To celebrate the wonderful weather, Amy and I went for a walk through the woods. Across the street from our house is an access trail leading into Great Pond State Forest. It meets up with a (we're told) beautiful trail that circles the pond, as well as some side trails that meander around the forest.
But we never made it. In fact, we never even made it all the way down the access path. The rains over the past week had made much of the trail impassable, and after fighting deep puddles of water, quicksands of mud, and a Texas Chain Saw Massacre-looking house with an alarmingly loud gaggle of furious chickens, we ended up having to leave the path and Grizzly Adams it through the woods.
After about 15 minutes of wandering, we found the main trail that circled the pond, and we were both pleased that it was wide and dry. We headed north and soon came to a stand of very tall rhododendron that flanked the trail. They weren't in bloom yet, but Amy thinks they will be beautiful when they do. I think the smell...I mean the fragrant perfume...of the flowers will be overpowering and, worse, the length of path that's sided by the rhododendron will become a buzzing bee alley of pain. Here's a pic:
And here's a look skyward, which was pretty impressive.
We kept walking, but the northern side of the pond is swampy and the path (we're told) becomes a boardwalk over the quag. As we continued the walk, we more and more frequently had to rock hop over a puddle or tiptoe across some precarious stick bridge to get past a stream or a mud wallow. Finally, the path simply drown beneath an overspill of water from the pond.
We stood there, trying to decide whether to turn back or try to find another path, when a family of hikers came down an unused-looking path behind us. They looked dry, and they had a tiny dog with them which also looked dry (I was lucky enough to have an extra-close look at the dog as it ran up to me and sexual assaulted my ankle) so we figured that there must be another way around the pond.
There wasn't. The dry path led us out of the woods and into a power line clearing. We knew that the power lines crossed our road, so we decided to walk back to the road this way instead of negotiating the muddy pond paths again.
Northeast Utilities keeps the undergrowth trimmed below the lines, which makes a nice wide, luxurious swath. And other than this odd tepee skeleton--built perhaps by a bored NU worker (on your tax dollar dime)--the walk was uneventful, clear and dry.
Until we came upon this mess:
You may not be able to tell from the picture but there's water--about 12 inches deep--surrounding these large mounds of grass. The mounds varied in size, some the size of basketballs, some as big as beach balls. They also varied in stability: Some of the mounds were sturdy enough to support our weight, but some were not. And if we stepped on one that was not, it would collapse into the water. So once we felt that slight hint of collapse, we had to immediately step to the next mound or get soaked. Of course, if the next mound gave in, we had to move on again, all the while keeping balance or risking a full-bodied fall.
And there was about 50 feet of this stuff. At least. We had no way of knowing. I suppose we could have backtracked and returned to the trail, walking back the way we came. What to do... What to do...
Of course we tried to balance our way over the grass mounds. I felt like I was stepping from head to head over the blond skulls of ABBA fans, teetering and swinging my arms, losing balance and leaping to the next head. Amy, showing off, moved like a gymnast. She actually enjoyed it. "Let's do it again," she said after she made it across--without falling in.
I, of course, wasn't across yet, nor did I make it across without incident. It was a small incident, just an ankle twist and a half-soak into the cold water, but it was an incident. I was wet--and Amy was dry. I blame it on three things: 1) the fact that I was carrying a backpack and the shifting weight of it kept throwing me off, 2) excess age and weight, and 3) Amy.
I'm not sure how Amy caused it, but she did.
Soon, after another week or so of drainage, we'll go back and try the trail again. It's (we're told) beautiful.
Next up: One of the joys of buying a house in winter: Come spring, waiting for things to bloom in the yard. What's that? Flower? Weed? Strange alien life-form?
