I’ve always been a last-minute Christmas shopper, so when Thursday presented me the opportunity to further postpone my gift-getting, I happily took it.
Rather than rush headlong into the mob scene at the Holyoke mall, I chose the wintry woods.
That morning, while working at the machine shop, I passed by the window to see big, fat snowflakes falling, a sure sign that it’s warm enough to enjoy the outdoors. The recent cold had largely kept me indoors, so I didn’t think twice about taking a hike.
So, when my shift ended in the afternoon, I headed home, bundled up with long johns and a fleece-lined sweatshirt and jacket, grabbed my camera and headed for High Ledges in Shelburne.
A wrong turn on the way up put me at the Davenports’ farm, not far from the Mount Massamet fire tower. I contemplated hiking up to the old stone lookout, but opted for a gentler climb and went to my original destination.
As I drove the last stretch of road before turning off for the trailhead, the fire tower came into view on the next ridge, and I told myself I’d have to make it up there this winter.
Driving up to the parking area, I followed the fresh tracks of another vehicle through deep snow, and was thankful for my four-wheel drive, which I knew I’d need to get back up the hill. I parked near a pickup at the trailhead, got my gloves and camera gear, and started toward the path. Seeing glare ice in some tire tracks, I turned back and grabbed my ice cleats and slipped them over my workboots.
It turns out the walk wasn’t too bad. There was a well-worn track along the trail, left by those who’d trudged through the snow before me. A short while later, I passed two men in their early 20s, who were just finishing their own hike.
This forced a point of etiquette — who steps aside, and who stays on the path? I veered right, as did one of the men, while his friend walked straight ahead, smiling and keeping his feet dry.
I didn’t pass anyone else on the trail, but there were signs of life, both human and animal. Most were single sets of tracks, and much of these had been filled in with the morning’s snow. Others had been laid before the previous storm, and were reduced to sets of striding divots.
There were also a few spots that looked like little highways, leading into the woods and likely to something’s den. One of these led to a hole under a snow-covered stone, right next to the trail.
The smaller prints lacked the definition to determine their source, and I’m no tracker. But there were quite a few sets of deep, skinny prints that were undeniably deer. Some of these ran along the path, while others crisscrossed the woods. With hunting prohibited in the sanctuary, they’re free to roam.
I didn’t see any living creatures, but when I got to the ledges, I heard a lone bird overhead. No matter — I was there for the view, anyway. I walked to the edge and put my zoom lens on my camera, then pointed it toward the Shelburne Falls and the Deerfield River valley below while resting my elbows on a big ball of snow that seemed to have been made just for the purpose.
By then, the sun was starting to go down. With an overcast sky above, I didn’t feel too bad about leaving before sunset. Besides, it was nice to walk back with a little light to spare.
David Rainville is a former reporter and editor for The Recorder, who now works as a machinist. He enjoys hiking, kayaking, biking, and finding new ways to explore the outdoors. You can reach him at daverain82@gmail.com