Hidden Trails
May 2008
Viki Mather
By Viki Mather
Spring is a wonderful time to get out to explore in the forest. A soon as the ice melts off the lakes, we take some time to search for old, forgotten trails.
It was one of those wonderful spring afternoons – the lake calm, the sun high in the sky – that Allan and I scanned the shoreline from the canoe. We looked closely down at the map, up at the skyline of the forest, back down to the map and then to the shoreline once again. With practiced eyes, we could make a pretty good guess as to where the trail would most likely have begun.
We pulled the canoe ashore, and walked into the deep dark woods. This bit of land lay facing the northern sky, and was damp underfoot. Little black spruces grew densely at the shore, and soon mingled with balsam fir and cedar as we pushed inward.
The first bit of trail is currently maintained by the local beavers. A well-worn depression in the thin soil was easy to follow for the first hundred feet. Then we had to look harder, keeping track of the lay of the land, watching for ancient blazes on the oldest trees. As we watched for subtle signs of the ancient trail, we wandered deep into the forest. Allan took one trail; I took another.
I love to walk in the forest at this time of year. There are no leaves on the trees, and no bugs in the air. The air is clear and fresh; moose tracks are easy to see. Tiny green plants are just beginning to wake from their long winter’s rest. Little green leaves unfurl from dormant buds.
As the land rose from the lake, the forest changed from evergreens to hardwoods. Yellow birch grew alongside scattered cedars. One of them was bigger than I could hug - and it had a barely discernable blaze on the lake ward side. Was this the trail? Looking back, and looking forward, I could see no obvious path. There weren’t many trees as old as this one, and none I could see that were blazed.
A little further up the hill and off to the east, a forest of sugar maple called out for a visit. Allan was there already, admiring the open view through the leafless forest, looking over the little valley we had just come out of. Allan made a plan to traverse the valley, back and forth looking for clues. I opted to stay in the maples, and take in the pleasure of their presence.
I walked on up to the top of the hill, nibbling on some of the hundreds of thousands of tiny maple sprouts that were poking up through the leaves, hugging the maples, the yellow birches, and a few remnant white pines that soared above the rest of the forest.
As the sun sank lower in the sky, I wandered back down the hill – out of the hardwoods into the damp moss that covered forest floor, under the black spruce and balsam, and along a frequently submerged spring stream. Every now and then there would be ice in the depths of a heavily shaded puddle. A couple of the largest cedars bore the ancient mark of someone’s axe – blazes from the old winter trail? Or just someone marking their way as they traveled this way a hundred years ago?
Viki Mather is owner of Kukagami Lodge, a northern Ontario wilderness resort at the southern boundary of the Temagami forest. Web: www.kukagamilodge.com, email: lodge@kukagami.infosathse.com Viki has lived in the wilderness for 26 years, without electricity or running water. Read these columns monthly to discover wonderful ways to live in harmony with nature, bring edible wilds into your kitchen, thrive without plugging into the grid, and enjoy a healthier life.
By Viki MatherSpring is a wonderful time to get out to explore in the forest. A soon as the ice melts off the lakes, we take some time to search for old, forgotten trails.
It was one of those wonderful spring afternoons – the lake calm, the sun high in the sky – that Allan and I scanned the shoreline from the canoe. We looked closely down at the map, up at the skyline of the forest, back down to the map and then to the shoreline once again. With practiced eyes, we could make a pretty good guess as to where the trail would most likely have begun.
We pulled the canoe ashore, and walked into the deep dark woods. This bit of land lay facing the northern sky, and was damp underfoot. Little black spruces grew densely at the shore, and soon mingled with balsam fir and cedar as we pushed inward.
The first bit of trail is currently maintained by the local beavers. A well-worn depression in the thin soil was easy to follow for the first hundred feet. Then we had to look harder, keeping track of the lay of the land, watching for ancient blazes on the oldest trees. As we watched for subtle signs of the ancient trail, we wandered deep into the forest. Allan took one trail; I took another.
I love to walk in the forest at this time of year. There are no leaves on the trees, and no bugs in the air. The air is clear and fresh; moose tracks are easy to see. Tiny green plants are just beginning to wake from their long winter’s rest. Little green leaves unfurl from dormant buds.
As the land rose from the lake, the forest changed from evergreens to hardwoods. Yellow birch grew alongside scattered cedars. One of them was bigger than I could hug - and it had a barely discernable blaze on the lake ward side. Was this the trail? Looking back, and looking forward, I could see no obvious path. There weren’t many trees as old as this one, and none I could see that were blazed.
A little further up the hill and off to the east, a forest of sugar maple called out for a visit. Allan was there already, admiring the open view through the leafless forest, looking over the little valley we had just come out of. Allan made a plan to traverse the valley, back and forth looking for clues. I opted to stay in the maples, and take in the pleasure of their presence.
I walked on up to the top of the hill, nibbling on some of the hundreds of thousands of tiny maple sprouts that were poking up through the leaves, hugging the maples, the yellow birches, and a few remnant white pines that soared above the rest of the forest.
As the sun sank lower in the sky, I wandered back down the hill – out of the hardwoods into the damp moss that covered forest floor, under the black spruce and balsam, and along a frequently submerged spring stream. Every now and then there would be ice in the depths of a heavily shaded puddle. A couple of the largest cedars bore the ancient mark of someone’s axe – blazes from the old winter trail? Or just someone marking their way as they traveled this way a hundred years ago?
Viki Mather is owner of Kukagami Lodge, a northern Ontario wilderness resort at the southern boundary of the Temagami forest. Web: www.kukagamilodge.com, email: lodge@kukagami.infosathse.com Viki has lived in the wilderness for 26 years, without electricity or running water. Read these columns monthly to discover wonderful ways to live in harmony with nature, bring edible wilds into your kitchen, thrive without plugging into the grid, and enjoy a healthier life.