Daylight Savings Time ends and suddenly it’s dark very early in the evening. This always comes as a shock, even though we know it’s coming. Our bodies take a week or so to adjust. But the upside to a morning person like me is that the sun comes up earlier, as well. That means I’m able to catch some beautiful sunrises right before breakfast.
The delightfully colorful fall foliage doesn’t last long here in northern Vermont – a few weeks at best. A couple days of strong winds and the leaves start raining down, exposing naked branches. The trees will stay naked for the next six months. That’s a sober thought.
A hard frost struck a few days ago, a little later than usual. Now the mums I planted in my front yard are dying back, as is all other vegetation. The growing season is over for the year.
I’m scrambling to winterize both house and yard. Took in the garden hoses yesterday, along with the patio furniture. Will seal up the windows and put up driveway markers for the snowplow guy. Yeah, the white stuff will appear very soon.
I’ll be wearing blaze orange during my next hike. Deer hunters will be all over the woods in a week or so. Meanwhile others are getting ready for the holidays. For some people, Christmas is the best time of year. That’s only seven weeks away.
There are still a few relatively warm days left, when a flannel shirt, a sweater or a light jacket is all one needs to be comfortable outdoors. I cherish these bittersweet days as most nature-lovers do. I like kicking up leaves while walking through the woods this time of year. There will be plenty of time to enjoy indoor light and warmth during the frigid months ahead. No need to rush into that.
After shipping out packages, I head for the nearby town forest to stretch my legs. No rain today – a rare event lately – with temps up around 50. Not a day to be wasted.
I put blaze orange on myself then on my dog Matika. Not likely that hunters will be in the woods in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, before rifle season opens, but why take the chance? The extra layer is no big deal.
I kick up dry leaves while hiking along the barely discernible trail. The forest smells like autumn, like so many leaves slowly rotting away. A sliver of blue sky peeks through the otherwise gray sky overhead. A strong November wind kicks up, clattering the naked branches and rattling the beech leaves still clinging to trees. The wind feels ominous, but not as a mere threat of rain. It feels like winter is blowing in. I’m not fooled by the warm temps. That’s temporary.
The forest is lit by muted light. Daylight Savings Time started last weekend so now the sun sets at 4:30. That’s less than 2 hours away. A short day. And a parade of long nights directly ahead.
Pensive and quiet, I finish the hike a little sooner than expected. My old dog has a hard time getting back into the car. I help her up, then get in and drive away.
Shortly after cresting French Hill, I catch the sun breaking through the clouds in the western sky, illuminating Lake Champlain in the distance. The wind is still blowing but it doesn’t matter so much now. I’m okay with it, with the prospect of winter. Yeah, bring it on.
After reading John Burroughs’ Time and Change yesterday morning, I felt an overwhelming urge to get outdoors and stretch my legs. A blue sky underscored the urge. My dog Matika is always ready to go, of course. So we climbed into the car and drove to the pocket of woods on nearby French Hill.
Since it was the first day of deer season, Matika and I wore blaze orange. Usually I stay out of the woods when hunters are in them with high-powered rifles, but yesterday I simply couldn’t resist the urge to tramp through the woods without the constriction of a trail underfoot. I have days when only a good bushwhack will do.
It’s stick season now. All the leaves are down. They rustled loudly as I plowed through them, scaring off the local deer. Gunfire in the distance. Trees threw long shadows across the forest floor at midday, thanks to a drooping, late autumn sun. I crossed an old, stone wall, and that gave me my bearings while skirting a large beaver pond just out of view. Been here before. Without the distraction of a trail, it’s a lot easier to read the terrain.
There’s something about tramping through a trackless forest that calms me as nothing else can. It’s the absolute freedom of movement, I suppose, combined with a total lack of purpose. I tramp therefore I am. There’s nothing more to it than that.
Yet I couldn’t resist following the old logging trail that swept southward back towards the car, even though it muddied both my boots and Matika’s paws. The deer tracks we found there got our attention. And for a short while I was a hunter without a gun. It’s like that sometimes. I go into the woods with one purpose and end up doing something else. That’s what bushwhacking is all about.
Backcountry traveler, freelance writer, and philosopher of wildness, McLaughlin has ventured into the wilds of Southeast Alaska and New York’s Adirondacks as well as the forests of northern New England. More about Walt.
