You have to try different things, meet different people, and travel to new places to grow.

— Kunal Kapoor

 

Today, I decided Waldo and I would mix it up a bit.  There is a portion of the Mass Central Rail Trail, newly paved, that runs from Sudbury to Hudson, about 7.5 miles.  We have walked it before, including when it was choked with weeds.  The last time we were out here, a bit over a year ago, construction was still going on and the path was compacted dirt with spots that had large muddy puddles.  The trail crosses Rte 20 in Sudbury, near the Lotus Blossom Restaurant, and whenever I pass by there, I look both ways to see how the construction is coming along.  From what I can tell, it has been finished for the better part of the last year.

We park at the Lotus Blossom, cross Rte 20 and head east.  It’s only 1.1 miles to the eastern end of this section of the rail trail, so the plan is to turn around there, then head west past the restaurant and go until we’ve gone far enough that we will have gone 6 miles by the time we turn around again and get back to the car.  The temps are in the low to mid 60s, the air is a bit muggy, the sky is completely overcast and there is next to no wind.

Just on the other side of Rte 20 is a small, wooden B&M (Boston and Maine) Railroad section house, the only one known to still exist in New England, built circa 1890.  The trail is now asphalt and it takes a shallow turn to the left into a heavily wooded area.  Here and there, there are newly built wooden fences.  There is even a place where the railing has been taken out by a fallen tree, now cut up, with its pieces cast aside of the trail.  There are two signs erected that give a bit of the history of the railroad and the surrounding wetlands.

Waldo is genuinely happy about being out here and he trots out to his usual place at the front end of the leash.  The trees are all small bore and I see none that have been there for more than 100 years.  Lush green weeds grow up close to the tarmac and seem quite healthy from the heat and rain we’ve gotten this year.

Waldo loves to walk in the weeds, I think he misses bushwhacking, and purposely goes close enough that he rubs his head and side up against them.  We haven’t gone a half-mile and I look down to see his right side covered in panicledleaf ticktrefoil seed pods.  The plant grows about 3 or 4 feet tall and, at this time of year, has long strings of triangular burs, that look like tiny green rip saw teeth, dangling tenuously on thin delicate stems.  The seed pods have little hairs that reach out and grab your clothing, or fur, with the slightest touch.  There’s so much of it stuck in Waldo’s fur that it looks like he’s in camouflage.  It even covers his face.  Sigh.  Soon, he is biting at his fur, trying to dislodge the stuff.  There’s not much I can do to help until we get back home, to a brush, so we continue on.

The trail skirts by a swampy area, off to our right, that we can see through the trees.  It is now a conservation area, but was once a site for many mills.  The mills used the river that feeds the wetlands for power, but are all now gone.

Further along, we pass by an old signal light, in the middle of nowhere (God knows what it was signaling), that I remember from previous visits out here.  It is now turned into a rusted vine trellis.  Off to our left, surrounded by new-growth trees, is an old car, rusted and stripped to its bones.  There is no obvious way it could have been driven in there through the trees.  It must have been sitting there for decades, given how big the trees are.

We pass a man walking his dog, a toy golden doodle.  I tell him, “This is Waldo.  He’s in camouflage.”

He gives me a knowing look.  “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he says.

“I know,” I say, sighing.  “I know.”

We continue to the eastern end of the trail, where it meets s street in a T intersection, as per plan.  On the other side of the street, the railroad bed continues, but there are two poles, one on each side, holding signs that have large red circles bearing a white bar in the middle.  Around the circle is the message, “Do Not Enter.”  There is a well -trodden footpath that runs between them that makes it clear that people do not take this seriously.  Waldo and I have been down there at least three times and never had an issue.  It’s unclear who put them there, or why.  I would certainly ignore them, but we turn around and head back west.

To be continued…

 

 

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.

