I learned a new rule of thumb last weekend that seemed worth sharing. It has to do with getting maximum enjoyment and fulfillment from your natural surroundings. Really revolutionary stuff. You ready?
“If your neck doesn’t hurt, you might be doing it wrong.”
See, normally I’m the kind of guy whose gaze is up, so as to admire trees, clouds, and color of the sunset. But last weekend I was reminded of the virtues of looking down—the more, the better. If done right, a person tends to notice interesting things, learn about the environment, and even find some cool stuff.
We were on a scout campout to the Ely area. The chosen route included a stop at Gooseberry Falls to look for agates. One of the scouts, Max, had acquired a guidebook about North Shore rocks and was eager to use it.
The beach area yielded precious few agates (only one, which fell out of the finder’s pocket soon after). Scouts lost interest rather quickly, and turned to skipping rocks. No surprise there.
I, on the other hand, had become engrossed in the various colors and textures that emerged with determined scrutiny. My hand filled with the more interesting specimens. Then my shirt pocket. Our rock hound was all too happy to page through the book and diagnose each before discarding.
The group then moved up to the namesake falls area of the park. As if by universal instinct, kids looked for the highest place they could climb. Adults gravitated to the falls themselves, admiring the cascading water and taking photo and video that will undoubtedly languish on their phones forevermore.
Not me. Beside the fact that I deem waterfalls overrated, my eyes were still trained downward.
The rocks in the shallow water at my feet were captivating. If you’ve never noticed, the colors of most any rock become more vibrant with the addition of water.
In one place, I spied three similar igneous rocks with distinctly different colors embedded in them: orange, green, and bluish white. I wondered what they might be. I’m no geologist, so I showed Max. He thought they were rhyolite. That sounded sufficiently scientific, so I tossed them back for the next waterfall curmudgeon to find.
A few feet away, one rock ledge (heavily used as a step for aspiring rock climbers) caught my attention. Unlike the ubiquitous broken-off gneiss (or granite?) all around, this one appeared to have cleaved just right to reveal a surface with gently curving ripples. I could be wrong, but it seemed to pinpoint the time—perhaps day—when that lava flowed, many millions of years ago.
At any rate, my little “discoveries” there were far more interesting than any waterfall. Besides, I found neither geese nor berries there, so contemplating geologic history was a fine consolation prize.
The next day was all about a canoeing day trip. It took place completely outside the wilderness, but was designed to give the scouts an experience similar to what they would get in the BWCA.
Having had that kind of experience many times, I was resolved to help the scouts make the most of it. Part of that was keeping a keen eye out for moose, as it’s always a thrill to see one in the wild.
Sadly, that never happened.
One thing I’ve learned is that in areas with abundant moose, their sign will also be abundant. Characteristically-large hoof prints will appear on portage trails, as will “moose marbles.”
After a handful of portages, it was clear that moose are probably few and far between in that area. Instead, boot tracks confirmed the recent presence of other humans. Canine tracks were mostly small enough to be made by those humans’ companions.
Other than that, the occasional deer track suggested we might encounter them. I did, sort of.
Toward the end of the day, I wandered out of the group camp to see what I could find down by the lake. Bunchberries were blooming, and abundant in places. A few columbines and wild roses, too.
Soon I found some clumps of deer fur on the ground. Then more. The sheer amount suggested that a deer may have met its demise there, which could mean the presence of wolves. I’d hate to think wolves are hunting on the edge of a campground, but maybe it had taken place some months before. I began to scan the ground, looking for further clues that could help clarify what unfolded.
That search was interrupted when I stumbled upon something new to me: a gorgeous collection of pink lady’s slippers. I’d never encountered this type before, and was struck at how tall they were. Some stood at around 16 inches.
Likewise, the flowers themselves were larger than I ever would have imagined. The blooming parts were between three and four inches long; the sepals stretched out several inches, too.
Tiny hairs covered the delicate-looking flowers. The colors and textures got more interesting the longer I looked. I went back down the next day to take more pictures of these members of the orchid family, since the first batch didn’t do them justice.
That’s when I found that getting down on their level was mandatory in capturing them best. But several days into the trip, my knees weren’t fully cooperative with crawling around on ground level.
My neck and back? Even less so.
Roy Heilman is an outdoorsman, writer, and ethnic Minnesotan. His adventures take him all over the map, but he’s always home at neveragoosechase.com