An early spring foraging hike

 These days I am not overly fond of my "fellow" human beings, to be frank. I did a lot of work for others, and of course charity bears its reward in itself, but if you ALWAYS get mobbed and deadbashed and sabotaged in the process, you get some different ideas how you want to spend your life, or rather, what you´d rather not want. I would gladly work for free for someone or something worth it... but alas-those few that would be worth it, are spread thin.But then ...alas... I do not care that much any more :-). having a bout of the flu and not feeling like doing a 85k ride with some 1500 vertical metres at all, but still feeling the need to get WWWAAAAAAYYY out there, I hitched the bus to the mountains... more the foothills of the Sauerland, but still. Arriving at the trailhead and climbing the first 100 m of rather steep incline I realized I should have rather taken it a bit slower ;-). But, not that much harm done, I did my huffing and puffing while enjoying the scenerey...

Then I climbed on at a more flu-compatible pace...

Through the thicket I scrambled, quite literally, sometimes on all fours. The Sauerland mountains might not be that huge, but steep they are well enough... ;-). I relished in the silence and solitude, with the ruckus of the valley subsiding with every step I made. You might know this feeling; I always thought there is a subtle threshold, not necessarily a geographical one, while geographics matter in this, but something more subtle. There is not anything huge that will happen, no dramatic light effects or a bombastic portal standing there.

But still, at that point, the world changes, and you change. Your mind gets another perspective, and the vibrations of your soul thrum louder than they do in the everyday mayhem, hum in harmony with the rustling of leaves and the sound of the oncoming breeze.

Then I came to a fireroad, broad, but solitary, and I followed it for  awhile.

The hills in the distance summoned me on... I must admit i followed a trail I did not know. I did not know where the trail might lead me, but everything is better than the city and its madness on som days. This was one of those days, where even lying in bed curing a flu was less of an alternative.

Even better yet: There was a cure waiting for me just by the roadside: Balsamic fir resin.

I harvested some of it. At home I took three peanut-sized grains resin with a tablespoon of coconut oil and three tablespoons honey, heated the coconut oil (you can also take whatever is at hand, but coconut oil is slightly antiseptic in itself) and dissolved the resin in it, put the honey in and per three teaspoons of the stuff took three finger´s breadth of cheap whiskey (I am talking whiskey still, not glass cleaner, mind you ... ;-) ) in a pint and filled up with boiling water, constantly stirring. Don´t overdo this, you might get stomach problems if you drink too much of the unprocessed resin!

Anyway, I climbed on, and still the vistas became more wonderful... somehow my spirit always lifts at that place, and it is as if a heavy load is taken from my shoulders. The air was fresh, but not cold, and felt clean and refreshing to me.

On the top of things, I met this not so little fella. I really like this guy and I must admit I have developed sort of a bromance with him.

I like his cloak... and the owl...

And the way he looks...

And Mr. Fluffkins at his feet... ;-)

Quite spontaneously I decided to visit the villag, Nachrodt-Wiblingwerde. This village is how a village should be, in my opinion. You can simply tell it works by how the inhabitants greet each other, and kids and elderly people interact on the street. It always warms my heart. Of course, there might be  a lot going on behind the scenes that does not necessarily looks so pretty in broad daylight, but having sat in the café at the marketplace and having involuntarily overheard one or a hundred conversations ;-) I would guess life is a bit better on the heights, at least than it is in the city.  

It started to rain, and when the cold drizzle subsided...

I was rewarded with this beautiful rainbow...

And could not resist shooting this photo... :-P

At first I had contemplated taking the bus, but then it would have meant waiting for two hours in the cold, so I decided to walk.

And, of course, I was rewarded again with murky woods.

...and mist rising from the dale.

I like walking like this. When twilight falls and embraces you like a harsh, unforgiving blanket, and still, you feel snug and huddled in the dark.

When the owls cry and foxes bark and deer are shying in the distance, then my lifeblood becomes warm and strong.

Then stars come out you cannot see in the valley, and the moon is a haunted spectre hunting in the woods, setting beings dancing around rotten stumps...

And while I might be ostracized in the world of man, still I walk trails at moonlight they would not dare walk in broad daylight.

The hooting of owls and the fighting and hunting and living of little and large critter and predator and the badger bear no terror for me... not as much as the ugly nocturnal predators that have designed the world of man...and if you fear not the twilight, the twilight will become you, it will never be your friend, but you will not need for anything else.

And then, suddenly, it was over. In stealth I trod on an empty road.

But, waiting for the bus, a car just stopped. I was a bit alerted, for you never know in the city of Hagen, but there was someone with a smile and a good face OFFERING me a ride to the centre of Hohenlimburg, if I agreed (!).

Maybe all´s not lost... and knowharramean? :-P

Path of the huntress...

