New Discoveries
Wild Discoveries
One of my favorite things about living in the woods is discovering new wildlife on the property. I have always felt a connection to animals. I had turtles, frogs, dogs, cats, and other creatures as a young child. I still remember my mother's horrified expression when she saw her eight-year-old son walk into the house with a jar containing three black widow spiders.
Nature is cool and awesome. We can learn many things from watching how animals interact with their environment. Lately, I've been using trail cameras to track wildlife movements in the area, and it's been interesting to witness how evolution cleverly guides an animal's behavior. Humans can think and problem-solve, but nature has been solving problems in the wild well before homo sapiens were around. Time is wise.
Property Description
My home is in rural North Carolina, where farmlands intersect with the woodlands. The front and back yards were carved out of a wooded area, leaving a fortress of tall trees surrounding the open land. To the east is a large pine grove planted about 60 to 70 years ago. The pines, now, are tall and strong.
Behind my house are the natural woodlands that remain as they have always been. The land is full of trees and thick brush. Walking 50 meters into this area, you can encounter maple, beech, birch, cedar, and dogwood trees. There are also fir, black cherry, sweetgum, ash, hickory, cypress, and several species of oak and pine trees. The forest floor is covered with a large variety of fallen leaves and pine needles. There are so many trees that you don't see dirt, just a layer of old leaves that carpet the area, sealing in moisture that helps other vegetation thrive.
Heading north through the woods, the land starts to slope toward a creek that flows year-round. The area is ripe for wildlife.
The Walk Out
It had been raining steadily for two days, and I was eager to see if the creek was swollen. I grabbed a raincoat, camera, and safety harness and headed out the door. The rain had slowed, but the soaked tree branches splattered large water droplets as the wind blew. I zipped my coat, pulled the hood over my head, and made my way to the pine grove. The air was cold and smelled of pine needles and rain. I arrived at the top edge of the grove and turned left, heading north into the woods.
Rainfall makes a forest quieter. It is silent except for hundreds of muffled drips, which sometimes sound like a muted percussion piece. An occasional gust of wind interrupted this order, making the drops sound more random.
I quietly moved north toward the creek, looking for bedded deer. The wet ground is perfect for stalking. It is one of the few times you can walk silently since the dried leaves soften, losing their crackling sound. You have to be careful, however, about where you step. A dried twig snapping under the leaves is enough to announce your presence in this world. Also of concern are hidden holes in the forest floor, like missing tombstones memorializing the space where trees once grew.
The Stream
I heard the creek before I could see it. As I suspected, the prolonged rains caused the creek to swell three times its normal volume. This creek bed, however, has handled much more water. The ravine that houses the creek is much broader than the streams it holds today.
I am not sure what kind of grass grows in this area. It is winter, so the dead grass looks like thousands of tall, golden strands of straw. It is very different from any terrain I've ever seen. It looks like someone dropped a bomb at a scarecrow convention, with bunches of straw strewn randomly and messily around the whole area. I'm eager to see what this place looks like in the Spring.
Two streams flow across the property. In some locations, the streams further divide into more channels, some connecting the parallel streams at perpendicular angles. The water remains relatively clear, but today, with all the rain, it is unexpectedly pristine. Walking alongside the closest stream, I spotted a clouded area in the water where the mud and sediment were being disturbed, probably from the water running faster than usual due to its increased volume.
Old and New Sounds
The rain continued but sounded quieter in this open area. However, the sounds of trickling water flowing in the creek added to the ambiance. I found this sound calming and slowed as I walked alongside the stream. I was no longer under the thick canopy of the woods, but under gray skies whose open space absorbed the pitter-patter of the raindrops.
