“I was driving back from the post office Saturday morning, and since I’d had it in my mind to try to connect a couple trails between conservation land & a local park, I decided to first drive by to gauge snowfall amounts. Miraculously, there was no snow on the north-facing slopes, and this encouraged me to wander in, on my intuitional compass. I apologize to anyone onto whose private land I may have wandered; I do my map study with regularity, but sometimes get it wrong. Parking at the official pull-off, I headed to the back of the gorge, following a dirt road to the west, hoping to stay above the ravine, yet continue further into the watershed. I had to do some scrambling, to bypass the leftovers of a huge, unwieldy pile of rotting, logging operations. Not nice footing, and with a steep slope to the north, a little tricky to navigate, without falling too far into truly inhospitable terrain. But I could see the continuation of the old logging road, on the other side of a small, falling brook, and it was towards there I set my sight lines. Someone obviously did not want to leave these roads open, which is a private landowner’s prerogative. I believe I have a light footprint, and on these small boot prints, I proceeded upwards, thru a semi-clearing, of saplings and raspberry canes. Immediately past the stream bed, I began to hear a squawking, bird-like, loud & insistent. Assuming I’d disturbed a nesting creature, I hurried past, without investigation. The way grew dense, and confusing. I decided for the height of the land, and reaching the edge of the upper clearcut, I looked longingly into the breach. An unassuming piece of blue surveyor’s tape fluttered feebly, in the wind, beckoning me into the woods. I was quickly able to identify a pattern of tapes, hardly noticeable, but to me, prominent, and signifying the path of a waterway, which always reassures me. I took myself further in, bolstered by the presence of some person’s previous intent, to follow some logical pathway, into, or out of, the wilderness. Going downhill now, following water, could not lead me astray, I thought. Checking the relation of distant hills, and more distant mountains I had some familiarity with, I traipsed on. The succession of clearings, made probably by Johnson Lumber in years gone by, passed by me, on this side, then to the other, disorienting me into thinking I was maybe on my way to a stand of hemlocks that might signify a series of waterfalls I had, at least a passing knowledge of. This is all a guessing game, but not a dangerous one, when all is basically plunging down, towards the tributaries of the New Haven river. At worst, I would be forced to meet the hard roads carved between an impressive set of cliffs. That would be my last resort. But when suddenly I found I could go no further, without seriously going off trail, I decided to turn back. This is what a sensible person of my limited experience, would do, on a mid-day exploration, without accurate knowledge, only medium understanding, of how the land interconnected its hidden rills. I was not exactly where I’d hoped I be, and that became apparent, when I tried to return to a couple of enormous spruce trees, duly noted on the way in. No, I was going in circles, though taking a lot of time doing so, and landing only into deadfall, and impenetrable areas. And so, I headed back, following a few vaguely familiar landmarks. I was actually not that far from where I’d entered,& relieved to be retracing my steps, I made haste to be united with my truck. Clambering down the overgrown track, awkwardly stumbling over stumps and branches, I heard the sound again: an agitated, piercing cry, far below, akin to a raven in voice, as far as I could tell. Surely the bird was not aware of me moving about at this higher elevation, and yet, its cries continued to ring out above the barrens, in a constant call to gain attention. What was it? An injured Corvid? I could not pass by this time. I found the spot, where it was louder and plaintive. Pushing through the brambles, tripping on decaying logs, and nearly falling as my feet fell through the chaos, I caught sight of a creature. Hmm. I distinctly saw a nose. Not a beak, not a wing, but a gentle, pink-snouted, furry thing, resembling, maybe, a puppy. I pulled out my camera. What is this? The cries soon quieted. I approached, looking around me, for the tell-tale signs of any larger beast. Two little eyes peered up at me. I suddenly saw, a baby bear. Not what I expected. He appeared to be splayed or caught between branches, on an impossibly unnavigable brush pile, that he’d clearly attempted to mount, his little cries, diminished to whimpers. He was clearly exhausted, and trembling. He was slipping into a hole. In an impulsive, maternal response, I threw off my jacket and gathered him to me. My only thought, was to free him from his current plight. On the other side of the thicket, I laid him down in the grass. I did the only thing I knew how to do, and stroked his soft fur. He calmed and there we were. The rest of the story involves game wardens, and thankfully after I left him in a pocket of leaves, hours later, we were able to find him again. Clearly left on his own, hypothermic and abandoned for whatever reason, he fell asleep easily and quickly, in the game warden’s arms.”
