I think I forgot how wonderful it actually is to use a map, especially the detailed Delorme maps I have of Vermont. I love them. Give them a spot in my car when I am back here. But this summer, I invested in a better phone plan and of course on my phone is my GPS application. Can't get lost with that.
So I opted for easy. Opted for convenient.
Opted for Lost.
My GPS took me near to my intended destination, though not to the Appalachian Trail where the true hike to Little Rock Pond began. I was on a beautiful dirt road with swamps and gorgeous landscape. After speaking to a man who was knee deep in the swamp monitoring a bird box, I realized just how "lost" I was. So I continued on this dirt road and came to a summer camp with a "Private Land" sign. I began to turn around in their parking lot when a car that was exiting the camp stopped and I explained to them what I was doing. Bruce, the owner of this camp, told me that I could park in his grassy lot and that in fact all I had to do was walk down his road and take a right and it would lead me to the pond. In fact, this hike was much shorter than the one I had intended to do he told me. So I did this.
I took the first right and started walking. It was a snowmobile path and wound its way through the woods in a splendid fashion. I was hiking with my new camera system and a much smaller backpack as well. How stupid I have been all these years! This is so much more comfortable and as I am quickly finding, the quality of the image is incredible.
It had rained a great deal, though on this hike the weather only got better. The trail, however, was waist-high in wet grass, and though I took all the precautionary steps to avoid ticks (pants tucked into socks, long sleeved shirt, slathered in repellent) I was was worried. The grasses were also wet so from the waist down I was soaked. I wonder, and really I don't really know much about tick life, but I bet ticks don't like such wet grasses and avoid these on such days. This thought gave me comfort.
After an hour of travel down Bruces "Take the right" advice, it occurred to me that perhaps he meant for me to take the other right? I remembered a really rough road and started thinking that this might not have been what he had in mind. So after a good number of photographs, and far too long on the "wrong" trail, I turned around. On my way back I had seen a small and secluded marshy area. As I had seen a good number of moose tracks, I figured this must be one of their hangouts. I bushwhacked through the woods (stupid in tick country) and finally had my lunch. There was a beaver dam and some great old and withered trees that begged to be photographed.
After about 2.5 hours (running time), I got back to the trailhead. I could have gone back to my car and called it a day. I already had walked on a beautiful trail. Listened to the songs of sonorous forest birds. Taken some wonderful photos. But I had not seen the pond.
So I took the other right. Bruce's right.
This trail was deep in mud. It had been cut apart by four-wheeled drive vehicles. It was beautiful, but it also was scarred. Scarred too by beer cans and garbage here and there. After only 20 minutes I found the pond. It was nice, but compared to my wild trail next door, it was somewhat of a letdown. I took an obligatory snap and headed back to my car.
This should have been the end of my hike.
Instead, I pulled out my map and finally figured out exactly where I was. I located the roads around me, got better oriented with where I truly was and found that there was a trail not too far away that led to some ice caves. Actually, it led to the bottom of a talus slope where inside the crevices remnants of last winter's snow and ice lingered.
Now, navigating with a map, I made my way down these dirt roads feeling more in control and independent. I saw and "older" man working in his yard with a somewhat slightly less "older" man. I stopped my car and verified directions to where I intended to go. He walked over, a shovel full of gravel still lingering on the blade and let me know that in fact I was headed in the right direction. I am not sure how we got into the "age" thing but we discussed the need to keep active through your entire life. He told me that he was 80. Eighty and doing work that most people I have seen at 30 can't do. His son, who was the slightly less older man, and was 62, strong and grizzled. Both concurred that if you give into numbers and resign yourself to sitting on the couch, then you are doomed.
White Rocks Cliffs is a short trail (nice downhill going there and good climb coming back) that leads to rock pile where the water flows at 40F degrees and cool winds suddenly fill the forest. I first hung out at an overlook and watched several hawks (or were they Eagles) soar and fill the air with their high pitched whistles. After making my way down to the trail, the hot and humid forest suddenly became instantaneously cool. It was almost cold. All day long I had not seen another person, and as there were only a few hours left in the day, I was once again all alone. The large boulders were fun to scramble on, but good sense took over and I quickly stopped exploring for frankly it's too dangerous to do such when you are alone (well, that's how I believe).
The walk back to my car will be long remembered. The sound of a beautiful forest bird serenaded me. I had missed the "right" trail when I started my exploring today. But by taking the "wrong" trail I had seen some beautiful woods and marshlands. The sun was angling its way closer to the horizon and I knew that if I started driving, I'd be able to get a few more photos on the way back of this wonderful Vermont landscape.
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