I started out a daybreak intending to move quietly and slowly improving my awareness skills, but just like on the old Mickey Mouse TV show, today was “anything can happen day.”
I know better than to bushwhack through a swamp in late spring, but this was a cool, overcast day. I had my survival basics and I’d hiked the area several times in autumn, winter and early spring.
Clusters of umbrella-shaped mountain laurel flowers in all shades of pink highlight the deep green woods. Tiny yellow star flowers pop open on the trail.
The air smells alive. Years ago I learned that moistening my nostrils will improve my ability to smell the air. There is a light rain and I am ready to move after two rainy days indoors. Sweet fern is one of my favorite scents. I breathe deeply. I gather and dry leaves for tea. I may even make a woods clothing box and line it with sweet fern.
I’m not casting a shadow and there’s virtually no wind. I can identify bird songs, but still can’t match the song to the bird.
Had I not taken that very odd turn, I would never have been knee deep in mud or in view of a delicate, beautiful wild iris. I also would not have heard the bittern call.
I last hiked this unmarked trail in early April, so my choice not to check my compass and map seemed benign.
Instead found another unmarked trail and followed it until it reached a dead end. And that was my opportunity to notice two yearling deer.
I finally stopped and pulled out my compass and map. I wasn’t very far off trail. I recognized the familiar patch of phragmites, so I knew where I wanted to turn up. It looked like I could work my way southeast along the edge of the phragmites. I was already wet and muddy, so I didn’t mind stepping into the primal ooze and sinking, while muddy water filled my hiking boots.
I didn’t mind bushwhacking. I could stuff my loose-fitting clothes with leaves if I had to deal with being wet. I was noisy; dried phragmites only yield to pressure strong enough for them to crack and crunch.
I do regret taking one false step and transferring my weight too soon. That failure in fox walking came at a high price. Not only did I alarm every creature for miles, my ungraceful fall shattered phragmites and crushed succulent poison ivy.
It was like one of those slow-motion events when you know the outcome, but you’re powerless to change it. As soon as I could, I used my poison-ivy soap and proactively swallowed anti-histamine. That was enough to let me finish my hike, but by the time I reached my doctor, anaphylaxis was setting in.
I thought about all my contingencies and alternate plans. And I thought about risks and consequences. Had I been in a survival situation, this would have been a lethal mistake.
Once again, I am reminded that no matter how often I have previously hiked a trail, foliage changes the shape of the land and early June is prime time for plant life. I knew this, but sometimes my spontaneous nature gets me in trouble.
I don’t want to be afraid to try new things and learn from my mistakes. This was a mistake, but at least I had what I needed to keep the experience not only manageable, but fun.