Winter weather still continues to drag its feet so yesterday we decided to take advantage of the lack of snow and grab a mini adventure. I asked Zane if he was interested in exploring the Eastern side of the Beaver Creek gorge near our farm.It’s 3664 acres of state land provide some rugged terrain to explore. There’s little of that acreage that I haven’t explored in the last 4 decades at some point. It’s always been a wonderful place to observe nature. A mix of forest,bare rock outcroppings,and extensive wetlands. Numerous beaver ponds along the actual creek channel and along the small watersheds that feed it. There’s large ledges and deep valleys to cross. It’s difficult to cross the main creek if not impossible in the months other than winter. Occasionally there’s a beaver dam that spans the gorge but those are usually not readily available. We typically explore the Eastern side when “ice walking” becomes available. It’s about timing unless we decide on a snowshoe trek. That’s rarely been the case in recent years. I gauge the weather conditions and make a spontaneous decision to hike it on foot when snow doesn’t hinder our distance.Yesterday I wasn’t sure the main creek had adequate ice thickness to safely hike the wetlands so we took an overland route that kept us on solid ground. We soon found ourselves fighting thick patches of invasive wild honeysuckle. Mixed with “whip brush” and the riddled stands of Scotch pine the state planted over 50 years ago. The Scotch pine never did well as the rocky ridges and fallen rock piles supported numerous porcupines.They developed a fondness for the planted groves and girdled them until they wiped out most of the transplants. The few surviving pines have an alien appearance. Short and stunted they bear the scars left by the porcupines who still continue to further their demise.I mentioned to Zane that it’s too bad they don’t relish the invasives!That sure would make things better for those fighting their way through the brush. Ultimately the brush would prompt us to take to the ice and marshy sections in the lower sections below the ridges where beaver had altered the landscape.The ice is still tricky and it takes some maneuvering to dodge the thin spots.These beaver ponds didn’t exist when I was a boy but the beaver populations have continued to expand since then. They found their way into every trickle and created some new sections of wetland. It’s a cycle that rotates. They move in and create a pond sometimes making it larger each year. Eventually they diminish the availability of feed and move to a new location.The dams eventually rot in disrepair and the water drops. The open area of the pond ( known as a beaver meadow) begins to revert back to a forest or grassland. We crossed a number of active and dead beaver ponds. It was much better walking on the sections of creek and pond ice. Lesson number two of the day for Zane!Lesson one was deciding whether the ice would support us at all. It’s a decision an “ice walker” must weigh heavily or risk a soaking.We managed to stay dry and eventually would be able to get up into some older open growth forest where walking was better. Our destination was an area well known to me since a boy. The Black Ash Swamp.We hit a beaver pond above it first. Also well known to me,I was pleased to notice that it was occupied. The ice was well formed so I suggested to Zane we wear our micro spikes as I intended to keep us on the ice as long as possible. The pond we crossed joined the upper end of our destination just beyond a small overflow. There it was! The Black Ash Swamp.It’s an area that has seen a huge transformation since I was a boy.It’s former brush and the trees that bore its name gone now. Only a few small stumps protrude through the ice. It reassembles a small,shallow lake these days. A product of the beaver and their work of decades.They had first moved into the swamp in the seventies and began flooding the forest.The higher water eventually killed even the moisture resistant black ash trees.The beaver no doubt cut many of them also for their tasty bark.For many years the dead trees stood like skeletons.Gray and bark shed I had walked the ice between them witnessing the transition over a period of years. Rot and wind have broken them down now. I stood on the edge of the former swamp forest and let the memories travel over those years. My father had brought me here when a large stand of hemlocks graced the the higher ground above the swamp. There was a light layer of powder snow that cold,cloudy winter day. We’d come to the swamp for a reason that day!To run our beagle/basset hounds on snowshoe rabbit. The cottontail rabbits of our pasture land had a habit of diving into woodchuck holes and cutting the dogs short of a worthy pursuit. Not so with the large, bounding snowshoe rabbit! They stay afield and easily avoid the much slower hounds. The dogs Snoopy and Hushpuppy jumped a snowshoe in the edge of the swamp that day and gave chase with excited bellows! They sped off after their quarry and would soon get some distance from us. I was the eager boy who wished to run after them! “Stop”We’ll sit here in the hemlocks” my father would quietly say. “But the dogs are getting away!” I replied. “Sit still and wait!Watch closely and you will learn something of the snowshoe rabbit” my father replied.It was cold and I had no wish to sit but did as I was instructed. Glad to have my warm wool pants and wool mittens inside my leather choppers mitts. The collar of my wool hunting jacket hand stitched with a band of cotton flannel by my grandmother’s loving hands.She knew I hated the wool touching my neck so had done it for me.The cold air stung my face and I listened to the distance dogs. Their sounds suddenly seemed closer and they began to return our way. Still on a hot track and moving quickly! I was busy trying to spot the dogs when my father pointed silently. Far ahead of the hounds the ghostly, white snowshoe rabbit was moving directly towards our position. My observations were cut short as my fathers 12 gauge fired once from his position. I was instructed to retrieve the rabbit from the ground but wait for the dogs. They reached me soon after and we let them sniff the rabbit they had brought to us. A tasty meal back home awaited us with scraps and fur for the dogs. I had learned a valuable lesson! The jumped snowshoe will circle and retrace his steps. The hunter must wait and watch. We would only take the one rabbit that day. It was enough and we had the long walk back to the truck. Barn chores and a wood furnace to stoke. As I stood on the edge of the swamp yesterday I pondered the passage of time. My father gone but my own son beside me. The hounds long buried in a special location on the farm. Carefully laid to rest in graves I dug after carrying them some distance in my arms. I no longer have hounds or hunt rabbits. But I still wander the lands of my youth. I show my son my special places and tell the tales. I watch the forests and wetlands change in the seasons of nature. The spirit energy finds me there with positive blessings. Not lost for it is eternal. The years add quicker and I realize that someday I will circle back to where I started my chase of years. To retrace my steps and serve a higher purpose perhaps. If time is the rabbit then I am the hound. Such thoughts are best kept for winter nights long after dark. It was time to keep exploring. There was too much to be found in the moment yesterday to stand still for long. There were things to teach and lessons to be learned. Miles to walk with an ice walkers stride. The distance traveled in must be traveled out.
