Author: Christopher Hall

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A River Runs Past It

I still felt the tension sitting where it always does–wrapped tightly in my shoulders. I was really looking forward to the time off and hoped to photograph black bears and red wolves. I had made good time as I pulled onto the Outer Banks and looked forward to getting away into the wild, but I was finding that even during the offseason, Nags Head and the surrounding area was still pretty congested. I was glad that I had booked a massage for the afternoon and after some of those knots in my shoulders were broken down, I jumped back into my car and headed towards by abode for the next several nights – Atlantic Street Inn on Nags Head. My accommodations were incredible! The bedroom held a nice queen-sized bed with a private bath. A separate sitting area held a sofa, chair and coffee table that brought a little extra space and comfort to the stay and I had easy access to a fully equipped kitchen. I choose to go out for dinner, then settled in for an early night.

Daylight always seems to break early and as the light started seeping through the window coverings, I slid out of bed and headed for the kitchen. It was my first day and I had decided that I wasn’t going to rush for anything. I slowly got ready for my adventure in the wildlife refuge, packed the car, and headed out. Feeling not very rested and a little irritable (my neighbors at the Inn were up late and loud), negative thoughts were running through my head. I was annoyed by the amount of traffic I encountered and how overly developed the area was. How many cheap T-shirt shops do you need? I wasn’t really prepared for this, but I kept my eyes looking forward and made my way to Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge (ARNWR). I arrived and started making my way through the property. Since ARNWR is the site of the largest population of black bears east of the Mississippi, I felt pretty certain that I would drive along, stop at various points, look around with my binoculars, and would have no problem finding these beautiful beasts. It wouldn’t take long to see that I wasn’t going to be the only tourist out there hoping to catch a glimpse of the bears.

The 152,000-acre refuge is located along the Atlantic Coast in eastern North Carolina. A number of dirt & gravel roads cut through, intertwined, and wrapped around the property and I tried to cover as much of the property as I could. Even as unpopulated as the local area was, I would see a number of cars cruising around the refuge, some at a pretty quick pace. I didn’t think this would bode well for wildlife viewing but consoled myself by thinking how cool it was that others were also amazed at the idea that they might see a creature in the wild, one that few others may ever get the chance to see. I zigzagged through the property, stopping at certain vantage points to get out and look around with my biners. On one particular road, I came around a bend and saw an image waiting to be captured. I pulled over, took the shot, then got back in my car. My windows were still down and I slowly drove forward, then I heard some loud thrashing and crackling in the woods on the other side of the canal. I thought it could be only one thing–a black bear!

I slowly turned the corner, pulled ahead and looked for a place to pull over. I stopped, grabbed my binoculars and camera, then got out of the car and headed back to the place where I heard the sound. The dirt road was just wide enough for two cars to pass if one car pulled off to the side. I raised my binoculars and looked up and down the road, scanned the length of the canal, and where I suspected the bear might be wandering. I waited and watched. I walked a little further, stopped and looked around. After a few minutes, seeing and hearing nothing, I headed back to the car. I thought to myself that this wasn’t a bad place to grab some water, food, and sit for a while. The wind was blowing steady and the sun was dancing in and out of the clouds, so I added another layer of clothing and my ‘Windstopper’ hat. I was pretty well stocked for the trip and to be outdoors. I pulled out my folding chair and table, then sat down for a bite to eat. It was a beautiful day! As I sat there eating lunch, I felt like I was the only person on the refuge–the only sound I could hear was the wind blowing through the trees. I sat there and took in the sun. It was a peaceful moment and distant memories floated to the surface.

One memory that surfaced was the first time I had meditated. I was in my early 30s and living in Savannah, Georgia. With my body still and I’m trying to quiet my mind, I felt tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I was unfamiliar with the stillness and at that time in my life, I was turning down a new path. I had long operated under the belief that men didn’t cry. I had held back the feelings and the tears for many years and I finally came to the point where I could no longer hold them back. It would be very cleansing. That was many years ago and I’m still on my journey with meditation.

Another memory that I was reminded of was when I took a trip to Rocky Mountain National Park. At one point in my trip, I was on Trail Ridge Road and had pulled over on to one of the parking areas, Toll Memorial Trail, named after a former park superintendent. I got out of my car and walked up a long walkway that led up onto this open tundra. I was amazed as I looked all around me at the rocky peaks, many that still had snow on top of them. I continued to walk ahead and that’s when I started to see them: Marmots! They popped up and scurried all over, one chasing another, then diving down where they couldn’t be seen. They were so amazing! It was the height of summer tourist season, yet for about 15 minutes I found myself in this otherworldly landscape all by myself. I looked around with an almost a 360-degree view of the mountains around me. The seconds seemed to last forever and I felt a peace that washed over me. And then there was the silence. Only the wind could be heard. It was an experience I’ll never forget. And being out in ARNWR on that January day, I felt like I was right back there in that mountain terrain. I finished my snack, climbed back into the car, then headed back on the road I came from.

