And then it came crashing down

Have you ever seen a tree fall in the woods?  The event is awesome.  Not awesome in a yeah maaan, generation x way.  But awesome in a biblical, I am at a loss for words right now kind of way.  Believe it or not, I have had it happen to me twice.  

On the first occasion I was riding my bike and at a safe distance from the falling monster.  Sunny day, no wind, no real reason for a tree to just fall. It was sizable, likely an oak, but I forgot to check for sure (sorry dad!) and wow did it make a racket on its way down.  What I remember most are the leaves, they go every which way as the tree bounces off its neighbors, shimmying its way down to the earth.   Then there is the cloud of debris as it hits.  Twigs, the ground, leaves, small rocks all jump in surprise as the tree goes horizontal.    

Witnessing this act might be why I have some tree fear when I camp.  In most campgrounds staff or rangers come through before each season and cut down or trim trees at risk of falling on a site.  But on those windy nights in the tent when you hear the swaying branches, I may be guilty of thinking through scenarios of what I might do if I heard a loud snap in close proximity to the tent.  Mostly I decided that curling up into a ball and protecting my head is the best bet.  But, having witnessed tree number two fall, I know that would be of little help.

It was another sunny, gentle day and Andy and I were backcountry camping.  We were rigging up our food to suspend on a branch of a giant white pine when we heard a violent snap of wood.  The sound implied to both of us that this was no twig, but something really big and we knew immediately that there was trouble.  The sound was close.  Our eyes scanned the area, first looking at the tree we were working on, and then quickly finding the maple just to our left whose trunk was snapping open vertically from the center.  With seconds to act we got behind the white pine for protection and watched the maple tip forward, we had front row seats.

Unlike the first tree I saw fall, this one had no immediate neighbors to get in its way.  It went straight to the ground and the impact was most impressive.  The forest thundered with the hit, and the earth jumped under our feet and created a cloud of dust and debris that found its way to my wide open eyes.  Andy and I stood there for a moment, happy to be safe, but speechless from what we just witnessed.  Suddenly we began talking all at once, reliving the moment and describing how we each took it in.

Not lost on us was our tent, far enough away from the tree to be safe, but close enough if that same tree fell during the night, the word terrifying comes to mind.

Go, go, go,

Anne

The Dog Paw

I love dogs, but they have a habit that is universally annoying.  The obsessive licking, when they sit beside you and fixate on one paw.  Lick, lick, lick, lick, lick...lick, lick, lick.  At first you just try to ignore it, you are happy to be hanging out with your pooch.  The noise goes in and out of your consciousness, you notice it, but it is not too big of a deal.  Lick, lick, lick... You pet the dog a little bit, they pause,  they look up at you, but back to it, lick, lick, lick, lick...You ignore them, or maybe mumble for them to stop, you may even distract them for a time, but lick, lick, lick.  Finally there is that point where you cannot take it anymore - AHHHHHHH!  STOP IT!

The Dog Paw.  That is what we call a section of trail that goes on, and on, and on.  Where the rhythm of your steps stay the same for miles, and you have nothing to do but keep walking.   The Dog Paw is almost always flat.  I may be known to utter a few profanities going uphill gasping for breath and wondering if the summit will ever appear, but the Dog Paw, it can usually convince me that the ups are never that bad.

There are two epic Dogs Paws in my life.  The Lake Road in the Adirondack Mountain Reserve in New York and large sections of the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania.  Both are flat, wide and long, too long, the monotony of these trails are bone crushing.  More than any other type of trail, the Dog Paw makes your joints hurt and feet ache from the pounding.

One section of the Pennsylvania AT is the Dog Paw namesake.  On an outing four years ago Andy and I and our friend Jimmy were on our weekly training hike.  We turned onto the AT from another trail and started on the dreaded section, we walked and mumbled under our breath, you go as fast as you can to get it over with, but like the dog licking, it just keeps going.

Finally, we got to the next trail junction, happy just for the opportunity to make a turn.  "You know what that is like?"  Andy said as we paused at the trail.  "When the dog licks and licks at his paw and doesn't stop."

Jimmy and I agreed, and from that day forward all long, flat sections of the trail are known as the Dog Paw.

This is Kertesz, our little dog who would lick all night if we let him and the inspiration for the Dog Paw.  The trail inspires many things, but funny sayings and catch phrases created on the trail are some of my favorite.  Do you have any to share? 

Go, go, go!
Anne