Well, Waldo, we’re not going that way…
Leave the road, take the trails.
— Pythagoras
The weather is cooperating for the next few days – no rain and temps in the mid to high 60s. Today’s hike starts at the south side of Mt. Wachusett, on Westminster Rd, on a gentle downhill slope. Waldo and I leave our car where we’re going to end up, about 7 miles away, and Christine graciously shuttles us to our starting point.
The forest is dense and green with many oaks, maples and birch trees. There are ferns and bushes on the side of the trail, but they thin out a short distance away. The trail is well marked and easy to follow. The sky is partly cloudy and there is only a light breeze. Waldo assumes his position at the front end of the leash and we’re off.
The going is easy, except for the roots and rocks that make the ground uneven in some places. In other places, the trail is covered in a smooth carpet of needles and crushed leaves. There are a couple of places where the path widens out onto something that might once have been a road, then we turn a corner and, once again, we’re on a narrow footpath meandering through thick foliage. We don’t see any other animals, other than bugs, and only an occasional northern cardinal or a house sparrow sings somewhere off in the distant trees. This hike would be perfect, if it weren’t for the damn mosquitoes.
There are low places we pass, marshy areas with a lot of muddy puddles, where I’m attacked by swarms of the blood-sucking critters. They buzz around me and occasionally land on bare skin. I do my best to wave them off, but some do get past my defense and alight and I have to brush them away. Sometimes they land where I can’t see them and I only notice them when I feel them bite and inject their saliva, proteins and anticoagulants. Some lucky people are not bothered by the things. They love me – even though I bathed in permethrin before I left home.
I always wear long pants, tucked into my socks, to prevent tick infestation, and long-sleeved shirts, rolled up to the elbow. I liberally spray bug repellant full of permethrin on my boots, socks and lower pant legs, exposed parts of my hands and arms and smear it on my face and neck. Still the mosquitoes come around and harass me. I know from experience that it’s much worse without the bug spray, but, still, it’s a nuisance. There are a lot of ticks around this year, but I’ve been able to keep them, more or less, at bay – only picking 2 or three off me during and after each hike. God knows how many of them beasts emigrate from Waldo to me.
Other than that, walking in the woods is a soul-nourishing experience. There’s something spiritual about being out in nature, with little evidence of human intervention other than the path we walk. It’s like the human condition is stripped of all the noise and nonsense that people drown themselves in. No irritating confrontations with thoughtless people, no money problems, no expectations to live up to, no embarrassments to blush for, no confrontations to avoid — there’s nothing but Mother Nature. All that’s present is you and the universe – the unembellished and raw experience of being alive. It’s like coming home.
As we walk up and down the rolling countryside, the path changes its ambience. In the low areas, it’s surrounded closely with small bushes and nascent saplings. After a rise of 50 feet or so, the trail is meandering through forest whose floor is pretty barren, except for a carpet of tan-colored dead leaves. Another a mile or 2 later and we come to a 2-rut dirt road and follow that. We don’t go far, maybe a half-mile or so, and the road abuts a swampy area. There, we pass a stake driven in the ground, bearing a sign that reads, in large, bold typeface, “DETOUR, TRAIL FLOODED.” An arrow points to a path running up a small hill to our right.
God knows how long that’s been there, so I walk a ways further, until the trail runs out onto a dike, with large ponds on either side. It looks like it once crossed the area on a dike, or maybe even a beaver dam, but it soon becomes obvious that, if we want to continue thataway, we’re gonna get mighty wet. So we turn around and head up the hill.
Everywhere else on this trail, there are yellow triangular markers posted every so often, to reassure you that you’re on the path. Here, there are none. Just red streamers hanging from bushes and branches. However, the path is beaten down well enough that it’s easy to follow. This detour must have been here for quite a while to have gotten enough foot traffic to do that, especially considering that we’ve passed no one on this leg of the hike. It must be a big deal to fix the flood.
Waldo and I hike up and down, paralleling the swamp, until we come to solid ground heading east. The path then takes a left turn and continues back toward the road. I’m guessing we added another mile or so to our journey, but the going is easy and we make good time. We eventually come out of the bushes onto the continuation of the road and carry on.
We cross Gates Road and the path goes onto a farmer’s field of knee-high grass, called “Four Corners Hay Fields.” Someone has mowed a swath through the grass. At the rate grass grows, that must have happened fairly recently. Someone cares about this trail. Maybe it’s just the farmer who wants to make sure that passersby keep to the trail. Soon, we’re back in the woods, wending our way through Mother Nature.
Finally, we break out onto Abbot Road, where we left our car. Total distance traveled is 8.29 miles in 4:32:37, with 480 feet of elevation gain. A bit more than the 7 miles I planned for.
Two more jaunts, if we can manage it before it becomes unbearably hot, and we’ll be halfway there. While hiking over the Watatic ridge, that seemed like an implausible goal. But we’re almost there!
Tomorrow is a rainy day, but the day after will be another fine day for a walk in the woods.
Well, the detour is obvious enough.