Yesterday I hit the trail after work for the first time in exactly 3 weeks. This is yet another, likely boring post about that trek, but if you stay you may learn some things, or at least enjoy a little bit of something.
As mentioned I headed out after work to get a ‘quick’ hike in before the sunsets. This time of year the sun sets early and it is a race, as the hike takes me through fields, and up and down ravens. Within the depths of the raven, the sun is almost always hidden during this time of day. Like victims running for shelter from vampires, I race to get this hike done before the inevitable sun sets on this day.
Leaving the parking lot I quickly realized that leaving my gloves was a mistake. It was in the mid-’30s, but thankfully no wind. The cold does not bother me, the wind does. Ironically in autumn and spring, the wind is what I love the most. In winter and summer not so much.
As I reached the gravel the thud of my boots and crunch of the stones beneath them echoed off the surrounding trees. It seemed to be louder than normal, so I moved off the path and onto the grass. I could see the end of the gravel path so eventually, I made it back on a familiar dirt path. I noticed as I moved along there were small sections of mud below me and I did my best to avoid them. I saw patches of snow, ice, dirt, and mud, which always amazes me. Cold enough for snow/ice, but warm enough for mud. Nature is amazing.
I eventually reached the opening to the woods and slowly entered. I was beginning to warm up and no longer felt the burn of my hands but began getting another pain. The scary one. Pain in my chest. After a few fearful moments, I noticed the pain came when I took a breath in. My lungs were not used to this cold air, but I will take this over the thick humidity that will be here in a few short months. One thing I have always enjoyed about winter (growing up with asthma), is that the cold air allows me to breathe easier, but as I learned today I also have to prepare myself for that cold blast of air entering my lungs going forward.
Moving down the path the sun was directly shining in my eyes. My glasses ‘transitioned’ to a dark tint and I saw nothing around me. My only reprieve was when the many trees provided brief snippets of shadow, blocking out the sun. It reminded me of a strobe light flashing. Light, dark, light, dark, over and over as I moved. I eventually dropped in elevation below the ridge which hid the sunlight from me. I had gone about a mile and this is when my mind started to drift into what I can best describe as daydreaming, possibly dreaming, unconsciousness or a form of meditation.
Now that I could see, my eyes surveyed the terrain for possible pictures. I look down, left, right and up. I noticed a plane far up in the sky. It had a small contrail behind it and I started thinking about that plane. Where was it going? Were people on board going somewhere on vacation (it is Tuesday remember) or on business? Where did the plane leave from? These thoughts drifted from the plane to my upcoming trips to the mountains in March and on my first cruise in July. My hotels for my March trip are booked, paid for and the agenda is set (depending on weather). We will be visiting previous spots like Greenbrier TN, Max Patch Bald, NC, Black Balsam Knob, NC, Damascus, VA, and one of the new places I look forward to is Roan Mountain. We will be hitting the Appalachian Trail a few times. That trail owns my soul (sorry dear).
My scattered thoughts then drifted to thinking about the upcoming cruise I will be taking and more specifically the destinations. Three places, in particular, are what have me excited about this trip. Bar Harbor Maine, Halifax Nova Scotia, Saint John New Brunswick are the three destinations. I am excited about the possible photo opportunities and have told my wife that my goal when hitting the shore is to take pictures first, and family activities a distant second. This may be rude but we will have all that family time on the ship together. We will find a balance for sure.
I was soon shocked back to reality as the toe of my boot caught a protruding tree root and I tripped but didn’t fall. I found that I now had reached the back of the trail, had turned and was heading back to the front of the property. I had hiked about ¾ a mile since I flowed into unconsciousness and do not remember seeing any of it. My mind is powerful (not in an intelligent way), but more in an all-consuming type of way. Have you ever driven somewhere and not remember the drive or how you got there? That is what happens to me when entering this state of mind. Time disappears for me.
The return to my car led me down paths of mud, with cracks of ice giving way under the weight of my body. I moved up and down familiar hills, but today’s views were different. The lake was partially frozen. The setting sun bounced off the ice, still unfrozen water, and things around me appeared to glow. The stark contrast of cold blues shown through the ice and water, whereas the warm browns and yellows provided by the setting sun, was something I relished. This made me think of something a friend Tesa told me today. “Many of us miss that serenity you experience.” I am not sure how I feel about that, but I do know photography has taught me to see things I would have missed before. I think this applies to nature, to looking internally at myself and how I see others. I do appreciate her observation and compliment.
I will leave you with a partial quote from the poem Trees by Joyce Kilmer “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree…”
Until next time,
Tim
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