The mind
of a true hunter is one of connection. Connection to all the surroundings, even
to those unseen by the common senses. To some tribes in Africa, hunters have
learned to read the “energy paths” of light similar to auras seen by some
people. They follow these bluish-white streams of light to “see” where the
animal they are pursuing, have traveled. For the rest of us, we learn to read
tracks.
On a
bright February day, after a snowstorm, I venture up the southwest side of
Pease Mountain, My father-in-law, Brian Hoyt and I start out from his house. We
notice the small trails where field mice have burrowed under the snow. We come
upon a stand of locusts with their deeply indented bark and sage green moss
covering the jagged edges. I ask him if he thinks it is true that moss only grows
on the north side of trees. He shrugs and says “That’s what they say, but I
think it’s an old wives tale.”
Further
up the hill we meander through some pines, when a partridge explodes from under
a pinecone laden tree. The bird takes to the air in a burst of snow, brown
wings thundering together, to fly an escape route that not even a jet fighter
could navigate. “Partridge!” I shout. (Technically they are called a ruffed
grouse, but I like to call them by their colloquial moniker just to tick off
the gentry. If you really want to be snobby about it, call them “Bonasa Umbellus” which means “good to
roast” or “valued as a game bird.”) Partridge medicine (what this bird
represents in Native American ideology) is community, fertility, mobility and
invisibility. There is much to learn from Bonasa
Umbellus.
As we summit
the cliffs we begin to see a story played out in the snow. It takes some time
to reveal itself. First we see the tracks of a large cat-like being with its
belly dragging on the top of the snow. It is crouching and trying to sneak up
to the edge of the cliff. Why? We surmise it’s a fisher cat judging by the
claws and conical shaped footprint. Then the tracks disappear off the edge of
the cliff. We look over the 10’ drop to the next plateau and see where he
enters the snow in a deep hole. Is he under the snow even now? Where did he go?
We climb
down around the boulders and discover, at the edge of this little flat spot,
another hole with paw prints and the outline of primary feathers form a large
wing. They are scratched in the snow in a perfectly symmetrical pattern as if
beating against the surface in an attempt to take flight. It is then we
discover blood where the feet of a turkey had been.
“I’ll bet
the rest of the story is below this drop-off” I tell Brian.
We climb
down the slippery rocks to the next flat spot, and sure enough, there are the
remains of a turkey splayed between two sharp rocks, with only its head eaten
off. Fisher cats are notorious for doing
this. The carnage reminds me that nature can be as violent as she is beautiful.
The fisher cat will have lived through another harsh winter because he was
courageous enough to dive off of a cliff, burrow under the snow and still hit
his target, coming up to ambush the bird from underneath the wintry forest
floor.
Nature
has all the drama of an Academy award winning movie, but when you have
discovered it for yourself, and borne witness to the mystery, you are not just
a viewer but a participant.
On the
walk home, we pass a yellow birch with a chaga mushroom growing out of its
side. I cut off a chunk of it and put it in my jacket pocket. Chaga or Inonotus
obliquus is revered by native
healers for its medicinal qualities. Laboratory studies have indicated
possible future potential in cancer therapy, as an antioxidant, in
immunotherapy, and as an anti-inflammatory. Whether you choose to believe this
or not, it makes a wonderful tea.
Back at
the house we have quite a story to share with everyone. We brew the chaga and
sit down in front of the woodstove to replay the story of our winter walk. At
the core of the story-telling I realize that the root of all happiness is
wonder. And there is no place to find such wonder as in the winter woods.
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