Wintertime on Whidbey. It’s cold, damp, and I’m chilled to the bone. The noises of the city where I live echo off the buildings and clouds and memories. Cars, jets, sirens, construction, destruction, it fills the air this day. On a sunny Sunday this week, we drove to the east end of Sleeper Road, to Dugualla State Park. We parked among a handful of other cars already there. In the cacophony and noises of our lives, my goal was to hear the still small voices of winter life in the deep woods of Whidbey. It was a frozen dead-still day, frost still on the fallen trunks and leaves, with not a breath of wind. A young couple was heading out ahead of us, entering through the gate after sharing greetings and petting Murphy. We put on lots of layers and our packs and ventured out. Hiking up the first rise, it hit us – there wasn’t a sound to be heard here. No planes, no cars, no neighborhood noises, nothing. We stopped to really listen. High above us in the canopies of trees we could hear the little twinkle of kinglets flittering, as quiet as if they were just our imagination. There was no other sound. Trees stood silent, frozen in place. Shrubs were simply stage props, motionless. We took the north trail. Soon we saw a man walking toward us, his hand to his ear, and heard the distinctive sound of a conversation on a cell phone. It sounded so alien in this world of winter quiet. Where the former roadway becomes a smaller trail, the trees are larger, older, the woods more open, the terrain dropping quickly to the east. We walked along, mostly in silence ourselves too. Fallen leaves muffled our footsteps as we padded along the trail. My puffy scraped lightly with the swing of my arms; her skirt swished almost silently. We were in a forest cathedral, and the silence seemed almost sacred. We whispered if we talked at all. Where is the wildlife in winter? No insects hummed, no birds called out. We stopped to really listen, and heard a Pacific wren singing a solo far away. A song sparrow rustled through the underbrush. Near here we found a fir tree that had twisted, snapped, and fell violently in a recent storm. All was at rest now. At the big tree, we headed down to the beach. A motorboat engine hummed far off in the distance, faint, and then gone. Small waves caressed the shoreline, folding gently onto the shore. No other sounds reached our ears in the silence of the noontime. Soon we climbed back up from the beach. That’s a climb! I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and we breathed heavily. Stopping for refreshments, we again listened to silence – until a raven pierced the air with his plaintive calls and croaks. It echoed in the cathedral of gentle giants around us, then disappeared over the hill. Check out the video. The air was warming slightly as we took the south trail back. A few more birds graced the landscape with their chatter. Chickadees, more kinglets, sparrows and wrens darted and chirped. We passed a couple of other people heading the other way, enjoying their conversation, and a smiling young man lost in thought. Our pace became a steady hike, passing under the arches of bare alders, watching the sun and shadows. We stopped to really listen once again. Without the noise of me walking and the constant chatter in my own head, I could now hear robins chatting, a nuthatch jeering, a woodpecker hammering, and leaves dripping melted frost waters. In these days of busy lives and constant commotion, where can we hear nothing save the still, small voices of the natural world? Where in our neighborhoods, our parks, our places of business and our places of refuge can we still find the whispers of winter wildlife, a single leaf falling, trees breathing, or the silence of the stars? jack What's Your Favorite Trail? Send a photo and a few lines describing which of our trails you like best and why, and we may include it in our top 10 list on New Year's eve! Deadline is Dec. 26th. Email: [email protected] Directions: From Highway 20 north of Oak Harbor, take Sleeper Road east to the very end. There is a small parking area here, with room for maybe 10 cars or so.
By Bus: Dugualla State Park is several miles east of Highway 20. By Bike: Using back roads such as Jones Road and Taylor Road you can bypass the busyness of Highway 20. The terrain is rolling with some steep sections, narrow shoulders, but minimal traffic. Accessibility: Where the trail is a former roadbed, the slopes and condition are fairly gentle. The trails beyond become steeper, and there are occasional roots or rocks. The trail to the beach is steep in places.
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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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