— Aristotle

 

Waldo is still limping a tiny bit, but he’s slowly getting better, despite our increased level of exercise.  We are now walking 6 miles every other day, interspersed with 3 miles on the other days.  With a day off, every once in a while.  He’s still eager to go and seems to walk quite normally when we’re out and about.  It’s funny, he seems to favor his gimpy leg more after he’s been resting for a bit.  But then I’m stiff and sore getting out of the car after a long walk.  Anyway, Waldo seems no worse for the wear and we are continuing to increase our weekly mileage.  Good thing – we’re going back to the Midstate Trail soon.

Today, it’s nice and cool, with temps in the mid-60s, as we start out for a 6-mile jaunt.  The skies are blue and the sun is hot, it is still summer, but the subarboreal shade is pleasant. There are stretches, like next to the new park and the Assebet athletic field, where there are few trees, but most of our rail trail goes through forest and is quite sheltered from direct sunlight.  In one place, there is a retaining wall that casts a narrow shadow on the tarmac.  Waldo usually goes over to that side to get out of the sun, but I’m taller and all it does is shade my legs.  The result is a short walk through radiant heat, with sweaty goosebumps, followed by sighing relief in the understory, accompanied by a chilling light breeze.

It’s just after 8 AM when we start, so most of the morning bird-chirping has subsided.  I do hear an Emmy bird somewhere off in the brush, who responds to my calls, but doesn’t venture down from their catbird seat and I don’t see them.  There is also a cry from a bluejay and, occasionally, some squirrel chatter, but little else.  Ubiquitous city noise, like the sounds of passing cars and trucks, do filter through the foliage, but it is dampened down, so Mother Nature can be heard.  There is not much in the way of insect buzzing and mosquitoes are blissfully absent.  Earlier spraying by the city must be effective.  We’ve certainly battled with the buggers in the past.

The browning of late summer has not yet started.  Except for the godawful burdock.  Their big spikey balls are all fully taupe now, and the stalks and leaves are wilting.  Not long ago, I bought a standing weed-puller for the express purpose of ridding the trail of burdock.  It had a long wooden pole, with a hefty cast metal device at one end, designed to grab weeds at their base and uproot them with a levered pull.  A week or so ago, I brought it to the trail to see how well it worked.  The hardwood pole cracked and broke, without dislodging the damn weed.  Burdock: 1, Byron: 0.  Time to retreat and restrategize.

As we walk along, we pass a few bicycles and people out for a stroll in nature. Some, we know and we share greetings, but little else.  The exchange usually starts with a “Hello, Waldo!” and ends with a comment about the beautiful day.  The trail has become a preferred place for people, like me, to exercise their doggy-duty.  Those interlocutions usually last a bit longer and almost always involve treats and pats and pets for the dogs.  Waldo is very familiar with my habits of canine socialization and patiently waits for me to finish my fraternizing, knowing full well that a treat will soon follow for him as well.  It is rare for a dog kerfuffle to happen and when it does, it’s always the other dog whose hackles are raised and teeth are bared, at least at first.  Afterwards, I ask Waldo what in the world it was that he said to the other dog, but he just gives me the Waldo equivalent of shrugged shoulders and walks on as if nothing important happened.  He has a gentle soul.

We pass a younger woman (at this stage in my life, nearly everyone is younger), in her late 40s, I’m guessing (as dangerous a habit as that is), who we’ve talked to before.  “I’m heading out to Spain soon,” she tells me.

“Ah,” I say, “the Camino trip.  How far you going?”

“100 miles this time, then taking a break and doing another 100 miles later.  After that, we’ll see.”

The entire Camino de Santiago is around 500 miles long, starting in southern France and ending at the Atlantic coast near the city of Santiago in northeastern Spain.  “How many miles a day?” I ask.

“About 10,” she says.

Damn, that makes me jealous.  “Well, you have a very good trip,” I say and we continue on our separate ways.  I have long been tempted to do the Camino.  The problem is, it is no easy nor cheap thing to do to get Waldo over there.  Sigh.

I love the fact that there are so many people on the trail who also like to travel and go on adventures.  I suppose there is a selection mechanism at work here.

Eventually, Waldo and I get back to the car.  “Well, Waldo,” I say as I get in the car, “another day and another 6 miles.”