The afternoon sun was fading when I came upon the canoe launch. It was later than I intended, but after thinking through some plans for the next several days, I decided to hit the water. I pulled into the dirt parking area and got myself ready to launch. I had all the gear I need for a winter paddle–knee-high neoprene boots, warmth & wind layers for top & bottom and extra gear just in case I went into the water. I was ready! The paddle wouldn’t be a long one, but that didn’t matter. Aside from getting a massage, nothing really could take the kinks out of my body, and my mind, like getting on the water. I put my boat in the water, climbed in, and slowly paddled down the stream. After a couple of twists and turns, I saw another paddler heading towards me. We exchanged pleasantries and each headed on our way. The sun was quickly setting and I decided to turn around. In the way of wildlife, I didn’t really see much on this brief outing, but I have never regretted going on a paddling excursion. I paddled up to the canoe launch and climbed out of my boat. After topping the canoe on top of my car, I stowed away my gear and changed back into driving clothes.

The last light of the day was quickly slipping away and I looked at my maps to chart a course out of the refuge and put me on the path back to Nags Head. I turned the car around and started heading out. One dirt road looks like the next and I had found myself at a stop sign. Right or left? I looked at the map again and looked inside myself. I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen the critters I came searching for. A car came up behind me and I motioned them around. They turned right, so I turned left, holding out in hope for one last chance. Dusk had fallen upon the wetlands and as I slowly drove forward, I followed the bend in the road. As I turned the corner, I was amazed to see the last light of a sun spilling over the horizon’s edge, casting yellow, orange, and pink just over the treetops. The sky, a light blue, faded into a darker hue and the last light slipping away, leaving clouds a dark shade of gray. The stillness of nightfall had come, but the days last sound was of Tundra Swans bidding all a goodnight.

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Invisible Sun

“There has to be an invisible sun
It gives its heat to everyone
There has to be an invisible sun
That gives us hope when the whole day’s done”

— The Police

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Synchronicity

I had heard of Boyd Pond Park many years ago and in the back of my mind, I had often said that I needed to check it out. When I went back to school, I found my free time cut into my out of town trips, so I sought out local nature ‘fixes’. It was then that I found my way out to Boyd Pond Park.

When you drive down Boyd Pond Road you’ll see a dirt parking area on the right and left. Go to the left and you’ll see a place for frisbee golf and a wide-open field. On the right are miles of woods and dirt trails for the biking and hiking enthusiasts. If you follow the main trail to the end, you’ll be greeted by a solid, wooden footbridge that crosses over the shallow wetland at the end of Boyd Pond. It’s a magical place.

On a recent night after the Firefly experience, I ventured back to the park, almost at sunset, hoping to see one of the resident beavers. If one side of the park is a thickly wooded landscape of dirt trails, the other is more structured with playground equipment and baseball fields. That night I found games going on at the ballfield, so I headed to the dirt lot. Having parked the car, I headed down the trail with binoculars and my headlamp. I walked quietly as I neared the end where the dirt meets wood. Coming out from under the canopy of trees, I see a sky mixed with clouds and a sun setting over the horizon, coloring each of those straying clouds. The frogs were singing their chorus and birds were flitting about as nightfall approached. I slowly walked onto the bridge from under the cover of trees to find a painterly sky that continued to open up.

There’s a couple of overlooks built into the bridge and I headed towards the far end where the beaver lodge stood. I looked up into the sky and to the left, over the trees I just walked under, was a cloud, big and white. Over to my right was another bank of clouds hovering over the trees there and colored into a pinkish-orange hue. What lay between were thin, gray wispy clouds as if they were the landscape connecting two sets of mountains. In fact, it reminds me of a photo of Yellowstone with El Capitan on the left looking over the valley below. I stopped and took a deep breath. As I opened my eyes, I lifted my binoculars to search across the water for any beaver activity. From left to right, I scanned the water for ripples when I came across a beautiful dragonfly. It was a beautiful hue of blue. I followed him with my binoculars as he was lighting down on some grasses that were shooting into the sky. I quickly brought him into focus, when cruising right behind him and across my field of vision was a beaver, slightly out of focus! The timing and synchronicity were unbelievable and I quickly refocused my lens on the beaver, while I traced his path across the pond. Shortly, he slipped down into the water.

Turning my gaze back to the sky, I saw more clouds slowly turning from white to pink as the sun continued to sink into the horizon. The singing of the frogs began again and as I listened, I heard three maybe four different songs. The Spring Peepers, with their high-pitched voices, were easy to identify and represent the majority, by sound if not by numbers. Others that I heard sounded like they came from the Tree Frog family, though, it was hard to tell.

Looking across the water on the other side of the bridge, I raised my binoculars and after a few minutes, again, I see a beaver cruising across the water. He stopped where the water gave way to the ground and started chewing away at the vegetation. I sat there and watched, while he piled away food. When he decided he had had his fill, he slid back into the water, crossing under the bridge, slowly making his way home.

