Woods Wandering
An excursion into the wildness within
I stepped off the logging road, pushing through a tangle of young spruce blocking the way, and felt my nerves loosen for the first time in months. Springtime verdure was abundant in the lowlands, but in the mountains the leaf buds of the trees were just opening. The chill of winter held fast to the shadowy corners of the forest where patches of dirty snow lingered. I forged ahead, tracing a tiny stream back to its source, guessing that it led to the small, unnamed pond indicated on my topographical map.
I was out for three days in a largely overlooked corner of Groton State Forest in eastern Vermont, with a few essentials stuffed into a small rucksack on my back — just the wild and me. It was almost as good as being back in the Alaskan bush.
The sun broke through the clouds overhead. I broke a sweat, even though I was going only a mile an hour. I stripped off a sweater, stuffed the black bush hat I’d been wearing into my pack, then knelt next to the stream long enough to splash a little water into my face. I let my beard drip dry as I continued uphill, going deeper into the woods.
Pecker Pond
A woodpecker cried in the distance then all was quiet. The ground leveled out. The murmur of the tiny stream faded as it fractured into countless seeps…
