First Light, Hammersley Wild Area

When we left our intrepid backpackers, they were being serenaded to sleep by the wild music of the Hammersley Hoot 'n Howl, a concert put on jointly by the coyotes and the owls. Here's what happened the next day.

I awoke at my usual time, in darkness, and watched the sky fill with light. Four quick sneezes were my hello to the coming day. I suspect that I might have been allergic to some of the trees there. Isn't the thought of that just about hysterical, for a tree-lover such as myself?

I noticed that mist was rising off the mountain across the stream, and I wanted badly to go down and investigate in person, but it wasn't quite light enough yet. So I bided my time, and watched the show from my sleeping bag inside my cozy tent.

Eventually, the light did come, and with the mist swirling around me and rising into the clear blue sky above, I walked down along the stream to check out what was going on. I hoped I might run into a wild animal, but I did not. Apparently, a girl can't ALWAYS expect to meet a coyote in this place.

I did, however, experience plenty of bird life. In fact, my soundtrack to the lovely scene above, as first light hit the creek, was the rat-a-tat-tat of three kingfishers, chasing each other up and down the stream bed. What a wake-up chorus!

The overnight low had been around 31 degrees F, and so my fingers were cold as I handled my camera. I kept putting my hands back in my pockets to warm them up. It only helped a little. How interesting to go to bed in sunny, summery September, and wake up in chilly October!

Eventually, I made my way back to our campsite, and my husband and I enjoyed a simple breakfast together. Mine was a diet orange soda with a lowfat peach yogurt. The drumming of a ruffed grouse in the distance provided a morning back beat to accompany our activities.

For dessert, my husband offered me a crumpled Oreo he had found in his tent. Upon opening it, I discovered the creamy-white Double Stuf was missing out of the middle. Oh no!

Alex the Alligator and Little Bear (two stuffed animals who accompany us on most of our trips) immediately sprung into action. CSI Hammersley: crime scene investigation! And Tiny Tiger dusted the area for prints. (Meanwhile, my husband wore a guilty look. I think I KNOW where that missing Double Stuf went! "It was dark and I couldn't see anything; what was I to do?" my husband said, in his defense.)

We had the tunes box on, and as we watched the mist rise and disappear, James Taylor provided a mellow interlude. We had had big plans for how quickly we had planned to leave this place, but in the end, we took our time packing up. It's tough to move fast when your fingers are frozen!

By shortly before one, we had all of our gear packed and ready to head out. We'd drunk all of our drinks and eaten all of our food, so each of our packs was at least five pounds lighter on the trek out than it was on the hike in. Somehow it never feels that way!

We made one last visit down to the creek near our campsite before we left. My husband had some idea that we needed to go down the old way, near the camp he used to stay in. I warned him if he took one step further, he'd be knee-deep in black mud.

I had the unhappy satisfaction of being proven correct, when he took that one step, the mud enveloped him, and he stepped back quickly, his pant-leg and boot covered in the awful, smelly, sticky stuff. An abashed look on his part, a quick "You were right," and we were done visiting the creek.

We put on our packs and hiked out on an easier path than the one we walked in on. And we did not see or hear a single soul! Not a one! There were no people at cabins, no fishermen, no hunters, no hikers, no nothing. Not even anybody in the parking lot. The whole big empty woods belonged to us! What a feeling.

As we walked, we visited several of the other campsites along the creek, including the one we stayed at two years ago in fall. By early afternoon, it was sunny and warm again, and we toyed with the idea of a quick dip, but there just wasn't time. Is there ever enough time?

We looked up the hill into the Duttlinger Natural Area, which is full of big, old-growth trees, mainly hemlocks. The path to get there is a steep climb straight up a rock face, pretty much impossible to do with backpacks on, so we skipped that part and continued on.

There was a thing we saw along the trail that made us both very sad, and I almost didn't include it, but here it is. As we made our way down the trail, we passed numerous large puddles.

A small yellow-and-green bird was hanging out near one of the puddles, and it clearly had an injury of some kind. I'm not sure if it was its foot, or maybe its wing, or maybe both. But it seemed distressed at our approach and could not get away from us quickly. It huddled under a tree by the puddle.

I did not take a picture of the bird because I did not want to remember its suffering. (Yes, I am a coward that way. I regret that I am.) I also didn't want to remember myself as someone who passed an injured comrade and failed to render aid. But here I stand: guilty as charged.

I also didn't want to spend any more time near the little bird, causing it undue distress, than we needed to. But in the end, I cannot forget it. There was no easy way we could have assisted it. And we possibly could have done more harm with our attempts. So I shall have to live with the regrets I feel in spite of having no photos to prove it. Go well, little bird.

We passed several empty cabins, some with very creative and nasty wording on the signs. It was a relief in a way that no one was home; I always worry that somehow we might get shot by accident or on purpose by some Deliverance type backwoods character, who doesn't like backpackers much. Once again, we escaped unscathed.

And then we were crossing the creek, and taking off our gear, and putting it all in the car, and changing boots, and getting out a cold drink (oh, dear Jesus, is there anything better than that first cold drink after a long hike?).

I was sore in every place imaginable. My shoulders hurt. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. Everywhere I could think of was sore or exhausted. My pants were muddy from crawling up and down and over things. My boots were covered in crud. All I could smell was my own body odor.

My husband began itching his side, and he took his shirt off to display an impressive assortment of about a dozen angry, pink welts. Bug bites? Or nettle? We'd walked through quite a few spider webs along the way, so it could have had something to do with that as well. I applied anti-itch ointment to it and a few minutes later, he said it didn't bother him anymore.

We were still at least two hours' drive from home, but we settled happily into my Mazda, with a feeling of accomplishment. We'd done it! We'd had quite an adventure. We'd backpacked into and out of the Hammersley with no major mishaps!

As we drove down the side road to catch what passes for a main road in those parts, we saw a young white-tailed deer, just out of spots, emerge from the woods, prancing and pawing, and it began eating apples under a tree near one of the cabins.

"A deer and a bird," my husband mused. They had been the last two creatures we'd seen on our adventure. And I said, "Yes." And so we put them both together. And we made up a little story where the deer walked up the creek and befriended the bird, and rescued it, and looked out for it. And my heart smiled again.

And in our story, the pretty little bird's wing healed, and it flew up up UP! into the clear blue October sky. And the deer and the bird traveled the woods together, an unlikely but charming pair. And of course, they all lived happily ever after, as we all should. Yes, happily ever after.

Forever and ever, amen.

Let's let the soundtrack for this day be the wonderful James Taylor tune we listened to on this morning as we ate our breakfast together in the deep, wild woods. Double Stuf or no Double Stuf, it's a lovely song. :-)  Here are James Taylor and Carly Simon, with a tune that is at once a lullaby and a love song: You Can Close Your Eyes.