Nuthatches, Acorns and Furry Scat!

Two days after Thanksgiving, a feast for the senses. Silent Cougar and Major Tom head from Lake Skannatati to Stockbridge Mountain. Ten-and-a-half miles, as a cold clear morning turns into a colder and blustery afternoon. Seven hours in the near-wilderness of Harriman Park. This is our next-to-last section of the Long Path in Harriman...just one more 5-mile stretch, and the whole southern section of the Path will be in our rear-view mirror.

It seems like the joke is on us, but we just laugh along. We watch three nuthatches, at the beginning, middle and end of the hike, just dancing around and making fun of us. Tree to tree, upside-down and rightside-up, silly song like a confused chickadee. They can not imagine why we are hiking that trail; not eating tasty insects or scouting for springtime nesting sites. I guess we are kind of ridiculous. But we just shrug it off and press forward.

Crunch, crunch, crunch...hoarfrost and acorns. Have there ever been so many acorns? We see a few overworked squirrels: no dancing for them. Just dashing about with harried looks. How thoughtless of the oak trees to overwhelm their furry friends so. I assure Silent Cougar that the frost will soon melt, but it never does. Little vernal and autumnal pools with films of ice, and snow flurries on top of Fingerboard Mountain. The first snow of the year! Numb cheeks and stiff fingers. Are you ready for winter?

Never seen so much coyote scat. Imagine swallowing all that fur! I guess acorns turn into squirrels turn into coyotes. And such product placement...how do they drop it so neatly on the center of a stone? Generations of practice, I suppose.

I love the beginning of this hike: the shores of Skannatati, the mountain laurel, the south-facing cliffs with caves plucked by the glaciers, the burbling streams through hemlock ravines. So much of what is right about Harriman Park, summarized in a short stretch of trail. Tell a friend, child. Times Square has seen better days, but the Appalachian Trail intersection is still magical...signs point in the four directions, listing distances to magical places from Georgia to Maine, from George Washington Bridge to Altamont. Two legendary trails. I love this spot.

A beautiful buck pauses on the ridge to our right. He is posing for a picture, I guess. The moment passes as three women appear with dogs. The deer changes plans and passes out of view. His image lingers after he is gone; was he ever really there?

We miss the side trail to Lemon Squeezer, too captivated by a beautiful marsh on the other side. Amber waves of phragmites, glistening in the low rays of the sun, shedding a last few bits of fluff in the gusts of wind. The air is cold, but the sun still warms your legs. Along the edge of the marsh, an impossibly clear stream, tiny forests of sphagnum moss.

We pass through an area that burned, maybe twenty years ago. I remember when this looked like a battlefield. Today, you can still see charred stumps, but a new generation of pine trees is pushing up along the edges of the clearing. Bright green and full of energy...big plans! The ancient metamorphic bedrock in the clearing doesn't seem worried. Over millions of years, many generations of trees have risen and fallen. Even a forest fire seems insignificant after 10 glaciers have come and gone.

Arden Valley Road looks absurd; smoother even than glacially polished gneiss bedrock, and blacker than chunks of magnetite ore. Sharper edges than the harsh shadows of pine trees on vertical rock walls. We hurry across...this road does not seem to belong here. I think I hear Mother Nature laughing; she will close this road for the winter. Humans do not control this place.

Onwards and upwards, we are feeling strong. Stockbridge Mountain does not look so steep from here. The old woods road is wide and gentle. We are lulled into a false sense of confidence. A sudden left turn changes everything! A rapid climb, breathing faster, hiker's high! Feet heavy yet floating, legs sore yet tingling with anticipation, blood sugar low, fat reserves burning, brain just laughing because it is all so funny. Mother Nature strikes again!

On top of the mountain, the swirling snow flakes are just too perfect. A vulture wheels overhead: my spirit animal. He ignores me...our connection is too obvious to acknowledge, so he just plays it cool. I am impressed for the millionth time as he compensates for the wind gusts with slight adjustments in the angle of his wings. Suddenly way down range, but hey, just go with the flow. Bend but don't break. Maybe there is a dead coyote down there. Vulture droppings can nourish the oak trees, for the next crop of acorns. Keep the wheel turning...

Up another cliff, smooth face this time, no caves. The shelter on top is inhabited, so we move on. The sun is low over the hills. A panoramic view, but no other signs of "civilization." That's all right; Nature is okay with herself.

The long walk down, two miles on feet like lead and legs like noodles. A quick stop in the cave shelter. We make our marks on a rock with charcoal from the firplace. My symbol means "Listen!" and Silent Cougar, of course, makes a pawprint. He had visions here in the past. It would be nice to take the time today, but it will get really cold when the sun sets...

We are rewarded with our bookends: nuthatch, acorns and scat. Must be near the end of the line. The woods are smiling a benediction as we head out. Route 6 seems like an insult: dozens of cars driving too fast. Where are they all going? Holiday shopping at Woodbury Commons? I don't want to bring my head back into the material world. It is a relief to reach the car. Home to the other half of the family. We feel very lucky to have shared a day in the woods with our furry and crunchy friends.