Four Wheeling Down Memory Lane

Wednesday morning my brother Ken and I tried to fill our antlerless deer tags. Our search was fruitless. Even though we saw several, the area we were hunting in was overgrown and the deer were moving too fast to distinguish if they had antlers or not. We hunted in several areas with the same results.

It was such a relief for me to ride on four-wheelers instead of walking. I appreciated it more as we drove along abandoned logging roads. These vehicles made short work of climbing steep hills, rolling over the rugged and rocky paths, and making the need to wade across puddles and creeks unnecessary. No need for me to work up a sweat or tramp through the woods with wet feet.

One spot on our ride we spooked a red tailed hawk from its perch. It silently spread its wings and soared away. Driving farther we wandered through several acres full of short-needled and long-needled pine trees. Growing wild, they were naturally shaped and in all sizes. The sight was enough to make a Christmas tree vendor drool.

The trail followed ridgelines and through fields until we came to a spot that was familiar to me from my youth, Camp Wildwood. It was the land of strawberry picking and the play ground for my brother and I to ride our bikes. Once while we were riding, we saw our first naked lady. I’ve written about this true redhead before in my posts.

The primitive roadways are no longer as deeply grooved as when I was younger. Less traffic, they filled with leaves over the years. Those channels used to fill with rainwater and would shoot a rooster-tail of water from a speeding car. A friend was speeding in an old Chevy when we came upon a troop of Boy Scouts. I watched as they had to dive for cover to avoid the soaking spray. There is more to the story, but it’s been posted it before.

Our ride eventually took us to the Camp Wildwood’s old dam. The structure once spread its wings across Indian Creek to make a wonderful swimming hole. Much of the concrete has crumbled, but it still trapped much of the stream and kept our old swimming holes intact. The water was clear, but the color was dark green from the depth of the pool.

Our time was finished. We began our return trip, back through the logging trails. Huge towering piles of boulders and steep hillsides guided loggers who came before us who made these zigzag trails to haul out the timber. As we returned home, I was impressed with the steepness of the slopes carved by centuries of water and wind. We didn’t get a deer, but that that trip stirred and updated many of my childhood memories.