Mt. Tom Hike

Sunday, Feb 14, 2010

It's been way too long since I've been out hiking so decided to hike yesterday with Women Outdoors and take myself out hiking today and keep myself company. Unfortunately, I can no longer go hiking with just a water bottle and an apple. I bring a 45 liter day pack with all the potential gear in case of accident---mine or someone else's. I figure the weight is just good practice but it still takes me a while to pull it all together. I should have twos of everything so I can keep my main pack complete.

I wanted to head to Westfield to see Fran afterwards so south rather than north made sense. Mt. Tom was a good suggestion and I decided to go in from the Holyoke gate where my family accessed the reservation often when we were kids. Compared to the Rockies, our mountains are ant hills but I've been told that these mountains are some of the oldest on the planet and they've been worn down over time.

Anne lent me her map to find some trails. I walked down the road that was noted as a fire road. When we were kids riding in the car, we always waited to see what we were told was petrified rock in the middle of the road that served as a lane divider. We must have stopped at some time to look at it though maybe never actually got out 'cause rounding up 6 kids on the narrow road could have been like herding cats. But now, walking on foot, I notice more petrified rock on the sides of the road and wish that I had my camera to play with close-ups of the striations. And what's that big rusty thing on wheels just off the road and up the hill and how could I have never noticed it before? The sign said it was formerly used to crush rocks, circa 1928 by the CCC Civilian Conservation Corps. 

I go further on and decide to follow a drainage off to the right. I'm careful to stay far enough away so I don't do something careless like slide down and twist an ankle. There's not much water but I know not to get anything wet and I'm by myself. Yes, I've told Anne where I am and I've got dry layers, socks, my down jacket, treking poles that I could use as a splint, and on and on. What I can't believe I've forgotten are my mini spikes that make my footing feel so secure. Following the drainage, I notice the trees with a new eye and try to identify the bark or the conifer needles. Last year I just wouldn't have thought about it, would have taken them for granted and been unaware of the various types in our area. I spot what I think are As in the bark that indicates an ash tree. Yesterday on a hike I was talking about MADDOG--maple, ash, and dogwood trees but couldn't remember if they have alternate or opposite branching. I found a twig of pine needles and knew it was white pine because of the cluster of 5 needles. Today I think I found hemlock but didn't have my glasses on to see if it had white marks underneath. I'm impressed that I care and know that by really noticing nature is one way I have changed. I wish I had an Audubon guide with me.

The drainage seems to end under the ground and snow. I find a tree to lean against as I sit on an insulated pad. I pull out my journal and begin to write but having stopped moving, the wind makes me cold and I hear voices in the distance. They are a distraction as they get clearer and closer. I want to be alone and become aware that I am suddenly uncomfortable not far off the road but out of sight. I'm angry that I can't feel safe in the woods. I see them finally through the winter branches moving slowly with treking poles, probably hiking off the M&M as they disappear below the slope beyond. I've been too distracted and now I'm chilled. I pull my pack on and head down the hill toward the road. I could count once, maybe on two hands, the number of times I've been in the woods alone. And I could hardly count where I was today as "in the woods." I realized that retracing familiar land from years ago and keeping myself company were really all I needed today. My goal was to go through the motions of being with myself, self-sufficient, and that being just fine. . . it's enough. I never turned on my Ipod to hear Ferron's soothing tunes. I listened to myself and, mostly, what I had to say was enough. I even practiced some LNT and picked up someone's trash thrown next to some petrified rock. I just don't get the littering mentality. . . especially in the woods.