He lays down, curled up on the passenger seat, and rests his muzzle on the console between us.

 

 

Fall seven times, get up eight.

— Japanese proverb

 

Waldo’s limp is improving and now subtle, but still present.  He’s soon to be 8 years old, 55 in Waldo years, and, as I can attest through personal experience, is old enough to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous age aches and pains.  His limp is now so subtle that I have to look carefully to see it.  It bothers me that it’s still present, after around 8 weeks, but it is, albeit slowly, getting better.  I’ve been in contact with Waldo’s vet and I’ve decided, for now, to increase his exercise, by increasing the distance we walk, and see if his condition continues to improve, or worsens.

We’ve taken some time off from our long walks due to the heat and Waldo’s limp.  But with an improving gait, he is also having an increased desire to romp and exercise.  On the short walks we go on, he pulls at the leash, pokes me with sticks to tempt me to play tug-of-war and chases after any soccer ball the local kids leave out on the grass.  Cabin fever in the middle of the summer is not pretty.  The temperature has now fallen adequately, for a long enough period of time, that we can walk 6 miles on the rail trail in the mornings.  So I’ve decided to go back to the rail trail, walk our usual 6-mile route, and see how it goes.

It’s just after 8 AM when we start.  The ground is dry, the weeds are tall, thick and green and I hear an occasional Emmy-bird calling somewhere off trail from its catbird seat.  Waldo charges up front at the end of his leash and is eager to go.  He’s pulling, which is encouraging, because that requires his driving himself (and me) forward with both hind legs.  It’s not long, though, and he remembers that, oh yeah, damn, there be bikes in these here woods.  He stops, turns to the rear every minute or so, then continues on.  There are no bikes, yet, but he knows, from experience, there likely will be.  His gait is otherwise normal, as far as I can tell.

There is some scattered burdock just off the trail, fewer than a half dozen bushes, with tall, thick stalks budding large clumps of the godawful spikey balls.  They are still green, but, just the same, all too sticky for Waldo’s fine fur.  I stop and try to pull one up by the roots, which I’ve been successful at in the past, but to no avail.  Maybe I’ll come back with some gardening shears and cut ‘em down.  That won’t keep them from coming back in future years, they can grow from the roots left behind, but for this year and next (the burs are biennial), they won’t be a problem.  For now, I’ll just have to be on the lookout for ‘em and steer Waldo a good distance away.

We pass fellow denizens, some with dogs, some without, and a few joggers.  Many stop and say they’ve missed us and were worried about where we’d gone and why.  Some know that we often, when the weather is good, go elsewhere to walk, but they miss seeing us just the same.  I tell them about Waldo’s gimp and we share frustration at it being so hot for so long this summer.  I call the dogs by name and offer them treats, but I have no idea what the people’s names are.  It doesn’t seem relevant, somehow.  We’re all out here to enjoy nature, not socialize.  Everyone knows Waldo by name, though.

It’s not long and a bike approaches us from the rear.  I can tell, without looking, because Waldo starts walking sideways, off to my right and slightly ahead, with his eyes turned toward where we have just been.  The bike passes us and Waldo then continues on, eyes to the front, with frequent back glances.  If a bike approaches us from the front while Waldo’s attention is directed toward pee-mail, or some other doggy attraction, I’ll call out, “Bike!” and Waldo will jump — ears back, eyes forward and distraction forgotten.  He doesn’t bark or growl and never chases after them.  His tail isn’t tucked and his hackles are not up.  I don’t think he’s afraid of them, he just doesn’t like those fast movers out there without the appropriate guidance, from a well-bred border collie, as to where and how to be.  And from the rear?  No well-meaning sheep, even those on wheels, should ever be behind him.  Don’t they know they should be up front where he can share his wisdom and insight?

We soon come to our turnaround spot and head back to the car.  At no time has Waldo slowed, limped, or laid down for rest.  His gait has remained normal throughout the walk and has offered no complaint or hesitancy to continue.  And he has shown a great deal of appreciation to be, once more, out in the woods.  Even if there are a few errant two-wheeled sheep out there.

