Do you remember when you were in kindergarten or first grade, and you looked at the sixth graders down the hall and thought they were like giants, almost as big as adults? I was in awe of them. I felt very small. “I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” -– Henry David Thoreau Sorry, Mr. Thoreau. I never feel that way about trees, ever. I walk among tall trees and come away feeling smaller, not only because they dwarf me with their size and grandeur, or that I’m passing through while they stay planted where they are, but also in seeing my short span of life compared to the centuries they have stood, witnessing people passing by, the ages passing by, and all the while replenishing each of us with air to breathe and continuing to give birth to new seedlings, knowing they will be nurturing future trees in their own death. I feel smaller. I felt small, humble, quiet, and awestruck as Kath and I went to Hoypus Hill one evening this holiday weekend. Cornet Bay was buzzing with cars, boaters, crabbers, kayakers, drinkers, honkers, and bursts of fireworks. We walked easterly away from the noise, then southerly up into the woodlands, into the quietude, alone with just us and the trees. We hiked up West Hoypus Point trail and the hubbub fell away. Sunlight slanted through the branches, although much of the forest was now darkened in shadows. The sizes of the trees, their breadth, their height, their majesty, instills reverence and awe, immediately. I can only share words and photos with you; you have to be here to be immersed in the cathedral holiness of this place. Smell the deep forest baking in the sun. Taste tartly sweet salmonberries. Hear … nothing at all from the human race. The noise has faded away; a Swainson’s might be the only sound. We heard a coyote sing a clear wavering note. A coyote! From somewhere behind us, deep in this forest, it called to others or to the full moon. Murphy hunkered closer to me. Then a few plaintive yips echoed among the trees. Murphy looked over his shoulder and clung to my heels. The light was fading. Back on the East Hoypus Point trail, we again passed among giants, anchored here for centuries, fire scars on some, some now lying where they fell, still rising taller than my six-foot frame. There was a reverent hush across the evening. We came out near Hoypus Point and walked back in silence, mostly, savoring these last moments of light in the woods, the sun golden on the trees, the forest at peace at the end of the day. As it always is. A deer startled us, standing just five feet off the path, motionless, watching us pass. The sun set over Fidalgo, and we were back at our car. No, I don’t feel taller. But I do feel that joy of peace, that kinship, that wisdom of ancient life shared with all who listen. “So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts. Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.” ― Herman Hesse Directions: From Highway 20 south of the Deception Pass bridge, take Cornet Bay Road east to the end. Hike past the Hoypus Point gate and head up into the hills at the first trail on the right, about a third of a mile.
By Bus: Island Transit has a stop at Highway 20 and Cornet Bay Road. By Bike: Highway 20 is a high-speed, narrow highway with many hills. Cornet Bay Road is slower paced, relatively gentle, but with no shoulder. Bikes are not allowed north of Fireside Trail and south of Hoypus Point Road. Mobility: The roadway is flat and paved for 3/4 of a mile. The trails into the hills, however, are variable in terrain, tread, and elevation gain or loss. A stretch with a plastic boardwalk over a wetland is narrow; some of the trail gets muddy in the off-season. You know, do the math. There may be ten thousand visitors to the park each weekend day, but they are only visitors. With maybe 300 trees per acre and 4000 acres in the park, there are well over a million trees living here, permanent residents. They live here. We visit THEIR home. Most of them outlive us. "The wise man is one who never sets himself apart from other living things, whether they have speech or not.” -- LeGuin
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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
May 2024
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