When it comes to morel mushrooms, I’ve spent more time looking than finding. Far more. With that in mind, I wasn’t optimistic when I wandered out this spring to check last year’s burn area for morels.
Fifty acres burned last September.
Local lore says that morels grow exceptionally well the first year after a fire. Burn scar morels grow in relationship with conifers lying dormant in the soil for decades, just waiting for this opportunity. The fire removes competition and feeds the soil, creating
When it comes to morel mushrooms, I’ve spent more time looking than finding. Far more. With that in mind, I wasn’t optimistic when I wandered out this spring to check last year’s burn area for morels.
Fifty acres burned last September.
Local lore says that morels grow exceptionally well the first year after a fire. Burn scar morels grow in relationship with conifers lying dormant in the soil for decades, just waiting for this opportunity. The fire removes competition and feeds the soil, creating a nutrient-rich environment for the morel mycelium to fruit. With last summer’s fire so close, it’s easy for me to check it out.
As I enter the burn scar, there are no mushrooms on the first south-facing slope: no morels, no little brown mushrooms, nothing. I’m not surprised. Three-quarters of the way along the next slope, I see one. The tiniest little morel I’ve ever seen. Just the size of my thumbnail. I note the location and move on, excited that I was able to find one so small.
A few paces further, a pair is pushing next to a boulder. I will come back to this spot after a day or two of warm spring sunshine. The soil has to warm to about 50° for morels to start fruiting. That usually requires a combination of days in the 60s and nights in the 40s. It’s not been that warm at night yet.
Around the side of this same hill, the ground is covered with stalked bonfire mushrooms. Where they grow in the char, morels are likely to be. And there they are – tiny ones, but the more I look, the more I find.
My husband says, “They’re so small, how do you even find them?!?” Enthusiastically, I replied “I’ve been training my whole life for this!”
So now I know they really are there, and they prefer the pine needle-covered charred earth. I go back two warm days later. There are more, but still too small. Another two days and another doubling of the wrinkly coneheads pushing up.
And then, it rains.
This is just the thing to make them explode! I go back and fill my basket. Mushrooms have never tasted so good!
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At first glance, it looks like a lifeless, eons-old rock. So much so that people will stand on it unaware of the life beneath the weight of their feet. The coral ecosystem is teeming with life, among the most diverse ecosystems in the world!
It’s the network of the oceans, much like mycelium is the network of forests. Twenty-five percent of the ocean’s fish depend on coral reefs for food, shelter, and nurseries for their young.
It’s easy to quickly pass by corals, dismissing them as respo
At first glance, it looks like a lifeless, eons-old rock. So much so that people will stand on it unaware of the life beneath the weight of their feet. The coral ecosystem is teeming with life, among the most diverse ecosystems in the world!
It’s the network of the oceans, much like mycelium is the network of forests. Twenty-five percent of the ocean’s fish depend on coral reefs for food, shelter, and nurseries for their young.
It’s easy to quickly pass by corals, dismissing them as responseless vegetation, a garden that fish, rays, and marine mammals cruise through. But the “plants” are animals! It’s all alive.
Isn’t the star coral beautiful!? All of these worms will tuck into a hole and disappear when predators (and snorkelers) get too close.
Now that I know, I slowly move over the coral, looking closely. I always find something beautiful, fascinating, and new to me.
Here’s what I’ve learned.
Hard Corals
Hard coral is composed of calcium carbonate (the rock-like stuff) that forms the framework for thousands of polyp colonies. These polyps are animals with a body and a mouth that feed on plankton and tiny fish. It is these colonies of polyps that form coral.
The healthy coral we see is a result of symbiosis with algae, a relationship that benefits both organisms. The algae live within the polyps and are what give coral its color. Algae produce carbohydrates that the polyps use for food. The coral provides a protected environment for the algae and aids in its photosynthesis.
Soft Corals
Soft corals rely on a flexible, protein-based mesoglea (jelly-like core) reinforced by sclerites, tiny, spiky calcium structures for support. Look at all those tiny polyps on the purple stalks of the sea plume!!
Sea Sponges
Another marine invertebrate that you might not associate with the animal kingdom is the sea sponge. They are filter feeders, structured with canals, chambers, and cavities that enable water to move through the sponge for feeding, gas exchange (“breathing”), and excretion. Sponge larvae are flagellated and can swim; however, adults are non-motile and remain attached to a single spot.
There are flat sponges and tube sponges. They are all so unique in structure, color, pattern, and texture. There are over 5000 known species of sponges inhabiting all of the world’s oceans.
