 |
| A view of the Indian Head River from the Hanover side. |
Not that we were
entirely lost! We had followed a very clear path up one side of the Indian Head
River in Hanover. We had crossed the river at State Street in Hanson, and followed
a trail back into the woods in Pembroke, with the intention of finding our way
into the Wildlands Trusts’s Tucker Preserve, which wasn’t all that far
downstream. But we never found it. So we sort-of knew where we were, but not
really.
This was a familiar
predicament. I’d walked the inviting, scenic trails along the Indian Head River
before. At least once, I’d found my way back to the parking area on West Elm
Street, via the 78-acre Tucker Preserve. But once or maybe twice before, I’d
been similarly lost: on a trail, but not the right trail.
The landmarks were
familiar – I’d been there before. But I couldn’t be sure if they were the right
kind of familiar. Just because we recognize something doesn’t mean it’s what we’re
looking for.
I went away recently
for a long weekend: a yoga retreat at Kripalu, in the Berkshires. I spent my
afternoons on the hiking trails in the mountains behind the retreat center. I’d
been given a map when I arrived. It included not only the mileage of various
trails, but also the level of difficulty and an estimation of the time required
to complete each hike. Map in pocket, I was far from lost.
 |
| Looking out on Monks Pond. |
The first day, I
chose the trail to Monks Pond. It was a steady uphill climb, and rather muddy.
I really had to pay attention, so I wouldn’t slip. One of my objectives for my time
away was to gain some perspective. What would I like to achieve, going forward,
and what would I need to change, in order to get there? The muddy uphill path
seemed like an apt metaphor. I tend to choose the more challenging routes. I
make things harder for myself than they need to be. And thus over time, certain
kinds of suffering become familiar. It’s like being on that trail that leads to
nowhere: it’s not the right trail, but it’s familiar, so it takes me a while to
figure out that I need to find a different route.
 |
| Standing in a stream, attempting to clean the mud off my boots. |
Back to the Indian
Head River. So we were lost in the woods. We had at least two options. One was
to attempt to retrace our steps, and hope to find the trail we’d missed before.
At worst, we could cross the river again at State Street and go back the way we
came. Another option was to consult our smart phones. I’d been meaning to
download a trail GPS app, but I hadn’t yet. However I did have several, more
general, street mapping apps. Quickly we determined that while we were nowhere
near the Tucker Preserve, we were quite close to houses and roads. We chose a
back yard and very quickly passed through it, to the street. It wasn’t quite so
pleasant, walking at the roadside instead of in the forest, but at least we
knew where we were going. And twenty minutes later, we were back to our cars. I
have since downloaded a map.
On the South Shore,
we can get lost in the woods, but how lost are we really? We don’t have any wilderness here. Even our largest
conservation parcels aren’t all that big. We follow a trail, and even if we
lose your way, we eventually come upon a
house or a road. As soon as we find civilization, we can find our way back
home.
I’ll be heading back
to the Indian Head River soon. Now that I’ve been lost there at least twice, I
am determined to get my bearings and learn the layout of the intersecting
conservation properties that line its banks. Next time I’ll start on the
Pembroke side, though, and walk from the fish ladder, into the woods where I
know there’s a plainly-marked trailhead for the Tucker Preserve. Also next
time, I’ll be sure to bring my map.
by Kezia Bacon
April 2014
Kezia Bacon's articles
appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local
non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance
and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For
membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at
(781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. To browse 15 years of Nature (Human and
Otherwise) columns, visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com