We get back to the car and Waldo jumps up onto the passenger seat without a glitch.  I now will watch him carefully at home, to see if the additional exercise makes his gait any different.  I know from personal experience that purely benign soreness and stiffness often follows extended exercise, so some is expected.  But if he is clearly worse, we’ll go see an orthopod.  If all goes well, though, we’ll be back out here after a day of rest.

For now, it’s back home to water, food and rest.

 

 

It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.

— Confucius

 

Waldo’s right hind leg is better, though not normal.  His gait is now normal and he pulls at the leash as he always has (which requires significant thrust from both of his hind legs).  But I know it still bothers him a little, because he sometimes doesn’t put full weight on it when he’s standing.  His vet and I decided to just watch him and advance his activity slowly, for now.  I’ve decided to take him back to the rail trail today and see how it goes.

The weather hasn’t been the best – high temps in the mid to high 80s, with high humidity, and some recent heavy rain.  Today, the forecast is for temps in the high 60s with a 20% chance of rain.  That usually means a light shower, not much more than a thick mist, but the one reliable part of the forecast is that the weather is unsettled.  So I decide to take along a rain jacket, just in case.  I don’t like taking an umbrella, because that would make both of my hands full – one with the umbrella and the other with dog.  I roll the jacket up and tie the sleeves around my waist so it’ll be there if I need it.

The temps are as advertised and the day is gray, as we start out.  The air has a fine mist and the tarmac is still damp from an earlier rain.  There is only a slight breeze.  Waldo charges up ahead to the end of the leash, obviously happy at being back here in the woods.  He visits the side of the trail and says hello to his friends, the bushes (both with a sniff and some watering).  His gait is normal and he’s tugging at the leash.

It’s interesting to see how the dominant species of weed changes with the weather.  In dryer years, there was a carpet of Japanese clover alongside the trail.  This year, I’ve seen almost none.  The Japanese knotweed, always present, doesn’t seem as thick and tall as usual.  There are only a couple of burdock plants with burs.  I don’t know if that’s due to the weather, or because I uprooted so much of it last year.  The plants that are there are tall, have many stems and are already blossoming with burs.  The burs are green, not all dried out and brown, like they get in the early fall, but they’re still quite sticky.  Waldo picks up 3 of the damn things by just walking within a foot of them.  It’s like they have a negative charge attracted to his positive charge.  I’m going to have to come back here with my weed puller and get rid of the cursed things sometime soon.  Thank God there aren’t many.

We say hello to our old friends, the rock garden, the covid garden and the new park, as we walk by.  When we get close to the athletic field, I keep my eyes open for the beginnings of the 2 paths that lead off into the woods and thence to the Fort Meadow Reservoir and the Grove — places we explored not so long ago.  I do it just to reassure myself I can still find them; they’re not obvious and easily missed.  When they do show themselves, I consider wandering out thataway.  Not today.  Things are too damp and the going is likely to be muddy.

Waldo is still out front, pulling at the leash.  It’s like he knows he’s less likely to have to contend with any bicycles in this weather.  He misses these walks in the woods, as do I.  The birds are quiet, with only an occasional tweet from a northern cardinal, or a house sparrow, somewhere off in the distance.  The oaks, birches, maples, locusts and aspens are all fully leafed out and make the air itself feel green.  There are sensitive ferns and various species of moss about, but not so much as there has been in the past.  Maybe they prefer cooler times.

We pass a few people, some out walking their canine companions.  Bikes may avoid wet weather, but doggy duty knows no unwalkable weather.  There are a few joggers that pass us by too.  We say hi to the local denizens and I explain why it’s been so long since we’ve been out here.  They tell us that our absence was noted and that they’re glad nothing bad happened to us.

After we turn around, we are hit with the 20% rain.  I’m not sure what the other 80% is, but I’m definitely 100% wet.  It’s only a light drizzle, but it’s enough that my shirt is soaked in just a couple of minutes.  I untie my rain jacket and put it on.

