A January Thaw Solo Outing

THE HIKE IN:

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            It’s a day of cloudless, blue skies.  To my left, and south, is the sun.  It’s just shy of 50 degrees today, warm enough that spiders have been out; their evidence is left in their strands of webbing that catch sunlight as they dance in the slight breeze.  It’s a January thaw for sure.  Ahead of me, to the west, I can hear the geese.  They are no doubt floating the river; the river I won’t be able to get to today.  I’m still a half mile from its banks and have been held back by the flooded backwaters.  I wish now that I had packed my hip boots.  I wouldn’t have been denied.  I had temporarily toyed with the idea of taking off my winter boots, slipping my feet into some plastic grocery bags I had brought along for just such an occasion, and then lace my boots back up.  I would have been able to move through relatively shallow water without getting my feet and socks wet in the still cold water.  This present flooding after the week’s rain and snowmelt, however, would have gone over the tops of my boots, and I still had to cross a meandering creek before reaching the river itself.  Perhaps the next time I’m out here I’ll haul along the extra, and necessary, gear to carry out that endeavor.  To my right, and north, a “murder” of crows must be harassing an owl; they are raucous and carrying on like they do when they’ve discovered a raptor and are trying to blow its cover.

One of The spiders Crawling Across My Journal

            Earlier a herd of deer bounded through the water and marsh grass to the southwest.  I also saw an eagle circling in the easy air currents before drifting off behind me to the east by southeast.  At my back, and east, is a silver maple.  Most of the trees surrounding me are of this species, but I also see some ironwood and have spotted a couple of sycamores.  I knew these sycamores were somewhere nearby as they had dropped their tell-tale leaves; big and broad and just a little smaller than a dinner plate.

            Nuthatches, chickadees, and a northern flicker provide background sounds, accompanied by the rhythmic pecking of a hairy woodpecker and the booming from a pair of barred owls.  These are the serenading calls of comfort and familiarity, and for that I am thankful.

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            I needed a solo outing today.  I needed to engage in a place where my soul can sing and I can immerse myself wholeheartedly.  If I had an entire day of this, from early morning until late at night, I would probably border on calling it a vision quest.  I need the refueling.  All of us do from time to time to do what we do with any amount of passion.  I’d say, “With any amount of rigor” if I dared, but I won’t.  Passion sounds better and rigor seems too much like someone else’s ill-advised goals being enforced upon me.  Rigor tips the scales towards the side of bondage, and so I’m sticking with passion.  Passion involves the heart and the whole person.  Passion is holistic in that way.

            For this reason I’ll simply spend a few hours here.  Sitting on a nylon lined blanket with my dog Kora, I’m on a little, round knoll about a foot up off the level of the water.  It’s just big enough for Kora, and I, and the massive silver maple I mentioned earlier.  It’s all good company.  I imagine this knoll is the remains of a once overturned tree stump, now reduced to a slightly raised bump in the midst of this lowland forest.

            Kora’s been staring back towards the east, along the worn deer trail we had followed in, and that extends now under my feet.  About a half hour after first sitting down to write, two people came fairly close behind me.  I think they may have seen Kora’s head peaking around the trunk of the tree, and backed off and disappeared after that.  On outings like this I try hard to avoid people, so it’s fine with me.  Solitude can be a good thing when one wants to think, relax, and/or write.

            Typically I would have come out earlier today, but I first wanted to run a few miles with a friend, and then I wanted to come out after the sun had warmed the Earth.  I’ll go out in any kind of weather, but it’s exciting to soak up some vitamins from the sun in January.  This is especially true when I want to journal, and hold onto a pen without having to wear my big, leather mittens.

            I’m lying on my side now, with Kora beside me; it’s all about getting comfortable I guess.  Presently the breezes have extended into a slight wind and the branches are rattling together.  Sunlight shines on the waxy, earthbound leaves surrounding my blanket.  Poison ivy shoots extend up out of the ground on either side.  This would not be a place to spend much time during any of the warmer seasons.