Kerplunk! A loud splashing noise suddenly broke the silence of the whole scene. It sounded like someone doing a "cannonball" jump into a swimming pool. I couldn't see what made the noise, as several trees growing between the streams blocked my view. I have seen a blue heron in the area, and a few miles away, a large reservoir houses several egrets. They sometimes shoot their heads underwater to catch prey, but the noise I heard was much louder. There are also several ospreys in the area that dive from very high to catch fish. Usually, I'm far from these diving areas taking pictures with a telephoto lens. Could this be what it sounds like when the raptor hits the water? I continued to my destination, an old tree stand positioned near the water's edge.
The Tree Stand
This area near the creek houses one of two tree stands on the property. Previous owners strategically attached the stand to a large pine tree near two feeders adjacent to the creek where game trails show signs of traversing animals. The stand is old and probably has not been used in several years. It has about a twenty-foot ladder that leads to a platform with a seat large enough for two adult hunters. It appears safe, although I need to replace some nylon straps that secure the ladder. The main cabin is wrapped with a muted olive drab material which aids in camouflaging the stand's occupants. And speaking of camo, the tattered canvas has been there so long that it is now covered with various mosses and lichens. Forget Mossy Oak products; this thing is covered with actual moss.
I made my way to the front of the stand, preparing to ascend the ladder. A long climbing rope is secured to the tree above the top of the tree stand for safety. This main line has another small rope tied in a Prusik knot with a carabiner that attaches to my safety harness. The beauty of the Prusik knot is that it allows you to slide it up and down the main line quickly, but if I were to lose my footing, then the weight of my body would cinch the knot down on the main line and prevent me from falling to the ground. Since moving to the woods, I have had to learn a variety of knots used in fishing and other outdoor activities. The cleverness of various knots is impressive, and I think knot tying is an art worth learning and preserving.
I clipped my harness into the carabiner, screwed it down, and started my ascent. Once at the top of the ladder, I raised the canvas material and crawled onto the platform, closing it behind me. I pushed the Prusik knot to the top of the safety line and then checked the stand for spiders.
Being in a tree stand in the woods is an intense experience. Suddenly, you are off the forest floor, watching from above. Your scent is no longer close to the ground, you can be very quiet, and most wildlife does not bother to look up into the trees for predators. The tree stand offers a great vantage point from where you can easily observe a large area. This position provides a unique opportunity to be in the forest while blending in with the natural surroundings, which makes you invisible to the wildlife below.
Every hunter knows that most wildlife quickly detects human movement, scent, and sound. A deer will usually know you are in the area long before you see it. But remaining motionless in a stand is game-changing. It allows you to move slowly and watch for animals in a way that defeats many of their natural detection methods. Usually, the forest is relatively quiet when I reach the stand. But once I sit still for about fifteen minutes, the forest comes alive. First, you hear a bird singing, then another, and pretty soon, the forest resumes its natural state as if you were not there.
It is not always easy to spot wildlife, as they are usually well hidden and use camouflage to their advantage. From the stand, much of the landscape looks similar with its muted colors and thousands of branches and leaves everywhere. The key is to relax your vision and look for movement.
The rainy weather brought gusts of wind that blew through the forest. In the woods, you can hear the wind approach by the rushing sound it makes when it hits the sparse winter tree limbs. The whooshing noise sounds exactly like an ocean wave. Sometimes, you can hear the wind coming thirty seconds before it arrives to your location, and then thirty seconds after it passes. It reminded me of being underground in a Tokyo subway station. When a subway or train moves through your station without stopping, you can feel the air approaching and blowing past you. Wind in the forest feels like a quiet, invisible train moving through the treetops. There, I waited and watched. Seeing nothing, I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing as I listened to the sounds of water and wind around me, the tree stand gently swaying side to side.
Kerplunk! The silence was, once again, interrupted by a loud splash.
A New Discovery
I didn't see what made the noise, but it came from a location closer to me this time. I saw a large bird in the bushes fly away and wondered if it was hunting in the water. My eyes caught a ripple that seemed to be moving in the opposite direction of the stream. The water turned darker, and I knew something was underneath. An animal's body and head broke through the creek's surface, although the mammal's face was still underwater. Its thick blackish-brown coat looked waxy when wet. It was a beaver!