The walk back to the car is uneventful and we pass a few, but not many, other intrepid folks who were also caught in the rain.  I’m pleased to see that, despite a 6-mile walk, Waldo’s gait remains normal.  We climb in the car and head home.  Tomorrow will tell me how Waldo is faring, after he’s had a chance to rest and get sore.

I sure hope that we’ll get back out here on a regular basis sometime soon.

 

 

The wise adapt themselves to circumstances as water molds itself to the pitcher.

— Chinese Proverb

 

After our last walk on the rail trail, Waldo developed a bit of a limp, favoring his right hind leg.  As far as I know, he hasn’t suffered any trauma.  He’s had sore legs before, for some reason, and not always with the same leg.  I never figured out why and, after resting awhile, the problem was resolved and he went back to his usual self.  This time seems a little worse than before.  He even has difficulty going upstairs, because it hurts him to put weight on it.  So, for the past few days, we’ve just hung out around the house and walked around the property for Waldo’s unwatering and depooping.

Today, he seems a little better, although his limp is not totally gone.  It’s also quite hot again, too hot for a full rail-trail walk.  The minimum temp for the day is in the low 70s and will increase rapidly from there.  So we’re going to Ghiloni Park (not even a mile away) for a shorter walk in the woods (about a mile).

Ghiloni Park is a city park designed for many activities.  There is a playground for little kids, with a splash pad next to that, so they can cool off in water sprayed from frogs, flowers and a touch sensitive pole. There are soccer and softball fields and a basketball court too.  And there are trails, some paved, others not, that wander through a deciduous forest of pine, oak, maple, black cherry and beech.  That, of course, is where we’re headed.

After parking the car, Waldo and I walk past large soccer fields and follow a paved walkway that leads into the forest.  The path isn’t as wide as the rail trail and the trees are closer to the path.  That makes it feel like our walk is ever so much more intimately involved with nature.  There are a few house sparrows that call out to us, and a northern cardinal or two, but, for the most part, the birds are quiet.  The trail leads up a low incline and, in the heat, I’m soon sweating and Waldo is panting.  He’s up at the forward end of the leash, since there are no bikes anywhere in sight, and exploring around in the bushes off the side of the path.  His tail is wagging and he is obviously enjoying himself.  I watch his hind legs, as he trots ahead, and he doesn’t seem to be favoring the right.

Going down the other side of the hill, we come to a fenced-off area.  The city of Marlborough created a dog park there, only a couple of years ago.  It’s empty – although we did pass a couple of other dogs on the trail, there are none inside the fence.  I don’t know why.  We’ve visited other dog parks elsewhere that aren’t as nice and are less convenient, yet actively used.  Maybe the word hasn’t yet gotten out that this park is here.  Because of Waldo’s leg, we don’t stop there today.

The paved trail now turns left and parallels a road that runs through the middle of the park.  On the other side of the road is a dirt path that dives deep into the forest.  It wanders around in a loop for a couple of miles then returns to the road.  Waldo and I have explored it before, but not today.  It’s just too hot.  We continue on our way, turning to the left, and end up back at the soccer fields.  I’m soaked in sweat and Waldo’s tongue lolls out limply, dripping saliva.  It’s time to end our journey and head back to home, water and AC.  The walk took us about a half-hour.

When we get home, Waldo is a bit reluctant to climb the stairs, but finally does so, although haltingly.  He drags his left foot a little, as he goes up a stair, because it hurts him to lift his body on his right leg high enough for his left leg to easily reach the next step.  I fear even this short walk might have made his leg worse.  But it has fed his soul so righteously.

Once inside the apartment, Waldo does a full body flop onto the floor, tongue fully extended, lying flattened out.  He will lap up a little water after he cools off a bit, but first, he has to get rid of some of the body heat he’s acquired.  There’s no better way for him to do that than to lay out so the floor can absorb what it can.  It is so much better at heat conduction than the air.  I settle into my recliner and turn on a tower fan to blow cool air onto my hot sweaty skin.  On days like this, even a short walk takes its toll.

