes me by surprise. I went searching for spring and found more than I could have hoped for. After all these years, you’d think I would have it figured out by now. But there’s something about the natural world that’s eternally new, especially on days like these.

Tags: renewal, signs of spring, spring peepers, vernal pools, wild leeks, wildflowers, wood frogs