Other Atypical Reef Animals
Some of my other favorite animals in coral reef ecosystems are anemones and sea urchins. Anemones are predatory invertebrate marine animals related to corals and jellyfish. Their mouths are surrounded by stinging tentacles that enable them to prey upon small animals such as fish, crabs, shrimp, and jellyfish. They can be found in deep seas and the intertidal zone, too, where they contract and fold their tentacles into their bodies to avoid drying out until the water returns.
There are 950 species of sea urchins, who like anemones, live from intertidal zones to deep seas. Urchins crawl along on tube feet, feeding on algae and sponges. They come in a variety of colors, long-spined and short-spined, pencil-thick and needle-thin. These dramatic creatures are usually found tucked away within a reef, making them difficult to photograph.
Next time you have the opportunity to see a reef, either below water, from a dock, or tidepooling, stop and stare. You will be amazed!
Pitted sponge, red rope sponge, star coral, mustard coral, feather duster worm, brown encrusting sponge, reef urchin, algae, and a couple of fish.Sea Fan with sponges, algae, and a couple of feather duster worms poking out the bottom.
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Salty spray blows through my hair and mists my face. I’m occasionally doused by a wave breaking over the sidewall of the boat as we motor out of the main channel and into the open Caribbean. It’s a 36-mile boat ride from Hopkins, Belize, to Long Caye on Glover’s Reef Atoll.
The forecast for my week on this thirteen-and-a-half-acre patch of sand is mostly rain. But I’m coming from the frozen north, so I don’t care. I brought books, journals, my camera, and an artist-in-residence application – ple
Salty spray blows through my hair and mists my face. I’m occasionally doused by a wave breaking over the sidewall of the boat as we motor out of the main channel and into the open Caribbean. It’s a 36-mile boat ride from Hopkins, Belize, to Long Caye on Glover’s Reef Atoll.
The forecast for my week on this thirteen-and-a-half-acre patch of sand is mostly rain. But I’m coming from the frozen north, so I don’t care. I brought books, journals, my camera, and an artist-in-residence application – plenty to while away the tropical days.
The first night, Sunday, I slept fitfully. It was like a monsoon out there! The wind rattling the thatched roof, the rustling of the palm fronds overhead in the gale, and the crashing surf all made for a loud night.
The thatched roof as viewed from bed.
The wind and rain continued through Thursday morning, with the rain coming mostly after dark. While the winds kept me out of the water, it was quite comfortable for exploring the surprising diversity of life on Long Caye.
The palapa has everything I need – a comfortable bed, a side table, a bench, clothing rods, a couple of deck chairs, and a hammock – and none of the other stuff that gets between me and nature – lights, wifi, cell service, schedules.
On the northeast edge of the key, sits the kitchen cabin and gathering spot. Three times daily, delicious meals are crafted in the kitchen and served buffet-style. Our guide blows a conch shell to call everyone in for meals. There’s no shortage of food. And beer, juice, water, and snacks are always available. It’s open 24/7. (There are no interlopers here!) It’s perfect for days spent adventuring on the water, but not so good for my waistline when lazing around waiting for calm seas.
The daily schedule, tides, and sunrise/sunset times are updated on a marker board in the galley. The weather forecast has been a study in the ways to describe rain and seas.
Precipitation: rainy, showers, periods of rain, isolated thunderstorms, a few showers
Seas: moderate, rough, choppy, light chop, slight
View from my palapa
The guest cabins sit along the east and southeast shorelines. Each with a dramatic ocean view. Staff housing is on the center of the Caye, along with a dive shop, gift shop, and office.
The western half of the Caye is all nature!
There is a generator for the kitchen to provide backup power to essential appliances. Solar panels consistently meet everyone else’s needs. There are two shower houses and a bank of sinks fed by rainwater. Composting toilets and urinals comfortably meet other personal care needs.
Thursday, the weather broke. Calm seas, cloudless skies. I snorkeled the afternoon away. On Friday and Saturday, I snorkeled twice a day. There were eleven guests during my stay; four were repeat visitors. Some of them sea kayaked, went scuba diving, and tried their skill at kayak surfing (which is apparently unbelievably harder than it looks); one did none of these things. She read, relaxed, and enjoyed the tropical days.
I was free to participate, or not, to my own desire. Sea Kayaking in the wind? No, thanks. Kayak surfing in big waves? No thanks. Snorkeling? Yes! Every time.