Today is a Friday, so I decide to wait another couple of days.  If Waldo’s leg doesn’t get any better, I’m going to have to take him to the vet Monday.  Until then, we’ll just have to do shorter, but more frequent walks.

We do what we can do.

 

 

I regarded home as a place I left behind in order to come back to it afterward.

— Ernest Hemingway

 

Meanwhile, back on the rail trail…

The weather became hot as forecasted.  There were days when, if we got up at 5 or 6 AM, we were able to complete our usual jaunt before it got too bad.  On those days, it would have been possible to continue on the Midstate Trail, but that would have meant we’d have to get up well before dawn to do it.  Then there were a couple of strings of other days when the temperature never got low enough to even start a long walk anywhere nearby.  The last heat bubble had heat indexes as high as 104℉ that lasted for days.  And there were a few days of rain that we decided to avoid.

Today, the temperature is in the high 60s and we are out on the trail at 9 AM!  What a joy to be able to sleep in a bit without broiling in our own skins.  There is rain south of us, not even 30 miles away, heading east, but none here.  Just cloudy skies.  The ground is dry and people are out and about, enjoying a cool jaunt in Mother Nature.  Even the birds are up and singing.  My Merlin app hears two new species, a northern flicker and a chimney swift, as we start out.

Things are very green now.  The damned burdock is more prolific at the beginning of the trail and I keep a look out for their big broad leaves.  I do see some big leaves just off the tarmac, but I think they are mostly bitter dock, not burdock.  Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, because there’s a lot of it.  The two look a lot alike, except the bitter dock’s leaves are a bit longer and pointy at the end.  The proof will be when the burdock sprout their damn burrs, then I’ll know for sure what’s what.  I bought a weed puller you can use while standing up, to help me remove any burdock I find, but, if what I think is bitter dock is really burdock, I have a lot of work ahead of me.  I’ll have to wait until late summer to early fall, to know for sure.

The weather is good enough that there are a few bikes out on the path.  That means Waldo is spending a lot of time stopping and looking behind us, just to make sure we’re not surprised by any.  It also means that he spends a lot of time walking to my rear, then moving around me – always in a clockwise manner, of course.  When a bike does come from behind, he either starts walking sideways next to me, so he can keep an eye on it, or he lies down and waits for it to pass.  If one approaches from the front, he walks next to me, eyeing it suspiciously.  He has never charged after a bike, or barked at one.  Thank God.

We pass the spot where I raked the ground and tried to plant wildflowers, a year ago last spring.  What had been a thick carpet of dead, brown leaves and branches, is now a dense growth of healthy, live, green leaves.  Unfortunately, the leaves do not belong to any of the flowers I tried putting there.  They’re all jewelweed and greater celandine, both native to this area.  I guess clearing the ground provided the local species the chance to come in and take over and never gave the wildflowers a chance.  At least it’s not all Japanese knotweed, which is invading a lot of the ground next to the trail elsewhere.  Waldo doesn’t mind any of it – he’ll lift a leg on anything.

Near our turn-around point in Hudson, a well-known acquaintance of ours, with a dog, approaches us going the other way.  She is a transplanted Swede who has been here, with her husband, for decades.  They used to have a border collie companion, who they walked out here regularly.  The dog died, but, after a less than a year, they adopted another border collie puppy, named Loki.  Loki is about 5 months old now and full of insatiable border collie puppy energy.  He’s pulling at the leash, trying to jump on me and doing his best to get a playful response from Waldo.  Waldo lies down and patiently lets the puppy pounce on and paw at him and generally cause mayhem.  The dog is well named – Loki is a trickster god in Norse mythology, known for his ability to instigate chaos.  Seeing the two dogs next to each other, Loki at 5 months and Waldo at nearly 8 years, really brings home how much Waldo has changed.  7 and a half years ago, Waldo was Loki.  His age is showing.

