They grow so fast, don't they?

By rights those two trees should be in this 2008 photo to
the left of center.

See the two trunks to the left of
the four-wheeler? Follow them up.

Here's an

odd list of events at and along the trails around the East Pole over the weekend.

To begin with here is a post the cellular gods allowed me to put on Facebook Friday night after a day and a half of "no service:" Deep woods, East Pole, deck stained, water hauled, firewood split, prime lamb chops, home grown zucchini, Genesee beer and all 5 seasons of Ally McBeal LOL"

That's a pretty satisfying day at the pole. It was between the dinner and Ally McBeal, I was having that Genesee beer on the dry half of the newly finished deck, and staring sort of blankly off into the woods when out of the wall of green in front of me, two trees emerged into focus. Neither tree of itself was anything other than ordinary, just one of two growing in a forest full of them. Sharper focus for a moment, and I said right out loud, "where the hell did those come from?"  They grew on straight trunks, now at least 20 feet tall,  fully leafed out and within spitting distance of where I was sitting. And … I had never seen them before in almost 30 years of staring off that porch. Amazing how you can overlook what's right before your eyes.

The trip in had been about as good as it gets, at least until I reached my own side trail. Someone with a 'dozer had gone over the trail and put the blade down here and there knocking down moguls, filling trenches, even opening drainage in the places where water collects fairly deeply. The only standing water I saw was less than 10 feet long and was mostly liquid mud. To get an idea, normally I drive the trail in first and second gear; this time I drove it mostly in second and third and even kicked it into fourth a couple of times. That's flying on this trail. The trouble developed when I missed my own trail which is fairly obscured and I like it that way; it doesn't let people on the main trail know my cabin is up there and given how much time it spends empty, that's a good thing.

Problem is sometimes I can't find it either. Missed it this time and headed into the woods from a different spot. I didn't get 30 feet before I had the four-wheeler high-centered on a fallen log – lengthwise – machine AND trailer. Worse, the soft forest floor gave no traction and the wheels just flung what ground they could touch all over the place. I always carry a come-along and it took a while but I freed both vehicles and headed up the trail, with a new lesson learned. I had carried some of that braided climbers' rope. Never again. Unlike other ropes, this stuff stretches, not exactly a feature you want when trying to pull something out of the muck. It took three reattachments before I pulled the machine out of there.

But that was behind me as I sat on the porch with the beer contemplating the new trees. When I was out in July, I noticed a large number of songbirds flitting around through the brush. Sitting there, none came by. But I saw several large dragonflies. Given how thickly leaves had grown this year I began to wonder if somehow in the process of climate change we had slipped backward in the evolutionary process and I was seeing the beginnings of primordial swamp. Who hasn't seen a rendering of that period that doesn't include a huge dragonfly?

About then I went for another beer, sticking my hand into a cooler at a perfect temperature. After the revelation about the small cooler and melting ice last trip, I brought a larger cooler. In addition I bought block ice and a block of dry ice. At the cabin I opened the cooler to check if anything had been broken and leaked bouncing along the trail. The Eggbeaters were in a soft milk-carton container; that was what I worried about most. It was fine. Put the container at the bottom of the cooler next to the dry ice, pleased at the temperature. Next day, retrieving the carton I was a little dismayed to find it had frozen. It had actually gotten colder in the cooler. Of course, that was a function of the dry ice, but I know how I am going to do things in that regard in the future.

There is this, too. About three weeks ago there was a magnitude 4 earthquake and the epicenter location given by the warning center was put into the same words I use to give people a general location of the cabin. It survived a 7.6 less than 100 miles away a few years ago, but even a 4 right underneath was cause for some concern. I shouldn't have worried; not so much as a picture frame was out of place.

Next day was just about as mellow, all I did was split firewood, read and take naps and listen to the Saturday shows on public radio. Then the rain started, just about at sunset and it rained all night and all the next day. Of course, it was another trail day. I wrapped everything in plastic or at least garbage bags and packed the trailer, found a rain poncho my son wore when he was about 10, put on my XTRATUFS, sat down on a wet four-wheeler seat and headed for home.

Along the way I came across another sign life in the woods is changing. It's normal procedure when you find something in the trail that has obviously fallen off someone else's outfit, you put it out of the way but in a place where it will be obvious so whoever lost it will see the next time they come by. It's one of those civilities that come with living in the woods. So, I am cruising along this trail shiny and slick from the rain, slipping and sliding and look up to see a collapsed baby stroller hanging from a tree branch? A baby stroller? Who the hell brings a baby stroller into the deep woods? And how do you lose one?

Continuing along, dodging ruts, falling into others and skidding all over the place on the slick, wet muddy surface I made my way toward the trailhead, my mind sometimes elsewhere. That was until I found myself crabbing sideways almost perpendicular to the trail, front wheels in one rut, rear wheels in a different one and aimed at the high bank at the side of the trail. How did that happen? Well, behind me, the trailer had decided to take a different set of ruts altogether. When I'd come around a curve I headed for the outside of the trail whereas the trailer and taken a straighter path into a deep rut throwing me sideways in the process. Fortunately with the trailer confined to its ruts, I could back it up without the usual jackknife and then turn the four-wheeler in the correct direction and haul on out of there.

Best of the grouse pictures, rain, 
shaky hand, iPhone.

Farther on, I came across probably a couple dozen spruce grouse waddling along the trail and even stopped to take a picture, but with the iPhone they all came out  fuzzy, so, sorry.

In the heaviest rain so far, I reached the car and put the muddy load into it, ran trailer and four-wheeler onto the big trailer and headed home, hoping this rain was hitting the garden I had been ignoring for the past four days.

Oh, and Ally McBeal? Never even made it through the first season.

The July 2015 trip to the East Pole during which lessons were learned