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Materializing out of the hazy blue, they gracefully glide on eight-foot wingspans. Whenever I’ve encountered a spotted eagle ray, this is how it starts. They seem to have an innate curiosity about snorkelers who reflect their quiet study. The spotted eagle rays will deliberately, peacefully, slowly come closer, making a wide circle around me before disappearing back into the mysterious deep blue. It all feels like slow motion. Never threatening or uncomfortable despite their size and advantage.
Materializing out of the hazy blue, they gracefully glide on eight-foot wingspans. Whenever I’ve encountered a spotted eagle ray, this is how it starts. They seem to have an innate curiosity about snorkelers who reflect their quiet study. The spotted eagle rays will deliberately, peacefully, slowly come closer, making a wide circle around me before disappearing back into the mysterious deep blue. It all feels like slow motion. Never threatening or uncomfortable despite their size and advantage. But here’s the thing – if you wait in that quiet moment after they’ve gone, they usually come back around. I love that sense of curiosity, that shared way of seeing the world.
One of my favorite things about snorkeling is being immediately accepted as a part of the underwater world. As long as I don’t stalk the sealife, I can float among them, as one of them, ebbing and flowing with the rhythm of the waves.
It’s been a process. I used to be wary in the water, afraid of things touching me that I couldn’t see (slimy aquatic plants, nibbling panfish, or any variety of things I might step on in the oceans). I always waited for someone else to jump in first so I wouldn’t be alone in the vast unknown.
Once in the water, I stuck close to my snorkel buddy. If I couldn’t see another person in the water, a flush of panic would send me swimming madly back to the perceived safety of social connection. I always swam around instead of over shallow coral heads – you never know who is lurking in those crevices, ready to strike at my soft belly!
But this trip –
I jumped in first. Alone in the water, I saw my first “real” shark (ie, not a nurse shark), a black-tipped reef shark swimming away from me. I was energized!
I followed my curiosity regardless of where others went. I found myself alone, and it was okay. A fellow snorkeler yelled over, “We’re going back to the boat, and I don’t know where any of the guides are.” I’m not going to get out until I’m cold or the guide says we’re leaving. My buddy was still in the water somewhere. I’m having the time of my life.
I sucked in my belly and floated closely over the coral, fascinated by all the tiny creatures that inhabit these living “rocks”.
In all my years of escaping the cold and snow to be healed by warm waters and humid air, I have never been blessed with so many days of sunshine for snorkeling. The rays of light make the dramatic colors of sealife illuminate with indescribable intensity. Awe at every turn. This is the reward for waiting out four days of high winds, rain, and clouds.
Reef Squid
Caribbean reef squid tend to hang out in the shallows, close to shore, amidst the seagrasses. They often congregate in flotillas of six or more, changing colors to suit their mood or to camouflage themselves from predators. They are iridescent at rest, but turn bright gold, white, or reddish at times.
The Wall
There’s an undersea wall just south of the atoll where the ocean floor drops abruptly away. It’s a popular scuba diving site. As a snorkler on the surface, it’s dramatic as everything fades into the deep blue. Your imagination can get the better of you, wondering who is lurking just outside the reach of your vision. Don’t let it deter you from this exploration of wonder. Each coral head perched along the edge of the wall was staked out by a barracuda. I quit counting after twenty! Let’s just say they were everywhere.
It’s a year-round no-take zone, with one exception: invasive lionfish. Lionfish are native to the South Pacific and Indian Oceans. Their presence in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean is detrimental to the health and biodiversity of the reef ecosystems. Adult lionfish are voracious fish-eaters, eating the prey normally consumed by snappers, groupers, and other native species, leaving native fish to go hungry. A single lionfish residing on a coral reef can reduce the numbers of native reef fish on that coral patch by 79 percent! Their neurotoxic venomous spines mean they have few predators in the Caribbean. As such, lionfish may be killed throughout these waters without limitation. Our guide speared one and fed it to a nurse shark.
Giant Eel
The green moray eel is the largest eel in the Caribbean, growing up to eight feet in length. No wonder this one had no hesitation free-swimming among a group of gawking snorkelers. He was a bit intimidating!
A Marine Escort
An immense school of tang floated with me and then escorted me back to the boat where all my fellow snorklers (and guides!) were waiting. I felt part of an underwater parade!
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I don’t know what I expected from a sandy spit of coral thirty miles off the coast of Belize, but it wasn’t this! This lush thirteen-and-a-half-acre island is a vibrant, flourishing, diverse patch of nature. What a week!
