This installment of Take a Hike was the hike that almost wasn’t. I have confessed in the past that I am a forest freak, but sometimes the “freak” turns into a forest “freak-out” like it did recently in the middle of the New Bedford Waterworks. Even a nature enthusiast has a bad day in the woods – not every hike turns out to be a good one.
Exploring a new hiking trail excites me and that day was no exception. I pulled into the North Rochester Church parking lot and started out on the trail leading to Gate 10, ready for a new adventure. I pulled on my wooly alpaca poncho I bought 14 years ago in Bolivia while hiking the Inca trails and threw my Nikon around my neck. I paused to read about the history of the location and study the trail map located at the entrance of the trail, smiled up at the bluer-than-blue sky, tightened my boot laces, and continued on the wide grassy path that took me farther from the whooshing traffic of North Avenue into the sanctuary of the woods.
I only ventured in a few feet when I sensed that this hike was going to be different. I had that funny feeling in my chest, a stirring in my solar plexus. My heart started beating a bit faster and I felt a little strange, like I was being watched. I suddenly felt unsafe – a feeling I despise as a lone hiker – more specifically, a lone female hiker, by herself in the woods.
These are the moments when I can hear my dad’s voice saying assertively, “You shouldn’t be walking around the woods alone. It’s not safe.” Words that do not resonate well with me, but nonetheless, a seed of caution was planted deep within my awareness that sometimes sprouts up like a vine and entangles my mind with fear, choking out any potential pleasure and restricting my ‘flow.’
“Turn back. This isn’t fun anymore,” I thought, taking out the little container of mace my dad recently bestowed upon me and clutching it in my hand for a sense of security. Yet still, against my inner-voice, I kept walking forward, deeper into the woods.
The trails at the New Bedford Waterworks, which borders Rochester, Acushnet, Lakeville and Middleboro, are mainly old logging roads – and the evidence of past logging is apparent from nearly all directions along the way.
These woods were regular hunting grounds for the Wampanoags before the end of the King Phillips war in 1648, and today the land is permanently scarred by acres of tree stumps, a legacy of destruction.
This would be the setting of my latest forest freak-out.
A creaky tree swaying lazily in the breeze, and every sound of a critter scurrying through the leaves made me stop in my tracks, made me hold my breath, made me want to turn around and go home. Even the trees were spooky, with some of the patterns on their trunks morphing into horrific faces.
But the air was so fresh, the sky so clear and blue, and the cricket song was comforting (somewhat). So, with my mace in hand, I kept on going until the path came to a widened fork, and another posted trail map laid out my options: Turn right to head to Quitticas Pond, or turn left to head back down to North Avenue. If I had a friend with me, I would have felt secure enough to have turned right. Instead, I paused for a moment to acknowledge each sad stump in a graveyard of what were once towering trees, took an “all-by-my-selfie” selfie with my iPhone, and headed back toward the road.
I pondered my strong, emotional response to this place, wondering if it was indeed the property that had me so spooked or if it was my own psychological state of mind that made me feel so vulnerable there.
Adrenaline can be fun, but only at the right time. I have been in some dangerous situations before – getting lost in the woods in western Massachusetts where I have my own little cabin in the woods, and coming close to falling off a washed-out trail in the Andes Mountains. Some dangers happen upon us and we assume our risks. But New Bedford Waterworks? What was it about you that had me so spooked?
I heard the whooshing of traffic seconds before I spotted the road in the distance. I heard a red tail hawk screech from high above, and I made my sad walk back to my car down North Avenue, stumbling into some poison ivy to avoid oncoming traffic, passing empty water bottles thoughtlessly thrown out car windows, and worrying how I was going to write an installment of Take a Hike that would inspire my readers to venture into our local woods for a little forest therapy without sounding like I actually was the one who needed therapy.
But it is what it is, as a friend of mine always says about everything in life – which is too short to dwell on unpleasant hikes and forest freak-outs.
“It is what it is,” I muttered begrudgingly to myself. And who could argue with that?
The New Bedford Waterworks. It is what it is. But don’t let that inhibit your forest freak. In the end, in my opinion, a bad hike is still better than no hike at all. Stay forest-freaky, my friends.
By Jean Perry
