I’m not really sure when I came to the realization that I was lost, or “turned around” in the woods, as my father would call it.
I had set off to Seventh Lake mountain to check on a couple of traps that were set on an old stretch of logging road.
The woods had given up all its leaves and the wind had a cold bite to it.
I was pretty sure it was going to snow later that night.
I walked a pretty good ways before realizing that I was on a trail I had never been on before.
Though it was late in the day, I was curious as to where it would lead so I continued forward.
However, after a little bushwhacking I figured I was no longer on a trail so decided to turn around.
There wasn’t much sun in the sky for me to check my bearings, only cold low-lying gray clouds.
I struck out boldly in the direction I thought I had just come from, thinking it would be easy to pick up the trail I had just traveled.
But somehow I missed it.
I found myself strolling in the woods hoping to come across a familiar landmark. I walked until the night sky began to creep in.
I finally came upon a brook that I had onced followed.
It led out to an old log landing where I could pick up the trail that would take me back home.
I think I was only turned around for about 40 minutes, however it felt more like four hours.
As I dropped myself on the front porch steps to take off my boots I felt a great sense of home. It was a feeling I had not experienced before.
The woods around me were comfortable and I had always used caution when exploring them.
But I never felt as good as I did at that very moment.
I have been turned around a few times since then, but mostly on a city highway with my passenger reminding me that I took the wrong turn.
And when that happens I just look over at them and say, “Yes, but I just wanted to see what is down this road.”