 On Tuesday I simply needed to get out into the woods. I wanted for the silence and solitude of the green, of the song of the wind in the treetops of pine, spruce and fir. Of the cry of the buzzard and the sight of roe deer in the distance. Of rain and earth, and of twilight. I did not have much energy, so I did not the biggest of hikes, but hitched the bus and rode out to the hills. I immediately vanished in the thicket, and it was as it always is: It felt as if a leaden blanket was taken from my shoulders. The woods welcomed me with warmth and silence and a twilight pleasing to my eye. They embraced me with their solitude and the virility of the sprouting green. And spring is definitely on the rise; birds were tweeting and fluttering about, I spotted a hare looking at me from ten metres distance (and fumbled my camera, which refused to work...). And the ever-present buzzard was gliding above in a beautiful chute through the treetops.

 I climbed a steep slope. Everywhere I saw the tracks of wild pigs and the desolation they left in their quest for insects, snails, mushrooms and roots and leftover acorns. And in the ruts they plowed with their snouts, tiny plants were sprouting and a myriad of insects was scurrying about.

 Then I came across this owl cast, and I imagined this stately huntress gliding through a starlit night, a silent shadow amongst the deeper shadows of the night. I imagined twilight-wan feathers and a solemn hooting, and I imagined I was on her trail that day.

 Deeper, ever so much deeper I went into the woods, sometimes lit by a pale sun, sometimes grey with the cloudy light. I walked silently, but with little effort, my thoughts and feelings echoing through my mind and my heart. The trail went on and on, and sometimes I spotted the hare in the distance. Yonder hills I went and then into a valley seldom trodden. You can find traces of human history there, but now it´s little known, and there were times I remember well when you could not find it on the map. It´s funny how man believes just because he can draw maps that he knows every place... and sometimes forgets to calculate. Nowadays it´s laid out on the map, but it is just too small to matter. You cannot make money with it, so they neglect it. I am the richer for it. On I walked and followed the trail marked by hare and owl droppings, deeper into that valley. And, resting on the ground, under a tree marked with owl droppings, I found this treasure:

 A sheep´s horn, and the skull of a tiny raptor, which I take to be a baby weasel, plus its bones and fur.

 I left the skull, and took home the sheep´s horn, and wandered on on the trail... is this a piece of badger fur? I don´t know, really...

 And who might be living under this stump?

The trail went on and on, and did time pass, or did space, or was it me or the world that turned? Moss covered the tree trunks, and ancient roots clawed at the soil.

 This is the skull of the weasel. It is conveying meaning to me, but the story it tells in itself is sufficient. It has been prey to the owl or an even bigger bird of prey.

I returned to the roar and din of civilisation. I took the bus home with a somewhat surreal feeling, and I had funny dreams that night...

Much needed ride into the frosty hills, a pensive mood - and quite a loot....;-)

 So, Easter monday came, and nothing to do, and a bit of a depression. Yes, I did not feel too well, but instead of hiding in my attic under a stale-smelling blanket;-) I put on the riding garbs and made a flask of tea and packed some food. The weather was damn cold again (can anyone please call the plumber to repair that gulf stream? Or the heating specialist?*ggg*), but the winter sun of spring was shining brightly, an event that did not happen that often in the last months, and I did some singletrail hammering that did a lot to pin a huge grin on my face, and then made for the bigger hills to take in some scenery.

 On top of the hill it was have a cuppa and some taking in the scenery. The sun was glaring brightly, and I took it in like a sunflower;-). Despite the cold, everywhere were birds fluttering. I met a couple of roe deer, a hedgehog going slowly along across my path, looking at me thoughtfully and the going on on his own business;-), not panicking in the least (I stopped and paused, of course, for I was in no hurry;-)), a buzzard was flying alongside me, and a red kite circling over the ground of a field, not twenty metres away from me. This felt simply great...

 Atop of that hill, it was a bit more humble, however. I sat and drank my tea, when a huge racket going on in the distance alerted me that humans were approaching. They made a right ruckus simply conversing with each other, and, as they came by on the trail some fifteen minutes (!) later, we had a nice chat. They were not even some half-mad ghetto kids, but an elderly couple, nicely dressed. They greeted me and we had a bit of a conversation, about the weather and this and that, and I told them about my encounters with the various animals. I nearly laughed my head off when they wondered why it might be they did not see a single wild animal at all! And then they wondered a bit more why I had a laughing fit and I had to laugh until I choked. Might be they considered me a bit strange afterwards;-) but it was just so comical!

Another couple came around just some few minutes later, middle aged and dressed up well, but more suited for a stroll in the park than an outing into the hills. They greeted me and complained about the state the trails were in... during our little chat it became apparent that they were a bankster couple and were not amused that they payed so much money for taxes and still the woods were not planed with asphalt and concrete. When they were gone, I spared a thought and prayed to every god and goddess I had ever heard of for a dandelion pest in the city and those people never to become so rich and powerful that they could live out their innermost feelings. Other than that, I wished them that they could see what I had just seen, but I guess that´s a wish that could never be granted.

