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.
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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
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