The sun had disappeared and with the sky almost black, I took in a deep breath as I looked at the sights around me, thinking about my good fortune. I flipped on my headlamp and made my way out of the woods.

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Magical

I got off from work today and on the way back, I stopped off at the car wash to vacuum out my car. I get home, start stripping Buck’s beds (he has two), grab kitchen and front door rugs. It’s laundry time. I’ve been doing mortal combat with fleas and I hate to say it, but they seem to be winning. Buck is doing great, but me? I’ll get back to you on that. Floor-sweeping and mopping, flea spray here, there, everywhere and after switching loads of laundry, I decided I will be picking up dinner and maybe a head over to Boyd Pond. Buck is always eager to go and we load up.

It’s hard to reconcile Buck’s dive into the back seat of my Subaru with the dog that wandered into my life some 12 years ago. It was a cold, dark January night when I picked up Buck wandering around a friend’s property. At the end of the 20-mile drive back home, he let out a howl as the lights of Aiken came to view. I thought I was in for a long night, but we both settled right down into our respective sides of the room. Like most dogs you find out in the country, Buck had fleas and looked like he could use a good meal. When he got to his first vet visit, they decided he was about a year old and a mix between Golden Retriever and Chow. I remember the day, a few months after that January night when it seemed his eyes, and heart, opened wide and knew that this was his forever home. It wasn’t long after that when he really discovered the joy of car rides.

I made my way into Aiken, grabbed dinner to go and decided to eat at the park after all. We pulled into Boyd Pond, slowly headed over to the picnic area and to my delight, there were few cars around. Buck, as always, patiently waited by my side, as I ate my evening meal. Then it was time to hit the trail. It was after 8 PM by this time and though I didn’t have my headlamp with me, I did have a mini flashlight. When you enter Boyd Pond, the road pulls into a larger lot and veering off to the left will take you close to the ball fields, which is where I normally head. Down the sidewalk, past the bathrooms, we get to the top of the hill where the fields are. Buck was off leash (as normal) and he quickly turned right, following the line of the chain link fence, marking the boundaries for the fields. One field, then a second, our path dipped to the right into the woods, where we weaved around a couple of bends and then landed at the head of the wetlands. A bridge crosses over to the other side of the park, where there are numerous trails for mountain biking.

When we slipped into the woods, Buck ambled to the left, sniffing to his heart’s content. Bad move for him, but good for me as it put me into position to get him back on the leash. When the woods break away into the wetlands, I try to enter quietly, since you’ll never know what winged treasure you’ll find. Buck was on to me as I bent over, leash in hand to stop his forward progress. Fake to left, bolt to the right, he gave in knowing he wasn’t going to get by (as an aside, I could look at him and see the wheels turning, as he was trying to figure out how to outmaneuver me). With Buck leashed, we both started for the wetlands. When I got out there, I stopped and looked around. There was still a little bit of light and it was the perfect time for beavers to come out for their more active period of the day. A beaver lodge is just a stone’s throw away from the bridge and at times, I could see their movement under the water. It had been a while since I’ve seen them. I had brought my binoculars and I scanned across the water. Ripples here and there, I was finding more turtles then anything else—except for bugs! I started to move on. I wanted to let Buck have some fun too. Then I saw some more movement. I raised my binoculars and sure enough, at the other end was a beaver cruising with his head barely out of the water. A few seconds later, I saw him tuck under and dive in. He was huge!

We continued on our journey. I figured we’d walk for a little while, then turn back around. It was getting dark and I didn’t want to hang out there too long. After we crossed the bridge and slowly re-entered the forest, I started seeing fireflies. I had been seeing them over the past several weeks, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. What I didn’t know is what I would experience as I turned a corner in the woods—there must’ve been a hundred fireflies along the path ahead! The first word that came to mind was magical. With the tree canopies overhead, yet the path open and straight, I could see for about 25, 30 yards ahead, fireflies lighting up everywhere, from the forest floor to the highest canopy. Their lights weren’t synchronous, they were more quick flashes of light, like at a dance club, each one firing off at their own beat, in their own space of the forest, with their brothers, sisters, and cousins firing off too in their own timing.

I kept walking. I figured I’d continue to walk and watch this sacred dance until they thinned out and I saw the last of them. Then I’d turn around and see it again! But it didn’t stop. If you’ve been down this trail at Boyd’s Pond Park, there are many parts that the sky is blocked by a canopy of trees. At times, the forest would open up, others, it would come back down like a warm embrace. I continued walking and the light show continued to captivate me. Quietly, step by step, Buck and I walked down the trail we have walked so many times before, just above the shores of the pond. We reached the end of the trail and walked along the road to get back to the parking lot. We did see more fireflies, but nothing quite as majestic as our first entrance into the divine.