Looking north at Long Caye, one of five cayes on Glover’s Reef Atoll.
Atoll: A ring-shaped island, including a coral rim that encircles a lagoon. There may be coral islands or cays on the rim. Most of the approximately 440 atolls in the world are in the Pacific Ocean. Atolls ar
I don’t know what I expected from a sandy spit of coral thirty miles off the coast of Belize, but it wasn’t this! This lush thirteen-and-a-half-acre island is a vibrant, flourishing, diverse patch of nature. What a week!
Looking north at Long Caye, one of five cayes on Glover’s Reef Atoll.
Atoll: A ring-shaped island, including a coral rim that encircles a lagoon. There may be coral islands or cays on the rim. Most of the approximately 440 atolls in the world are in the Pacific Ocean. Atolls are formed by the sinking of a volcanic island around which a coral fringing reef has formed. Over eons, the volcanic island erodes and subsides completely beneath the ocean. Eventually, the reef and the small coral islets on top of it are all that is left of the original island, and a lagoon has taken the place of the former volcano.
The western half of the caye is an undeveloped palm forest bisected by nature trails. Every time I walk these paths, I see something new that fascinates me.
Hermit crabs are everywhere, constantly crossing the trails hauling their shells on their backs. At my approach, they recoil into their mobile homes with varying degrees of success.
They outgrow the snail shells that they’ve commandeered and have to make do until they find a bigger, more suitable one. Whenever I notice a large, empty whelk snail shell, I pick it up and carry it with me until I see the right-sized crab in a too-small shell. I place the empty shell next to the crab and step away. The grateful animal will inspect the gift and then quickly make a move.
The locals say that hermit crabs are barometers of the weather; when it’s going to rain, they go up (with a perplexing ability to climb!), and when it’s going to be windy, they dig in and disappear.
I also see lizards on every walk. The anoles live in the trees and understory, basking in every bit of sunlight. Adorable tiny brown anoles, the length of my thumbnail, with adorable teensy feet and a tail equal to the length of their bodies, must’ve hatched yesterday!
The island’s iguanas, mostly spiny-tailed iguanas with a rare green-tailed iguana, are out on the south rock walls, even on gray days. Once I spot one, the others materialize from their camouflage in striking numbers!
How many iguanas can you find? They blend in so well. I circled the first one to get you started. (Answer image at the end of this blog)
When the sun is out, and they’ve charged their batteries, they are along the trails and in the bushes and trees, too.One iguana didn’t flinch as I approached. He was like, “I own this trail, go find your own.” I obliged.
Magnificent frigatebirds flock over the caye, resting on the wind, going nowhere. Great-tailed grackles’ constant chatter fills the air.
A couple of brown pelicans rest on the caye and fish these waters, as do a pair of resident osprey.
Each morning, about twenty minutes before the first rays of sun begin to push back the night, the osprey start calling back and forth in a high-pitched volley reminiscent of raucous gulls. We called them the island roosters for the way they celebrate the start of each new day. Ospreys are adept fish eagles, always announcing their fishing successes and perching on their same favorite branch to pick apart their meal. (Such a courtesy to photographers!).
A green heron hunts a conch pile left by migrant fishermen. Ruddy turnstones walk the sargassum piles, feasting on tiny arthropods. A yellow-crowned night-heron has been regularly spotted in the mangroves near here, but has eluded me all week.
As I’m heading to look for songbirds in the brilliant orange scarlet cordia blooms, a white-crowned pigeon streaks past me, followed instantly by a merlin in hot pursuit. Just a flash and they were gone. Later, I would watch a pair of merlins soaring, dipping, diving, veering like fighter jets they are.
Years ago, a previous landowner purchased a few gibnuts, large, native, ground-dwelling rodents with dots and stripes on their sides, at a local meat market and set them free on the caye. They’ve since established a breeding population here. I set out to try to find one of these nocturnal, exotic guinea pigs. I noticed what I thought might be gibnut tracks and excitedly went to share my discovery with a fellow traveler. His face fell when I described the track pattern as being similar to a rabbit’s. “There’s a rabbit on the island,” he reluctantly responded, not wanting to stifle my enthusiasm. What?!? Yeah, the same story as the gibnut. Three domestic rabbits from a meat market were neutered and set free here. One remains.
Like cats respond to “Here kitty, kitty, kitty” or “pspsspspss”, rabbits respond to a speedy, high-pitched “bunny-bunny-bunny!” And so it was the next day when I saw a black and white rabbit resting under a deck. I called, and out he hopped!
