Trails and thicket mysteries

From dense to dither

For six years I’ve wanted to cut a trail through the dense forest on my mountain property. 

Armed with a pair of long-handled pruners, last fall I ducked into an intimidating decades-old rhododendron thicket off the old logging road that runs from the side of the house. 

This was trail day. I had a plan and I had the tool.

I was headed on a diagonal away from the house, where I knew there were hidden rock outcroppings above the gorge below. My rhododendron thicket wasn’t as dense as those tunneled through to build trails in the nearby national forest. 

This should be easy.

Prune, step, prune, step

I started trimming dead branches and stalks from the leggy, 10-foot tall shrubs, gauging where my next step would go. I felt like I was inside a tall, spindly chess game, anticipating several moves ahead. Prune, step, prune, step. 

Realizing how much dead growth surrounded me, I tried to cut out only the dead stuff, which meant my path started to curve and meander. After about 20 minutes of slow progress I spotted something white and squarish through the undergrowth. 

“Is that a camper?” I questioned, thinking I had progressed far enough to be close to the adjacent lot. 

“How could they get a camper back there? There’s no road there! Why haven’t I seen this before?”

Deeper into thicket mysteries

Prune, step, prune, step. Every cut and step took me deeper into the thicket. But the bright, man-made thing became larger and more clear. It wasn’t a camper. It was a cottage!

“How on earth? How can there be a cottage there and I didn’t know? There’s no road. I’ve never heard anyone. This is insane!”

While I pruned dead stalks one tedious step at a time, the white apparition beyond loomed larger. When I finally spotted the edge of a road I gave up pruning in frustration and pushed through the remaining brush, anxious to see this mystery cottage that had eluded me for years from the other side of the forest. 

I stumbled onto the road and looked up at…my own house glaring in the bright sunshine. 

How did I get here?

I had done a complete 360 in the forest and didn’t realize it. 

I was in a dither. I stood there and stared in disbelief, then shame. 

I don’t dither easily, if ever. I’m always the calm one during a crisis. I’m the person you can count on to keep her head. 

Despite the turns and side steps, I swore I was still headed in a straight line. I heard stories of disoriented hikers lost in rhododendron thickets but never expected it would happen to me only a few hundred feet from my own house.

The thing is, we’re rarely aware how far a misstep or two will take us off track.

It only takes one degree

One degree off course means you’ll be one mile off course 60 miles later. It’s conveniently called the 1-in-60 Rule in air navigation to simplify calculating an aircraft’s drift angle in flight. 

You may think you’re headed in the right direction, like I was, but are you? I was off 360 degrees with my feet firmly on the ground.

Some people have a good internal compass. Some don’t. No shame in not having a good sense of direction as long as you keep checking your course.

Are you on course? 

Whatever forest you’re navigating in life, stop right now and check.