 I had just calmed down drinking my tea, however, when another elderly lady came around. She approached quite silently, and was smiling the whole time. She did not fumble her cellphone, had no hightech walking poles, her walking shoes were well used, and her smock was a bit battered, and she had an ancient walking stick plastered with brass stickers from the places she had been, and piece of vividly coloured cloth tied to the handle I recognized as a bit strange. She too greeted me and we chatted. In fact, she asked me about my wooden cup and if I made it myself. I had to negate that (shame!;-) Have to get that birchwood burr ready I have in the making since three years...;-)), but we had a very great conversation. She told me where she had been and what she had seen that day, and I traded my stories as well, and then we went on talking a good hour or so away and I learned that the brightly coloured piece of cloth was a Tibetan goodluck charm, and she had done her share of hikes in her life. She shared some herblore and trail stories with me and all in all it was a great encounter. We parted as strangers as we met, but it was simply good to meet.

When she had gone, I finished my tea in a pensive mood. There is a good variety of people in the woods, but, for the most part, they should know more what they do. So many people just seem to think they own the woods for good and can behave there like they never would in their own living room. But that´s a misconception, and a grave one at that. But on the other hand it could be so simple. Being silent, enjoying the silence and paying the due respect, like that elderly lady did. She had fun, too, but a different kind of it. Ah, yes, I know, I  came there by mountainbike, and mountainbikers do not have the best of all reputations; and I am no stranger to some hardcore riding myself. And yes, I freely admit, that I have left skid marks on trails that did not deserve it, and built ramps, and the like. But all in all I can say the skid marks came by accident, and it was that or get injured. The ramps I built were in a city wood that was full of special waste and ghetto litter anyway or on a ground devised to the purpose, or I removed them after having my fun. I am no saint, though, but I guess I have been a bit more thoughtful than many. My bike, generally is a means to get places, and I generally follow the DIMB / IMBA trail rules and the common sense of trail etiquette. It pays off, as might be obvious. I just hope more people would learn to love the woods like they deserve it, and out of this love most certainly respect would grow. But people are not taught to love. They are taught to hate, to buy, to fear and to desire. They suffer due to this, so many suffer so much they would not be able to bear it if not for the many ways to distract their minds. They are constantly occupied to keep their minds, and more importantly their hearts and souls from recognizing that there is something thoroughly wrong. They have hundreds of facebook friends, but noone to tend to the wounds of their heart, the scars that we all carry within ourselves. Not all are due to the "evil" in society. In fact we are the ones that make up this society every day. We are all responsible, and we do not need an enemy scheme other than ourselves.

And it is just so simple. We just have to do less, not more. We could do honest work and a job that suits us. We do not need more money than we need. We could enjoy a good meal made by ourselves out of ingredients we trust, not some industrial special waste that consists mainly of chemicals. We could grow part of our food ourselves, and believe me, you can do this even on a balcony. And that´s most important: To enjoy that food actually. Not to make some political statement with it. Really loving the taste, really tasting it in fact. I once made an experiment; I chewed an industrial "system gastronomy" cheeseburger thoroughly. I chewed each bite seventeen times. I nearly threw up. All´s good when you swallow it whole or chew it two or three times. If you really want to taste it, you have a problem. tastes like a mixture of medicinal cough syrup, stale cookies and bad meat. You have to compare it to a real beef burger to find out.

We can even make many things, and enjoy them even more for their shortcomings. We could repair the goods we damaged a bit more and love them for what they are. And if we are in the woods, we could enjoy them as well as for what they are. The woods, plain and simple. And not make some politcal statement of it either, even though that might sound a bit ridiculous in the context, for this is exactly what I am doing with this post. Yes, I know. But I never said I was perfect... I just want to learn to enjoy the woods for what they are, and always more so. I am just hungry for life. Real life, not a parody or some surrogate activity.
 

When I fell into the mind trap, I contemplated for a long time;-), but then I simply moved my lame butt on to get some real living... and there it was... that old  high plain with a crystal sky above, and apart from the wind, utter silence. Wonderful.

 Besides the trail there was this heap of stones that´s part of a mountainbiker´s ritual. It was Jaykay, a local pioneer of mountainbiking, historian, ornithologist, archaeologist, caveman;-), climber, geocaching pioneer, cruiser rider, bicycle tourist, inventor, engineer, philosopher and much more, that started it, if I am not entirely mistaken... twenty years ago. Each time on a ride we paused there and everyone layed down a stone upon the pile. That´s how it looks now;-).

On I rode, and along the road I came across this loot of spring steel....

