By Robert Dunlap
“Kids, come back! I have something to show you!”
I was seven years old when my aunt and uncle took my sister and me bird watching in the woods of wild, wonderful West Virginia. While vacationing with them at a very nice state park, they decided to give my parents a break from us for the morning. To them, we were “city kids,” having lived all our lives in a house that was built in an old farm field along with 150 identical units about 20 miles from downtown Philadelphia. I have construction photos of the property from 1950 and there isn’t a tree to be seen anywhere.
On the other hand, my uncle had lived his whole life in the Mountain State and was an avid hunter, fisherman and nature lover. My mother said that her brother would never live anywhere else in the world other than West Virginia. Years later, I finally understood the spell the mountains had placed on him and why he could never leave.
My sister and I were doing what kids our ages would normally do, running ahead of our caretakers by a good 20 or 30 yards at least. I don’t know exactly what we were looking at or listening to. Maybe we were “watching for birds” because we were on a “bird watching” trip, right?
“Kids, come back! I have something to show you!”
After repeating himself a few times (maybe several times), we finally turned around and trudged back down the trail, reluctantly retracing our steps. When he came into view we could see him bending down looking at something on the ground in the middle of the trail.
“It’s a box turtle and you guys ran right past it. I’m glad you didn’t step on it. Have you ever seen one of these before?”
The answer to his question was a resounding no, because we were city kids and box turtles usually don’t hang around in old farm fields surrounded by 150 houses. He went on to explain to us, very gently as I remember, that there are a lot of things to see in the woods, but you have to slow down and take your time, or you might miss some of the amazing things that are out there.
There was a character named Ferris Bueller in a movie several years back about this one day he took off from school. He went joy riding in a sports car, took in a Major League Baseball game and sang on a float in a parade. At one point in the movie, he turns and speaks directly into the camera.
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
If Ferris and my uncle had ever met, I feel like they would have gotten along just fine.
So that’s what it’s all about. Go slow, take your time, and look all around…. rocket science, huh?
Of course, there are plenty of folks who go into the woods and completely ignore this advice. The current world record for completing the Appalachian Trail in the shortest time is held by the Belgian ultrarunner Karel Sabbe who traversed the 2,173-mile trail in 41 days, 7 hours and 39 minutes, which means he averaged 53 miles per day! He accomplished this feat, which is equivalent to running 20 miles more than a marathon every day for 41 days straight, during July and August of 2018. Can you imagine how many box turtles he missed on this trip?
Actually, I don’t begrudge Mr. Sabbe too much because he accomplished a truly amazing feat of athleticism, and he did something no one else in the world has done. And maybe he turned around in Maine and leisurely retraced his steps back to Georgia at a 5-6 mile per day pace so he could see everything that he missed. No, probably not…
I have a few other rules/guidelines I follow every time I head to the woods. Obviously, I always take precautions against biting insects and the burning rays of the sun. I have an old smartphone and the GPS app I use to navigate to avoid getting lost drains the battery quickly, so I take a couple of power sticks along. I carry a roll of orange flagging tape to mark the locations of interesting plants so I can find them again. I wonder what the occasional deer or squirrel hunter thinks when they see my orange flags tied to random tree branches out in the middle of nowhere?
The most valuable implement to take into the woods, however, is the hiking stick. I use a wooden one that was hand-crafted (paw-crafted?) for me by a beaver. While it is useful for maintaining one’s balance climbing over downed trees or scampering up and down creek banks, I find it indispensable for removing spider webs. While bushwhacking through the woods, I wave my stick around in circles or just swing it up and down in front of me. Alternatively, If you are trapsing through the woods with another person or group, always hang back in second or third place, never lead. This will ensure that the other person gets a face full of spider web, not you.
I recently discovered another reason to use a hiking stick. A few weeks ago, I was crossing a field on my way back to my vehicle after an enjoyable walk in the woods. The field had been subjected to a controlled burn a few months earlier and I was concentrating on the wide variety of plants that were popping up all over the place. Suddenly, I heard a clunk as my stick hit something solid, which was unusual for western Kentucky (we don’t have many rocks here). I looked down and sure enough, my stick had landed on top of a box turtle who had sealed itself up tight in its shell. As I was taught when I was seven years old, I picked it up and checked the shell for damage (there was none) and waited for a while, hoping it would decide to check me out also. Unfortunately, it declined to make an appearance, so I returned it to the ground and continued across the field.
And as I made my way back to my car, all I thought about was my uncle and all the other things he taught me besides how to take a walk in the woods.
Robert Dunlap is an amateur naturalist living near Paducah who owns every Peterson Field Guide that has ever published.