Towards the end of the week, I did find several gibnut tracks, but unfortunately, never the animal itself, despite some nighttime exploring with my headlamp.
On the last day, an early trail walk finally revealed hummingbirds. Green-breasted mango hummingbirds! A male feeding at the scarlet cordia and a female with a dramatic white belly cut by a stark black stripe flitting around the buttonwood. I’ve never seen these birds before. Black and white on a hummingbird is so exotic!
The yellow-crowned night heron eluded me on the caye all week. Serendipitously, when we docked back on the mainland, there in the marina, perched out on a palm branch, sat a yellow-crowned night heron!
Other scenes from around Long Caye.
Spider Lily
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A Glimpse into the Life of Caribbean Reef Octopus
With headlamps and flashlights, we slowly step across sharp rocks along the edge of the eastern shoreline. It’s 7:30 pm, and the tide is out on Long Caye on Belize’s Glover’s Reef Atoll. Our guide shines his light on a blurry turquoise blob distorted by the waves on the beige sea floor. “Caribbean reef octopus,” he says. “If you say so,” I think to myself.
We move on. Tidal Splash crabs scatter sideways at our approach. There’s another octopu
With headlamps and flashlights, we slowly step across sharp rocks along the edge of the eastern shoreline. It’s 7:30 pm, and the tide is out on Long Caye on Belize’s Glover’s Reef Atoll. Our guide shines his light on a blurry turquoise blob distorted by the waves on the beige sea floor. “Caribbean reef octopus,” he says. “If you say so,” I think to myself.
We move on. Tidal Splash crabs scatter sideways at our approach. There’s another octopus! This one is in calmer seas, her characteristic shape more easily evident undersea.
She slides in our direction, out of the waves and into the still edge of the ocean where her full brilliance is revealed. Iridescent turquoise-blue and green, spotted with reddish-brown. Slithering, reaching, feeling – hunting! A few more steps and there’s another! This one is already at the water’s edge. He’s after the Tidal Spray crabs at our feet! He strikes with his long arms and misses. But he knows where they went and slinks around a rock to head them off on the other side. He strikes again in a flash and pulls one into his mantle.
At the end of the video, one crab escapes, and one does not. You can see the crab leg in the crevice on the left before the octopus pulls him down.
We watch him for a minute and then leave him with his meal.
A bright red fiddler crab pokes out of her hiding spot to shoo off a Tidal Spray crab and instantly disappears back into the shadows.
Tidal Spray Crab
Another octopus! This one is also close to shore. She is hunting using a common octopus technique; she spreads her skirt over the bottom to siphon her prey out of the crevices where they hide. We watch her deftly catch something and begin to eat. It’s a sizable meal for her.
Caribbean reef octopuses are a medium-sized octopus, growing up to twenty inches in diameter. They are short-lived, like most octopus, with a lifespan of just ten to twelve months. In all, along a hundred yards and forty-five minutes, we saw twelve (TWELVE!!) Caribbean reef octopuses on this walk.
Other Exotic Night Life
Also venturing out after dark in the ocean, giant sea slugs called spotted seahares creep along the sea floor. The way they move and explore their environment with their mouth and tentacles, just like a shell-less snail, identifies them as gastropods. Ruffled parapodia on their backs cover their mantle.
Note the ruffled edge of the parapodia along the middle of her back. Her head is to the left.
They secrete foul-tasting purple ink to cloud the water and deter would-be predators. I’d heard of these animals before, but never expected to see one here!
A gorgeous King Helmet conch (also a gastropod) feasting on a spiny urchin was within reach.
This is a big conch – more than a handful – with a striped, domed shell featuring a flare at one end.
Helmet Conch. Notice the swirl of the shell on the far right.
Endlessly fascinating!
Lastly, a young morey eel is tucked into the safety of the coral, part of his striped body visible through a hole. He cautiously peeks his head out from the end of the coral, sees me still there, and retreats into hiding. He’s less than twelve inches long and the diameter of my thumb. A far cry from the six-foot-long green eel I saw snorkeling yesterday!
HUGE green Morey eel
The sea is full of exotic-looking life at every turn. It never ceases to amaze. I am blessed that so many creatures reveal themselves to me. Even so, this was an exceptional shore walk.
Stay tuned for more Belize wild tales!
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The Black Skimmer’s Latin name is Rynchops niger
Ryn = Nose or Beak Chops = Cut off
They leave a lasting impression – these comical, gregarious shorebirds.