            It’s times like today where I wonder if I could ever do do this type of thing for a living.  Not that someone would pay me for the solitude aspect, but the outing itself; bringing others into the great out of doors.  Perhaps it could happen as a second job, or something to fill in the gaps in retirement.  I love the planning, the preparation of the gear, and getting others into wild surroundings.  I’d still save my favorite destinations for special, solo outings such as this.  It would be about the experience, not the specific location.  Getting out into nature; sensing it, capturing it in words or photos, and immersing oneself into what it has to offer, is worthy of sharing.  It’s worthy of sharing with those who have similar interests, and connections, and would appreciate both the outing and the experiences that it has to offer.  It’s also worthy of sharing with those who have no connections what-so-ever, but are willing to risk the chance to attempt a relationship with the natural world.  I suppose it’s something to dream about.  Until then, I’ll continue to soak up today’s sun, and the sneak peak of springlike conditions this January thaw is providing.

            See you along The Way…

Reflection In The Snow

            This afternoon it finally snowed enough for me to break out my cross-country skis.  I went out to a local forest preserve to hit their trails.  From the look of the tracks, only one other person had been out there before me, and we actually went in separate directions after the first mile.  In the open areas along the prairies the snow was deep enough to get a glide going with each push forward.  In the hilly, wooded areas, where it was a little more protected, there was a little less snow.  The depth of the snow would have been more than sufficient with a base of some sort, but without it my skies often times caught bare ground underneath.  The result was a live demonstration of several of Newton’s Laws of Motion.  An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by a force (skis stick, body lurches forward).  For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction (body falls forward and slams into the ground, air is forced from lungs).

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            Anyways, this day is not so much about me, as it was to reflect on simply being outside.  While skiing I reflected on our time together as a family over the holidays.  I also thought about the two separate times I took both of my kids out to the woods.  It was a time to connect, cook a meal, and share an experience together.  It’s something that helps me see the passage of time, the progress made, and the growth that is happening before my very eyes.

            Enjoy the pictures and videos of our adventures; first with Todd on Thursday, December 28^th before he left to go overseas, and then with Jodi on Sunday, January 7^th before she went back to college.

            See you along The Way…

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Todd's Outing - December 28th, 2017

Kora Watching From Her Blanket On A Cold Morning

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Pics from the Past (February 5th, 2005)

One Of Todd's First Cookouts - We've Come So Far!

An Egg Cooked In An Orange Peel As Kati Spots Something  : )

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Jodi's Outing - January 7th, 2018

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Pics from the Past (March 5th, 2005)

Like The Picture Above - Creatively Dreaming On Her First Winter Outing

Jodi And Kati On The Prairie

A Winter Day Road Trip

            When Justin pulled up, his car thermometer said minus eighteen.  It didn’t really matter what it said; it was cold.  Fortunately there was virtually no wind to drive the integers down further.  The air hung with what could only amount to relentless and penetratingly sharp knives.  Tyler, who had been sitting in his truck out in front of our house, got out and joined us; as did Doug once he parked behind Tyler’s truck.  The gear I had put together, and the food I had prepared, was loaded into the back of Justin’s vehicle.  Four guys in an SUV, on a road trip (for a few hours), in freezing cold temperatures; this was going to be perfect!

            We drove north of the Stateline border, and soon after, broke out the Clementine oranges I had brought for each of us.  This time of the year they are succulent, and that’s how they tasted.  We talked, and enjoyed the drive; arriving in a little less than an hour.

Myself, Justin, Tyler, and Doug

            We left most of our gear and the food for later, and instead pulled on our extra layers and headed out onto the lake.  The ice was thick, and coated with several inches of snow that was dry and powdered into fine crystals from the recent Arctic blasts these past few weeks.  As a group of four we crossed the lake and delved into the red osier thicket.  Keeping the sun on our left side, at a 10 to 11 o’clock position, we hiked southward.

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            A few years ago my cousin Sean had remarked that, “It’s like being birthed from a pine tree,” as we had pushed through a thick swamp into a newly found section of a favorite river to fish for trout.  Today we felt as though we were being birthed from the dogwood.  It required the lead guy to look for gaps in the network of branches as we followed behind in a snaking, single file.  A lot of bending, twisting, and maneuvering likened us to a yoga instructor; bent on limbering up every major muscle group in our bodies.  Somehow Tyler and Doug did all of this gripping onto their steel thermos of coffee, while Justin and I took turns thrashing through the brush.  Together, Justin and I knew what we were doing.  We had learned from our experience last year when we had endured the same exact thing.  To help Doug and Tyler fully appreciate what we were doing, we purposely repeated the same trek.

