A walk close to home

By Dirk Fischbach

Distance is a relative concept. Sometimes, getting away from it all requires no more than a short drive – and a long desire.

The week had been crazy. Deadlines, sales deals gone awry, and more bills than checks arriving in the mail.
I knew I needed a break. But I also knew I didn’t have the time or resources for a trip to the soul-refreshing north country. I grabbed my Atlas and Gazetteer for some inspiration.
Settling in on a state recreation area about 25 minutes from my house, I checked the site for some hidden gem – a destination inconvenient enough to keep hordes of people away, yet accessible enough to make it a practical destination for this sun-drenched afternoon.
A small lake virtually jumped off the page and into my lap. I smiled at my find and made my plan.
I quickly loaded up a float tube and fly rod, waders and a couple fly boxes and headed out.
The parking lot was nearly empty, as the summer-season revelers had either packed it in or headed to warmer climes. A couple bicycling enthusiasts and a bird-watching couple were my only companions.
The trail head was unmarked by any official signage. Only a beaten pathway through a low meadow betrayed the presence of any destination beyond the sloping, forested landscape that sat behind the immediate surroundings.
I packed my gear into the float tube and slung the tube up on my shoulder. The path reminded me very much of the walk into Grebe Lake in Yellowstone National Park, and memories of days spent there helped lift my spirits even more than the pleasant mix of pine and crisp fall air were already doing.
Even though it was difficult to raise my head while hiking with the tube, I couldn’t help myself. The gorgeous yellows, oranges and reds of the changing leaves played against the prevailing green of the pines on a canvas of blue skies. The sun, which streaked through the forest in bold assaults on the forest’s shadows, warmed the air and fueled the peaty smell of the leaves that had already given into the fall breezes.
When the trail opened up to the small lake, I actually had the feeling that the hike had ended too soon. Instead of rushing to top off my tube with air and get into the water, I sat on a log and just took in the day. The shriek of a hawk drew my attention upward, and I saw a red-tail circling off to the west, hungrily scanning the ground below.
Eventually, I gave into my inner clock and rigged up for fishing. Paddling around the shallows, I was able to get a small fish to take a Woolly Bugger and whatever “pressure” I had put on myself to achieve success was removed. I now sat back in my tube and let the sun warm my face.
I heard some scuffling among a pile of leaves on the shore, and I looked over, expecting to see a squirrel. Instead, it was a dark brown shape I saw, and I looked harder, thinking it was a strange shape for a muskrat – and with good reason: it was actually a mink.
I smiled. I hadn’t seen many this season on my home river, and sighting one here, unexpectedly, really sealed the deal on an extraordinary close-to-home-but-a-million-miles removed experience.
When the sun began to dip and the breeze shifted into a gear just short of heavy wind, I knew it was time to head out. I finned my way back to my put-in point and re-stowed my gear for the hike. Satisfied far beyond the sum of the day’s catch, I grabbed my tube and took one last scan of the lake environs – getting a quick snapshot for the photo album in my mind.
As always, the walk back to the car and the responsibilities it represented was not as pleasant as the trek in – but just before breaking out of the forest and back to meadow, I again caught a glimpse of the red-tail hawk, and this time he had a fresh kill in his talons, and was heading on fast wings to his nearby perch.
The symbolism seemed clear to me. For both of us, the day had come full circle. Each had found what was needed to sustain us until our next visit.