NATURE TRAIL
by Delia Alexander

It was around Christmas time…..
Suddenly, without due warning, we were hit with a spell of cold weather.
So cold, in fact, had one been foolish enough to venture outside, one could have felt the moisture freezing in ones nostrils. Such uncharitable weather!

Wise folk stayed indoors and listened to the not so wise weather prophets making all kinds of promises of which they had little or no intention of keeping. Patience very much played a part sitting in front of the television suffering, although not entirely in silence.
Seasonal wintry films and documentaries showed scenic views of arctic wastelands; very wet polar bears fishing in icy waters and Eskimos’ grandmothers surplus to requirements, being left to freeze to death.

Whilst this infamous band of weather reporters had been sleeping, resting from their role of "Givers of little hope and smaller comforts", a surprise mega snowfall had been dumped upon us overnight.
The heavens, now having purged itself of this frozen load, mercifully lifted the temperature a couple of centigrade above freezing point. This was incentive enough for the family and myself to risk getting hit by a road clearing crew, as opposed to suffering any long term damage due to cabin fever.
My husband Bill, son Pete and Husky dog Duchy, now enthused to the point of no return, did much sock searching, scarf wrapping and boot lacing. We were, at last, tumbling into the family car and heading for our nearest nature trail.

There was little sign of other enthusiastic anoraks blazing the trail that day, but a party of cross-country skiers had evidently hieroglyphically marked the trail with their rectangular shaped skis. One can only describe the winterland, which we had entered into, as a masterpiece created and painted beyond the capabilities of any human artist.
The hushed stillness of the air caught our mood and in full reverence, we padded on in utter silence and the wonderment of it all. An attempt to miss nothing of this magical splendor was made. We noted a miscalculated bird-landing had disturbed the thick clump of snow lying on a holly branch, leaving a white feathery tracery of snow around each holly leaf and so making the luscious red berries appear even more tempting.

Time was passing fast and the daylight, which had been so strong, was now being sucked away and the cold and clamminess were growing more intense.

Now would be a good time to gulp the coffee I had prepared and make tracks homewards. Forest Rangers had been active in this area some time ago, and unknowingly had left a suitable clearing which would be ideal for our refreshment stop.

I brushed over the top of tree stump on which to place the thermos flask, to reveal the stark nakedness and reality of the rotting damp wood; much was lost without its snowy covering.
Bill had already sensed that I had fallen back a pace or two and immediately back tracked to join me. He had shouted out to Peter but received no reply and boy and dog were nowhere in sight. Two minutes may have passed.

We heard a rustling above our heads, and as if a ventriloquist had strings attached to our heads, we both looked up simultaneously. The two of us could not have been more surprised had we come across a replica of Niagara Falls in the Sahara Dessert. To our complete astonishment a huge brown grizzly bear was climbing down from the tree, chewing the remains of something in his narrow jaws.

On reaching the ground the creature stretched to his full height, which was approximately 5 ft.

I noted the bear had a matted coarse coat of fur which resembled a coconut mat I had been meaning to throw out for ages, a massive head and razor sharp teeth.

The small eyes didn’t appear to have spotted us but the wrinkled up nose did, and he showed his disapproval by clumsily clambering back on all fours and slinking off back to more desirable companions. Hardly before Bill and I had time to catch our breath, another hustling nearby but this time accompanied by the familiar sound of a barking dog.

Following closely was our missing son, Peter. "Where’s the coffee, Mom, I’m thirsty." "Go eat some snow," I said. "We are going to make tracks back home before its dark." Now wasn’t a good time to tempt providence! At last, we were home and dry also fed, rested and sitting around the kitchen table.

Bill and I were relating to Peter the reason for our somewhat hasty retreat away from the trail. Now the tables were turned. It was our turn to tell the tale, the tall story to disbelieving ears. Peter listened with all the attentiveness he could muster to an unbelievable story.

Duchy, the dog, didn’t look very impressed either. The explanation was over and we awaited some comment from our son. "It was a good tale," he said. "But I think you should know that bears sleep all through the winter." "Do they?" Bill and I said in unison.

THE END

Delia Alexander Copyright ©