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              About a mile from where we had parked we burst out upon an open area with a frozen pond.  It was a relief, felt from all four of us, that we had made it through.  Each of us, however, was suffering with either cold toes or fingers to some degree or another despite our movement.  Our core was staying warm, but after taking some pictures, we followed an outlet creek that led back to the original lake.  Despite the bright sun, in a clear blue sky, we needed to get back and get a fire started to reheat our phalanges.  Luckily, as Justin and I had also known, the walking was much easier in this section of our return trip.

A Dead Deer

Coyote Tracks

            The sun on the frosted grasses along the creek side provided us some opportunities to take some great pictures.  Although it was cold, the creek with its moving water remained open.  We also found a frozen, dead deer which had been fed upon by coyotes, as evidenced by the crisscrossing and dog-like tracks.  It was a visual for the circle of life.  Pushing on, we returned to the parking lot.  We grabbed my sled, and loaded some firewood I’d brought, along with the chopped up food and cooking utensils.  We returned to the far side of the lake, just outside of the community of ice shanties, and quickly built a fire out on the ice.

            While we were in preparation, two fishermen came over to see what we were doing.  They had caught one fish so far using their tip-ups.  We explained that we were just out to cook some breakfast.  Laughing, we all agreed that it probably seemed crazy to anyone that might be looking at us out on the lake on a frigid day like today, whether we were fishing, hiking, or cooking.  When we mentioned that we were teachers from just over the Stateline, one of the men mentioned that his dad had been an administrator at a small school district near where we all lived.  It turned out that he had been at the district we were each connected to.  In fact, I knew of his dad.  He had retired just two years before I had been hired.  Together, we both mentioned beloved teachers by name that he was familiar with.  They were the teachers that had provided the foundation for our school and district.  It was bizarre, and caused me to once again remember that the world is indeed small.

            Here I was on a frozen lake, for all intents and purposes, a long way from nowhere (which is why we like it), sharing memories of people from a time when our district was small and practically like family.  At the same time, here I was with a group of guys embodying an excerpt of that vision of unity, only decades later.  The vision or dream can live on.  The dream simply has to be an action step.  It comes in different forms, but an effective vision for doing life together is essential to truly be successful.  Actually, doing life together on any level must be relational if it is to be anything close to successful or hold any meaning at all.  And in order to be relational and family-like, people must have a desire to want to spend time getting to know each other.  We shook hands and waved goodbye as they turned to make their way back to their fish shanty.

            The four of us did our best to warm by the fire while cooking on the coals.  I’ve sometimes thought I should mix up the menu of what I prepare, but the other three quickly said, “No,” that it should remain as it is.  I conceded and agreed.  On the giant iron skillet, the food came out perfectly this time, and we let the meal and taste permeate the pores of our mouths and stomachs.  We topped it off with two cups of hot chocolate.  Tyler and Doug accidentally switched their monogrammed mugs, but they said that each other’s cocoa tasted just fine.  The warmth of the moment, and the experience of our little adventure, was just short of motivational.

            We kicked out the fire, packed our gear, and headed off the ice.  Once we loaded up, and climbed inside the SUV, we quickly felt the sun’s warmth through the windows coupled with the vehicle’s heater.  We each had one more Clementine orange together with a container of cookies from Doug’s wife.  To the background sounds of a podcast about a guy who had survived a bear attack, we talked and drove home.  Today was indeed cold, but it is destined to be long remembered as a classic road trip.

            See you along The Way…

A New Year Full Moon

            Tonight we have a Super Moon.  It’s the moon that shows itself as the largest and brightest full moon throughout this entire year.  That’s a pretty amazing feat considering this is the first day of the year, and we still have 364 days to go.  It’s also known as the Full Wolf Moon.  I probably tend to favor that name a bit more.  The use of the word “wolf” apparently was due to the howling wolves that would lift their noses in communication just beyond the outskirts of Native American villages; during this time of the year when temperatures were cold and bellies grew taut. 