More knives and tools to make for free....

I then rode home, content with a ride full of thoughts, and resolves, and purpose, full of encounters, good and bad, with beast and man, and full of real life, that was full with wind and sun and silence and brisk and frisky air.

Oh violent twilight, where iron hides alone!:-)

 I was feeling extremely down the other day. I am always fighting and fighting and all the fighting starts to wear down on me, and simple as that, the weather is dark and rainy most of the time. And I work hard for nearly nothing, and where other people get a place in society, deserved or undeserved is not for me to object, I seem always on the edge. No, I am not complaining. It´s my choice, after all, and it´s a good life. What I want to say is just that I start to feel weary. Many people come to me for counsil, and I try to help them as best as I can. Many people thusly feed on my energy, and if I have none to spare, they are offended. Plus, many of them seem to get out of one mess simply to set out creating a new one by offending and hurting all around them like a ravenous rabbit.:-)

NOW I am whining, see;-) (whimperwhimperfünününü)... but I resolved to do something about my foul mood... and what to do? I hitched the bus and rode out to the hills, and did a hike to a lost place. And it is funny, as soon you enter the woods, it is an altogether different world you enter, even if those woods are domesticated. But it is always as if you cross a border into the other world, and the other world seems to be more in touch with our reality in the forest.

 Bitter thoughts left me as soon as I took my first steps on the trail. I enjoyed a scenery, dark, and yet soothing in the dark green and the vibrant colours of a leaving autumn, which will soon be replaced by the winter´s dominion. The trees seem to burn with the last remnants of colour, and every iota of life force seems to stem up from the roots, embedded deep into the ground. And towards the roots I went in my mind and my soul.

 Now this lost place was a former industrial site, and presumeably occupied by metalworkers since the early middle ages. There are so - called "Sinnerhoopen" ( heaps of sinter, slag heaps ) everywhere near the creeks.

 Like this slag I found beneath the roots of the tree, by the swift and musical creek. All was silent, and mists arose from the hills. And I thought of how those spirits of the land were once called "Niflungar" or "Nibelungen", which literally translates as "folk of the mists", around these parts.

 Long have the ruins been claimed back by the forest´s twilight, gentle and violent, and roots entangle the once proud industrial workshops. Their noise is all spent, exhausted and gone; the walls crumble under the force of the land. Roots like time itself claw at the heart of the hubris of man, mercilessly eating away at manmade marvels that our kind deems eternal.

 Along the tracks of an ancient abandoned small-rail line I found this railroad spike. Since the site was abandoned after WW II and established far earlier, I hope it could be crucible steel.

 On I walked, with but the silence for a companion, and as the day drew to a close, darkness fell. And with it came the force of twilight.

 It lent a blueish tint to everything around, and then, growing ever so much darker, the woods embraced the night that was to come. I walked on, alone on the darkness, carrying no light, for light I needed not, wanted not.

 On a fallen log I sat, contemplating and having a cuppa tea, and my spirit fell into the embrace of the spirit of the trees.

 It is not warm nor comfortable. It is not hostile, either. It simply is. This, I have always found to have a soothing effect on my mind. And while it takes all you can give, it also gives all you can take in turn.

 Darker it grew, and darkness has always been conceived as Evil by man. But the woods do not regard anything. There is night. There is day. That is all there is to say.

 Faintly, in the far distance, I saw the light pollution of the city shining, screaming, raving, tearing at the sky, but not here, not in the dark realm of twilight.

 Where the trees come to life with voices so manyfold and yet they hold no answers and pose no questions. This is the true power behind any magic. This is the force of the land springing to life in the twilight, wafting with the mists through the cool air. I was confronted with my fears and hopes when I saw all those shifting shapes. Was that a movement over there? A wild boar? I imagined I could see it, standing afore a blue light of vague intensity, a wild boar of a race long bygone, with a mane of bristles so thick and strong they sliced the air like a knife, and with a fire in his eyes that told of an unseen force below the roots of trees, below the secret mycelium of the force of the land. And as I received this image, I found a bone for a knife handle.

Amazed, I rounded the bend, and high above the valley I stood for a moment, contemplating. There was a stream of noise from the traffic going on down there, and lights blared up to the blueish twilight sky as if to defy it. And the roaring, screaming noise suddenly seemed ever so small and helpless. I stood there, and suddenly I had the sensation of belonging, not into the pitiful, roaring world below, but into this realm of twilight. Into the realm of the vision of that boar, and into the never-dimnishing ranks of the Niflungar´s host.

But then, I am a human, and even now, by writing this,  I roar my defiance to the sky, as do wolves when they howl. "I am! Look! I am! I live!" 

Thus I return into the world of man, forging another knife out of the gifts of the other world, forging another story out of steel and bone and twilight, for this, truly, is what I am:

An existence of both worlds.