A spur-of-the-moment, solo hike in the county’s most-developed town last week turned out to be the best one I’d had in years.
I had been thinking of scaling Mount Toby in Sunderland, but since it looked like I’d be going it alone, I decided on a closer, less-strenuous hike. It dawned on me that I’d never explored the Griswold/GTD Conservation Area in Greenfield, so I did some quick research.
It turns out, the property is peppered with signposts that point out different features of the managed woodland. Many of these were designed to foster wildlife habitat. I figured that might boost my chances of getting some good wildlife photos, and headed to the 200-acre parcel off Lampblack Road.
That decision payed off before my hike even started. As I neared the end of Log Plain Road East, a deer ran in front of my Jeep, far enough that I didn’t have to slam on the brakes, but close enough to get a great view.
It was a good sign, I thought to myself, though I doubted I’d have a comparable encounter in the woods. But I stayed optimistic, despite seeing that someone had used the trailhead as a place to dispose of their recliner.
I set out on the trail, and soon came upon a stretch of wetland fed by a brook, and covered in berry plants. A quick scan for waterfowl or frogs netted nothing, and I moved along.
The trail headed into one field, then another. The path was marked by boot-worn grass at the edge of the woods. I looked for critters, and saw nothing but squirrels. I heard a woodpecker somewhere, but couldn’t lay eyes on it.
I plodded on, through stands of strategically-thinned trees, past a nesting box installed for owls, and an array of fruit-and-nut-bearing trees. The guide pointed out a huge white oak on a short side trail, and I stopped here to marvel at the gnarled old tree. Next was a view of Northfield’s Notch Mountain, and I stopped here, too.
By now, I was itching to see some wildlife. I was also itching from the bug-bites. I smacked a mosquito on the back of my head, and wondered if I’d see anything but squirrels.
Seconds later, I got my wish.
I heard a noise, and looked up the trail to see eyes looking back at me.
I tried to move as quickly as the deer. I got my camera to my eye just in time to catch a flash of brown and white as it turned tail and ran into the woods. My heart was now thumping. I quietly walked to where it had left the trail, in case I could glimpse it through the trees.
No luck, though I did see its tracks along the trail. I kept walking quietly, ears perked like a dog’s, one hand on my shutter button and the other on the barrel of my zoom lens. I took a side trail that circled the woods where the deer went. Every so often, I’d stop to re-focus my camera on a point up the trail, to up the odds of a clear shot.
I went back to the main trail, still on the lookout. When it hooked a left later, I went straight, toward a field marked on the map. Just as I came into the clearing, I scanned the tall grass for signs of life.
There, less than 10 yards from me, a deer lay at the edge of the woods. We locked eyes, both frozen for a second. I snapped out of it and raised my camera just as the deer shot to its feet. I rapid-fired a few shots before it was out of sight.
Back on the trail, I kept my eyes trained to the woods on my right, looking for the warm brown of deerskin.
Through thick woods, I saw it. Watching me. Waiting. I took a couple shots through the trees, then crept toward a tree I hoped I could use for cover. Halfway there, the deer bounded off, seeming to jump straight up a hill. That would be the last I saw of it.
While I can’t say if this was the same deer from my drive, or whether there was more than one, one thing’s certain: it was an adventure I won’t soon forget.
David Rainville is a former reporter and editor for The Recorder, who now works as a machinist. He enjoys exploring the outdoors. You can reach him at daverain82@gmail.com