Black skimmers gather in large social colonies on flat, sandy Atlantic beaches. Lined up, each one facing into the wind. As I sit and watch, I’m struck by the effort in scattering, the whole flock taking to the air, swerving, banking, veering on long wings each time beach walkers pass through. It wouldn’t take a significan
They leave a lasting impression – these comical, gregarious shorebirds.
Black skimmers gather in large social colonies on flat, sandy Atlantic beaches. Lined up, each one facing into the wind. As I sit and watch, I’m struck by the effort in scattering, the whole flock taking to the air, swerving, banking, veering on long wings each time beach walkers pass through. It wouldn’t take a significant arc in a person’s path to avoid them and allow them to rest, to conserve their precious energy.
Their brilliantly colored orange and black bills, with the top abruptly shorter than the bottom, are their hallmark.
With this feature, they are uniquely equipped for “tactile foraging.” They skim the surface of the ocean with their lower bill stuck straight down into the water.
Image from birdz-world.blogspot.com
When they feel a fish hit their bill, they snap their mouth shut with such speed as to catch the minnow without slowing their flight. Just a quick nod of their head as they grab their prey. Have you ever tried to catch a minnow in your hands? Then you can appreciate their extraordinary feats.
Black skimmers’ long, forked wings allow for efficient gliding. Their cat-like, vertical pupils enable them to see through the glare of the sun and in the dark of night. If you ever have the opportunity to watch a skimmer, take the time to be awe-struck.
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I’d half expected the falls to be dry. It’s hardly rained in northwest Georgia this autumn. But nature always delights as she often reminds me. The tiered unnamed falls cascade in a soft veil to join the creek and meander among the fallen leaves. The low water level made for easy scrambling across narrow streams, allowing me to fully explore this beautiful gorge in solitude.
I’d parked at the north end of Sitton’s Gulch Trail in a quiet residential neighborhood instead of the busy Cloudland
I’d half expected the falls to be dry. It’s hardly rained in northwest Georgia this autumn. But nature always delights as she often reminds me. The tiered unnamed falls cascade in a soft veil to join the creek and meander among the fallen leaves. The low water level made for easy scrambling across narrow streams, allowing me to fully explore this beautiful gorge in solitude.
I’d parked at the north end of Sitton’s Gulch Trail in a quiet residential neighborhood instead of the busy Cloudland Canyon State Park lot. It’s a rolling uphill hike from here to the steps above the falls and an easy hike back. It turns out that was a blessing, as I’d lingered at the falls and dusk was quickly approaching as I tried to ignore scores of puffball mushrooms and striking leaves along my way to get to the car before the last of the light, which disappears earlier in the canyon bottoms.
It’s mid-November, and most of the leaves have fallen. Those still in the treetops twirl in the breeze, mimicking the gentle patter of a spring rain. I’m a half-mile from the parking lot when the full aroma of decaying leaves envelopes me and stops me in my tracks. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the nostalgia and peace of an eastern hardwood forest. My shoulders fall, and I’m instantly relaxed. It brings me back to barefoot summers full of exploration.
A couple of weeks ago, the falls were reportedly dry. Since then, there’s been some rain. And the snow flurries two days ago. I glimpsed a pool of water as I rounded a bend in the trail. What I’d thought was the sounds of rustling leaves was actually the gentle sound of water splashing down the boulder-strewn gulch! I’m elated!
I had an image in my head of the red maples in full color with the motion-blurred water falling behind them. It’s an image I missed on my last trip here, because I didn’t have my tripod. I had to hand-hold a long exposure, and all of the images turned out blurry.
I wanted a do-over, even though I know we can never visit the same river twice. Today, most of the red leaves are on the ground, leaving the ochres and golds aloft to sing the song of the season.
The creek widens as I move up the path; small cascades roll over rocks in miniature torrents. Just before the unnamed falls, the Sitton’s Gulch Creek is only a few feet wide, carrying leaves, eddying in pools, and spilling down the canyon.
Unnamed Tiered Falls
I lingered at the base of these falls for an hour, enthralled with the way the water moves and all of the leaf mosaics plastered on the rocks.
Climbing the wooden steps, I crossed the creek on a boardwalk at the lip of the falls. I took the short spur to Hemlock Falls. A viewing platform overlooks the ninety-foot waterfall.
Dusk is coming
Social trails descend steeply to the base of the falls, an area that would be pooled with water when the creek runs full. Today, it would be a safe scamper down. But. I’m three miles from my car and one-and-a-half hours from sunset. Next time. This canyon keeps calling me.
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