The beaver poked its head out of the water and swam to the bank, where he waddled about fifteen feet from the tree stand, its flat, black paddle-shaped tail dragging behind. The beaver found a tree branch and pulled it into the water. He did this repeatedly, each time moving a little further upstream. Just about the time he was beyond my view, a second beaver popped its head out of the water, looked around, and made its way upstream. I was excited to have beavers living on the property.
I have wanted a more extensive water area to stock with fish. Beavers might make this a reality as they are known to dam streams and create larger, deeper bodies of water. There are a lot of interesting documentaries on these little creatures that show how drastically they affect the local ecosystem. If these little animals do their thing, the creek will likely grow into a small pond one day. In any case, it is satisfying to learn that another animal species lives in the area. This animal happens to be one that can improve the wilderness in a way that conserves water and builds thriving feeding grounds. Beavers, wow.
Descension
I watched the beavers for about twenty minutes, and then they were gone. The winter days were short, and the sun was already below the horizon. And since it was a rainy day, it was darker than usual. My stomach growled in hunger, and I decided to end this adventure and start my way back home. I gathered my camera, checked the stand to ensure I had all my belongings and began my descent.
There is something magical about stepping down onto the ground after spending time in the stand. It always feels like passing through a portal and popping into the forest when it doesn't know you're there. I had to hike to this area, and during this time, the animals and birds could probably hear me coming from a long distance away. But after being in the stand, I was suddenly on the ground, in the middle of the forest, where no animal expected me to be.
Creek Side
I walked alongside the stream quietly. It was getting dark, and I knew the hike back, under the canopy of trees, would be even darker. Still, I moved slowly along the bank where I last saw the beavers.
I came around a slight bend, and there it was. A beaver was swimming in the stream about three feet from me, utterly oblivious to my presence.
I snapped a few pictures, and the beaver must have caught me in its vision. Kerplunk! The beaver crashed underwater and was gone. I waited a few minutes to see if it would surface, but beavers could stay underwater for up to fifteen minutes, and I needed to get back home before it was completely dark. I bid the beavers farewell, asked them to get to work on my pond, and turned south for the walk home. My empty stomach rumbled.
Returning Home
The walk home should have been eerier than it was. It was dark and rainy, and the wind was still blowing. Every so often, I heard something scurry away from the path where I walked. However, these woods had become familiar, and I no longer felt like they were some foreign place I did not know. The first time I explored the property, I had to be careful not to get lost. Everything seemed so busy and unfamiliar. Now, on walks, I noticed if the trail was disturbed, where new growth like the Spring buds on trees had formed, or where dead branches or trees had fallen that were not there the day before.
The walk home was familiar, and nature closed its curtains on the usually scenic view as the darkness fell. My mind turned inward.
A Creek In The Woods
I started thinking about how happy I was living in the wild, having beavers in a creek on my property. My mind drifted to a forgotten memory of a creek I frequented as a child.
I was born in Colorado, but when I was three or four years old, my family moved to Texas, where we spent some time living in Dallas. When I turned six, my parents purchased a home in a new subdivision being built in the suburbs. The town was small and rural then, but the new neighborhood would add hundreds of homes.
My family did not have a lot of money, but my parents were able to purchase the house where I spent most of my childhood. The homes were modest, but they were brand new. I remember visiting the construction site several times, walking along the concrete slab where I would share a room with my brother. At that time, we lived in a two-bedroom apartment where I shared a room with two brothers and an uncle, so the new living arrangements were a definite improvement.
After we moved in, I met several other kids and became best friends with a boy who lived next door.
After school and on weekends, we explored the wooded area surrounding the subdivision. To get to the homes, you had to turn off the main road, Clark Road, onto a street named Flameleaf. On the north side of Flameleaf was a creek where my friend and I used to explore and catch crawdads. We did this using a string with bologna tied to the end. The crawdads would grab the meat in their pincers, and we'd pull them out of the water and keep them as pets. A groove in the yard next to my driveway had been cut by the tires of cars parked at my house. It was about six inches deep, and my neighbor and I would fill it with water and use it as a home for the crawdads. I remember exploring the same creek with my brother when I grew older. One memorable incident occurred when we shot a snake with our pellet and bb guns.
