Tough Going

I hadn't snowshoed since my mom died until today. 

My sister in law, Leanne and I went out earlier today for a hike, and it was tough going. I've never worked so hard at snowshoeing. Since I haven't  been out, there were no trails and no base. We tried to walk on snowmobile tracks, but even that didn't help so much.  

We went across the field, and through the  swamp. It was deep. So deep. We made it to the place where I usually enter the woods to go up to the first beaver pond, but the snow was just too deep. Absolutely impassable. We turned back, hiking along our path through the swamp. I wasn't done, though. I NEEDED more time alone, more time in the woods. 

I set off for a short hike through the woods, and down to the lower field. 

Sometimes the hardest things we do are the most important. The hardest things to say, feel or do physically. Sometimes we need to push through to the other side. Today I needed physical exertion and silence. I needed to get back outside, where I haven't been since my mom died. I feel everything when I'm alone. I needed to face this today.  I'm glad I stuck it out, but it was tough going. 

Something Out There

Do you ever get that feeling in your gut that something is terribly, terribly wrong?  I do, and my gut has proven itself so many times in the past, that I can't help but trust it.

Last Thursday I was snowshoeing in the bush.  I'd gone through the lower field and then up the old ski hill into the woods.  I hiked along the edge of the upper field and continued deep into the trees.  Soon, I was following the river up toward Martin Lake.  Last winter I happened upon a sweet little waterfall and rapids and wanted to find the spot again.

Going in, I was slightly apprehensive as it's about an hour hike in, which is putting me at a distance from home that I'm not entirely comfortable with while alone.

I was following my old tracks when I came across a big moose track.  Moose punch deep holes in the snow with their long, long legs.  I saw where the moose had stopped to munch on some hemlock, then veered off my track.

Next, I came to a wolf or coyote track.  They are everywhere in the fields, and don't often give me pause, but this far out, I was a little concerned.

Hearing the rapids, I pushed on.  I was winding my way through the thick hemlocks, trying to figure out how I'd made it down to the riverbank the last time I'd been out here.  The trees seemed impenetrable.  I said out loud, "how in the world did I get down there last time!?".  And then, I heard a "WHOOOOOSH" sound, and it filled the silence all around me.  I don't know what it was,  and I'm not even going to make any guesses, but all of the tiny bits of apprehension I'd felt up to that moment hit me HARD.  My heart was pounding and I turned and followed my path back as fast as I could move.

I feel there is something out by those rapids.  There is definite and obvious animal activity - big animals.  It is something I don't want to meet face to face and I'm certain it wants nothing to do with me.

There have been two other occasions I've been out that way and felt a presence.  Once last winter and once last spring.  I get a feeling in my gut that something isn't right every time I'm there (and yet, I keep returning...).  A feeling in my gut that makes me move away, turn back and not linger.  Like I said, I'm not making any guesses, and it could be lots of different things, but it's something.

 

 

 

Into the Woods

Today I walked into the woods in the blowing wind and snow.  In the field, the wind was wicked, but upon entering the woods, everything was hushed and the snow feel thickly, but gently, all around.

 

 

When the snow is falling heavily on the trees, everything is lovely.  Everything is art.

 

 

 

Tall trees arch like cathedrals.  Snow nestles on pine and spruce branches just so.  Everywhere I look, all I see is something perfectly beautiful.  It's more than I can describe in words, these perfect hikes.  Days like these feed my soul.