We say goodbye to Loki and our friend and finish our walk.  It was really good to be back here, on home ground, after our forced hiatus.  Now if global warming, El Niño and the weather gods will only abate the heat enough so we can continue to walk, even if it’s at dawn, until the cool of fall comes.

If not, we’ll do what we can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s active logging going on here.

 

We don’t stop hiking because we get old – We grow old because we stop hiking.

— Finis Mitchel

 

Today is our last walk on the Midstate Trail for the season.  Starting tomorrow, and for the foreseeable future, the forecast is for temperatures well into the 80s and higher.  That precludes Waldo and my continuing until sometime in September, when it will be once again cool enough for us to finish this trek.  Until then, we’ll have to walk when, where and as we can in the coming heat.

Today, though, is a fine day for a walk in the woods.  The high temperature will be in the 60s, the winds are light, the sky cover scattered and the ground dry (except in places).  Christine once again drops us off where we start.  We’re at the Parker Cemetery, we’re we stopped 2 days ago, and we head south on Coldbrook Rd.  In less that ¼-mile, the trail heads off to our left into the woods and the 21^st century is left behind (except for my cell which I keep in my pocket until needed).   The trail is embedded in foliage – ferns, small bushes, weeds and new-growth deciduous trees.  It’s dense enough that Waldo, up ahead at his self-assigned position at the lead-end of the leash, is almost swallowed in green.

After less than a mile, we come across a large grassy field of grass.  On the left side of the trail are 2 granite benches, bearing the names of Rolf Larson and Bob Elms.  Rolf and Bob were 2 of the people responsible for the development of the Midstate Trail.  The granite slabs that comprise the benches are large and heavy.  The nearest road is almost ¼-mile away and I have no idea how those stones were brought here – it must have taken a lot of manual labor.  Aside from the grassy field, a small pond and some trees on its edge, there is not much of a view.  I have no idea why so much effort was expended to put the benches at this particular spot.  On the other side of the field, the trail is once again absorbed by the forest.

After around another mile, we come across a two-rutted dirt road, Pine Plain Rd, and continue down that.  Not far down the road is a sign that reads, Caution, Active Logging in Progress.  I don’t see many pines on either side of the road, and the oaks, maples and birch are all less that one-hundred years old (judging by the diameter of their trunks) and it doesn’t look to me like prime logging country, but that just shows my level of ignorance about such things.  After a half mile or so, we come across downed logs, trimmed and ready for transport, on the side of the road.  There is some heavy equipment off in the manmade field to our right, including a large chipper, but most of it, I can’t identify.  Just past the logs, we are met by a large semi, drawing a closed in trailer, that takes up most of the road.  Waldo and I step off the road and let him pass, waving as we do.  The trucker waves back and continues on his way.

Just past the place where we met the truck, the trail takes off to the left and heads into the bush.  After a short distance, we cross over a wooden walk that covers some swampy ground.  There are places on this trail that appear to be not much more than a path worn into the ground by passing boots.  And then there are other places, like here, where some not insignificant effort has been put in to maintain the path.

Not very far at all from the walkway, we cross the Mass Central Rail Trail.  This piece of the rail trail , Christine and I walked along a few years ago and I don’t recognize it.  I recognize the line on the map that represents it and I know we walked it, I just don’t remember the country or having crossed the Midstate Trail when we did.  But I know we did.  At the intersection is a stone bench with Midstate and Mass Central Rail Trail etched on its side and a granite pillar with Mass Central Rail Trail engraved on it.  Small world…  Much to Waldo’s dismay, there are a few bikes that pass us in the short time that we’re there.  We even pass a woman walking her dog.

A stone’s throw from the intersection is the large parking lot, just off Rte 122, where we left our car.  There is a porta potty where the trail meets the parking lot.  I’m pretty sure that it is there for those who use the Mass Central Rail Trail, because it is used more than the Midstate Trail.  Today’s walk: 5.45 miles in 2:42 and 412 feet of elevation gain.

