Needing To Be In The Woods

    I don’t know about you, but if I don’t get out in the woods — really out in the woods — I start to get a little itchy. I don’t mean cross-country skiing on groomed trails, as good as that is. I’ve done plenty of that this winter. I don’t mean snowmobiling down a groomed trail, either, or ice-fishing in a low-light shelter.
    I mean getting into the woods, on foot or skis or snowshoes, far from the nearest trail. I mean breaking some trail and dealing with slush and skirting thin ice. I mean cutting and splitting wood. I mean hauling water. I mean standing in the open expanses, hauling in lungfuls of fresh air, jigging for lake trout or stream trout. I mean pitching a tent and crawling into a sleeping bag and blowing out the last candle and hoping to hear a barred owl.
    That’s what I mean.
    That’s what I intend to do very soon.

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