Is it the deep basso profundo of a North Shore waterfall over ancient basalt, tumbling and transforming winter's white snow into cataclysmic roaring white foam?
Is it the song sparrow's call, that high note repeated three times for your attention, followed by sweet improvisation?
Maybe it's the bark of the poodle, who knows it's time to let loose on a wild lakeshore trail, like she did last spring at Eighteen Lake, up by Isabella.
Danny boy, the trails, the trails are calling.
The snow is melting, the trails are muddy as all get out, but in days I'll be out there. I have about thirty North Shore trails to hike this spring and summer, in order to get our next book Hiking the North Shore out. "Hard work," they say, "but someone's got to do it."
Blog postings coming way too soon:
Tales of the Tick
Lost in the Wild
Mud Wrestling for Fun and Profit
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