I water Waldo and we get in the car to go home.  After having come so far, I’m feeling a little disappointed we won’t be able to continue for a few months.  I’m also feeling quite happy that we have been able to make it halfway before being forced to take a hiatus.  That was looking pretty doubtful while we were scrambling over the New Hampshire granite at the beginning of the hike.  Once fall comes, I’m pretty sure, now, we’ll be able to finish before the first flying flurries of winter.  For now, though, it’s home to my recliner and Waldo to his balcony.

I just have to figure out how to get any significant walking done, in the next couple of months, without baking in the heat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Central Mass Rail Trail.

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Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.

— John Muir

 

Christine once again drops us off where we left off on our last hike.  She lives only about 15 minutes away, but still, she’s been very gracious about doing that.  I ask her, “You know, by the fall, when the weather is cool enough for Waldo and me to continue on this trek, your plantar fasciitis should be healed.  Do you want to join us then?”

“Absolutely,” she answers.  “My foot better be improved by then!  I miss walking with you guys.”

“We miss walking with you too.”

Waldo wags his tail.

For now, though, it’s not to be and Waldo and I head out on our own.

At first, we follow a paved highway, then a paved street.  The temperature is somewhere in the high 50s to the low 60s and I’m in shirt sleeves, so I’m feeling a little chilly, bur it isn’t long before I generate enough body heat to be comfortable.  This is Waldo weather and he’s happily trotting along up front, to the extent the leash will allow.

Before too long, the trail turns into the woods and becomes a dirt track weaving its way through ferns, bushes and saplings.  This part of New England is very green in the spring and summer and the world is drowning in emerald splendor.  I spent my early life out west in semiarid desert and was astounded that a place could be this green.  It’s always made me feel comforted, subliminally assured that there is plenty of food and water.  A true Garden of Eden.  Maybe that’s because most of my life took place in areas relatively bereft of verdancy.

We’re well off the highlands of the mountains and we pass by many swampy areas and slowly flowing streams.  There are places where we walk through a tunnel of foliage, surrounded by leafy bushes and ferns, then climb up a small hill to a path meandering through new growth trees with little undergrowth.  Eventually, the trail turns into a two-rut road, heading west.  The road is no longer used by motor vehicles, at least without special waver, and the walking is fast and easy.

The road then turns north and the path continues on west toward a large stone dike.  The ground is a large grass field and there is no place to put trail markers.  We get somewhat lost and wander around a bit, looking for the trail.  The general direction of where to go is obvious, but it has become a challenge to find the actual path.  After some circuitous exploration, we end up on top of the dike on a road.

The dike is large enough to be a dam, but there is no reservoir – at least none that has any water in it.  Water flows freely underneath the rocks of the dike.  A sign tells me that what we’re walking over is the Barre (pronounced “berry”) Falls Dam.  It is a dry reservoir dam, designed for flood control.  The reservoir can hold several million gallons of water, if need be, but there is nothing but a small river there now.  It turns out that it is the east branch of the Ware River, a river well known to Waldo and me from our trek along the Central Mass Railroad bed of last year.  If it became necessary to fill the reservoir, much of where we walked today would be under water.

The path continues on past the dam, down Coldbrook Road and to our car where we left it in a small parking lot next to a tiny old cemetery, called Parker Cemetery.  In the cemetery are some small, thin, frail headstones that are so old and weathered, I can read none of the text they once carried.  I can identify no dates or names at all.  There can’t be more than a couple of dozen graves here and I wonder what community they once served, because there is no one living near here now.  There is a Parker, who was a minister in nearby Hubbardston in the late 18^th century, but he was buried in another cemetery.  It’s just another piece of history lost to the sands of time.

Today’s walk has been a nice leisurely stroll, 5.91 miles in 2:37 with 239 feet of elevation gain.  Quite a change from the grueling hike we had at the beginning of this trail.  One more leg and we’ll be very close to being halfway done.  The plan is to finish that piece the day after tomorrow.  After that, NOAA says we’ll have to take a hiatus until the cooler temps of fall.

For right now, I hear my recliner calling and Waldo needs to make his presence known on his balcony.

 

 

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.