            Today has indeed been cold.  It’s the kind of day when I would have loved to build a fire in the fireplace, except that without encased glass doors, our already over worked furnace would have been pumping the heat straight up the chimney with the smoke.  The immediate room would have been toasty warm, but the rest of the house would have been left frigid at best.  We had a great fire in the fireplace several nights ago while playing dominos with some friends.  The memories of that fire and evening will have to suffice on a day like today.  
            This morning I also opted not to run the trails of our local forest preserve, as it was negative eleven out, with a negative twenty-eight wind chill.  Instead, I busied myself in mindless tasks to pass the time, and watched several shows in a row about people living up around the Arctic Circle.  It seemed appropriate for the type of day we were having.  I then turned to the Outback Bowl where Michigan and South Carolina were playing each other down in Tampa, Florida.  These days I really don’t like to waste daylight on an entire football game.  I sometimes decide to watch parts of a game, or catch an evening game before going to bed, but I decided to invest in this bowl game since one of the teams was from my home state.  As I later texted some of my family and friends, however, I’m not sure that it was worthy of my time and energy.  So, when the final seconds of the game ticked off the clock, I vowed not to let the game dictate my emotions for the rest of the day, and turned my attention to cleaning up the kitchen and some of my outdoor gear from a recent outing a few days ago.  Then I dressed in extra layers, packed my backpack with a jug of water, my camping mug, an aluminum cooking pot, and a packet of cocoa for hot chocolate.

Rodent Tracks Into The Corn

Mice Leave Marks Of Their Tail

            I hiked down to our nearby creek just as the sun’s final rays were extending up over the horizon.  The moon came up in the Northeast at about that same time; the “Super-Wolf Moon.”  I crossed the creek several times on its frozen pathway, until I came to a favorite section.  It’s a ribbon of woods really, sandwiched with the creek between two farm fields.  But, it’s what I have readily available within walking distance, and so without the mountain ranges, boreal forests or tundra, and several feet of snow, it’s the best that I’ve got.  Cold is still cold no matter where you might be.

The Rising Super-Wolf Moon

View From The Frozen Creek

The Sunset

The Moonrise

            I kicked away the snow and leaves, circled some rocks I specifically keep against the base of a tree, started a fire, and began heating the water in the aluminum pot.  Periodically I put my hands over the fire to get them to work again.  Freezing temperatures do a number on finger joints.  Once the water had heated, I poured it into a mug where I had already added the cocoa, and stirred it with a spoon I had also brought along.  As I sipped it, the shadows grew defined by the light of the moon through the cold, clear sky.  The long shadows of the trees extended out across the white blanket of snow around my fire.  A “blanket of snow” is such a funny description this time of the year and in these temperatures.  As if the snow keeps the ground exceptionally warm.  Still, the shadows on the snow added to the already surreal atmosphere.

Heating The Water For Cocoa

Fire Light Reflected On The Snow

Warming My Hands

            After drinking the last of the cocoa, I flicked the remaining drips into the frozen air, refilled my backpack with the supplies, rehid the rocks, and kicked out the fire.  I decided to jog back home after making my way through the trees and over the frozen creek.  It was dark, but I had the light from the moon to see.  I was hoping the light running would warm my toes.  My boots have a reasonably high percentage of Thinsulate at 800 grams, but they are older, and have broken down some to the point where they don’t always keep my feet as warm as they should.  I got my feet frostbitten in high school as a kid.  I wish I could say it happened doing something heroic, but it was simply from enduring a typical Northern Michigan fall day.   My toes, and various parts of my feet, literally got frozen while performing during a marching band halftime show for our football team.  As the snow fell, we dumped our prearranged songs and broke out Christmas carols to entertain the crowd.  Along with the rest of the band, we played wearing thin, black shoes that matched our awesome looking uniforms.  Unfortunately it wasn’t really winter attire.  The rest is history; albeit a bit painful to recall at times.

            Today I apparently made the simple mistake of cheering for Michigan, when in fact I should have been engaging with my Michigan bloodline and the call of the out-of-doors.  I would say, “That’s my bad,” but as it turned out it became, “My good!”  Thank goodness I regained my senses in time and answered the call to go outside before it was too late.  The only thing I didn’t do was raise my face to the rising moon and welcome it with a lonesome howl.

            See you along The Way…

Happy New Year!