Today, the neighborhood is old and rundown. But I remember how much that place meant to me as a child. The woods and creek were my favorite places to be. I spent most of my childhood in that home, living on Nutmeg Lane. I remember many of the streets as I used to ride my bicycle all around. There was Flameleaf, Hedge, Nutmeg, and Winterberry. Come to think of it; all the streets were named after trees or plants. Thinking about this, I couldn't believe I hadn't remembered the neighborhood's name until now. It was called The Woods. I laughed, realizing that I grew up in The Woods, and now I'm writing about my experiences living in the woods. Life is not without irony or humor.
This realization made me wonder how new discoveries connect us to our past.
The Power of New Discoveries
Walking through the dark woods, I thought more about my adult life and how it related to my childhood. Many of the activities that bring happiness to me today are things I discovered very early in my life. Before I was ten, my desires for writing, the outdoors, martial arts, dogs, and photography were already sealed. At age 50, these activities are priorities, if not necessities, in my life.
I wondered if, as adults, we chase the past. Is there something from our childhood that we seek as we grow distant from it? Or, was the timing less critical and the activity something that inherently drew us? Maybe these deep connections to our past are less about nurture and more about nature. Perhaps we were predisposed to have an affinity for the activities that make us happy.
Maybe my current connection to my childhood was an illusion. Indeed, I experienced many things as a child that I had no desire to pursue as an adult. Likewise, many things that weren't of concern to my past self are essential to me now. Picking and choosing certain activities that appear to connect the present and past could be a form of data mining, finding connections that aren't actually there.
Whether by coincidence or design, my present journey began when I was young. Connecting the creek on my property to the creek near my childhood home taught me that discoveries are more powerful than we realize. New experiences change who we are today and increase the depth and breadth of our understanding of who we used to be. When we see our past in a new light, it changes what those experiences mean. In this way, each new day has the potential to change the past, present, and future.
Dinner
I arrived home in the dark. My wifey left the front porch light on for me, and two of my dogs were lying down, watching out the glass door, waiting for me to come home. Their tails beat the floor in a steady rhythm once we saw each other. I opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the incredible smell of a hot, slow-cooked, homemade dinner.
Wifey and I love to eat good food; as fate would have it, she is a genius in the kitchen and finds stress relief from trying new foods and recipes. Win-win.
Tonight's meal is Puerco con Salsa Verde, fresh flour tortillas, and fried corn tortillas. The dish is made by browning chunks of pork loin and then slow cooking it in a sauce made from roasted tomatillos, Anaheim chiles, chicken broth, chopped onion, and fresh garlic and cilantro. The results were a rich, mind-blowing sauce and pork so tender it fell off your fork.
I know pressure cookers are fast and get pretty good results, but there's something about slow-cooking meals that makes them tastier. A pressure cooker seals in all the moisture, and the sauce never has a chance to reduce. Slow cooking, however, gets more flavorful as the sauce becomes more concentrated.
I poured two cold IPAs, and we sat down, talking about our adventures, eating fantastic food, and listening to good music. It was like every other night in our home, one we would always cherish and remember.
living deliberately
After dinner, I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. I felt thankful for a day full of new wildlife discoveries, new meals, and a new understanding of my journey. I learned that no matter how much hardship or heartbreak we experience, every past moment was a stepping stone to where we are today. And even if we can't appreciate a difficult time when we're in the thick of it, future experiences will likely rewrite what that pain means, paving a path for a better future and an appreciated past.
Keeping this lesson in mind, I will remember that every discovery helps define and redefine our lives. Each day is an opportunity to learn something new and resolve something old. In this spirit, I, too, wish to live deliberately.