Nov 23 2024
In the Sticks
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.
