... And no one hears it, do we still mourn? If a man says I can’t breathe and no one does anything about it, does anything change? If a forest burns and we can’t breathe and nothing changes, will we breathe any better next year? It takes me about a mile or more of hiking, usually, before I start to sluff off the mental chatter rattling around in my head and experience the beauty around me. My thoughts start to expand beyond my own small universe and I begin to pay attention to the music of the spheres, the life that surrounds us wherever we are. So it was as I toured Dugualla State Park. The smoke from millions of acres of burning forests had just blown elsewhere. It was an overcast, dead-calm afternoon as I walked past the old gate. Usually I hike the trails clockwise. This time I reversed the direction, making right turns every chance I had, which took me down the Wetland Trail to the south. After about a mile, my pace slowed a bit, my pulse also slowing as I finally let my eyes and ears and nose speak to me. Being in the woods was working its magic, healing my mind, body, and spirit. I listened to nuthatches, I saw hemlocks and huckleberries, I smelled the rich earthy breath of the forest giving way to fall. CRACK/CRASHHHHHH/rumblerumblesettle… silence. I looked toward the direction of the sound, obscured by a hundred yards of salmonberry and rose thickets. It was the unmistakable sound of a tree falling in the forest, no breath of wind to give a push, no chainsaw noise to topple the giant. The tree’s time had just come, and it fell. I walked on. We take for granted that there will be breathable air, clean water, stately trees, comfortable trails, and years of life ahead for all of us to enjoy. Until we realize that any of these precious gifts can be lost to us in a heartbeat. I used to walk this trail at least once a month for years. It had been a couple years since I had last been here. I came around a corner where the forest has always been deep and comforting, and instead a bright clearing filled with a brand new house stood adjacent to the trail, just a stone’s throw away, with private property signs posted on several trees. Sigh. If an old-growth forest trail becomes a walk through a suburban neighborhood, has anything changed? I met a couple on the trail confused about how to find the beach trail. There used to be a sign, I said, but if it’s not there, just go back along this trail and turn right at the big tree. You can’t miss it. The man smiled knowingly and they took off. I followed at a respectful distance, although I caught them at the big tree and they kindly took my picture. Then we all hiked down to the beach, where I wandered across the wide strand of low-tide mud, slippery gravel and seaweed, and forest logs strewn up and down the shoreline beneath a densely-canopied forest. Eventually I headed back up the steep bluff and turned right again at the big tree, leading me up the very steep North Trail. No wonder I like going clockwise, I noted mentally. This is work going up this stretch of trail, especially after climbing up from the beach. The trail leveled out again, of course, and memories of building the trail came flooding back. Along the way I met others finding their own way to explore Dugualla, alone or as couples or families, each experiencing the hike, the forest, the trees, the seashore, the journey of discovery in their own way as we all took time to listen, and hear, and wonder, and marvel at the life and stories along the trail. jack Directions: Take Highway 20 four miles north of Oak Harbor to Sleeper Road. Follow Sleeper Road east three miles to its eastern end where you will find the small parking lot and the gateway to the park.
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Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
April 2024
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