The end of the trail

I'm Five miles back, off the trail,and into the varied greens of ferns, shrubs, and mosses--all embroidered among the spruce trees and birch.Here,the granite hills mix with the sounds of water and forest; here time is lived in the borderland, where moose, bear, and birds come to feed. Below, deep in a gorge, the deep sounds of water crash and mix and foam. I eat the sweet and sour blueberries, gathering them in my hand, absorbing their moisture as the sun melts away the dew.The miles that have brought me here are along a broken trail, washed away in places, or grown in from lack of foot pounding by people. I like the bushwhacking, the dead fall, the swamps, and gushing water--separating those who have a passion for the land vs the strangers coming to take and break the delicate outlines of this place. Few get this far and I don't mind. I'm on my own now. Soon, I settle along a ridge until I come to a corner, then I descend to the creek below. From the bottom I'll follow the course down until the current is too strong, skirting the rough and deep stretches on the sand and gravel bars, or along trails of animals on the banks. The alder grows along the stream side,while in some sheltered woods the devils club flourishes.I walk across a small filled in pond of grasses and wild cotton, then through the fringes to the white openness of the stream. How sound seems so welcoming after being inside the green shades and tints of the hills. The waters are of light green-yellow, combined with soft blues of the sky, pouring into a pool nearby. Across the down stream side, a tree lies fallen, creating a deep shadow into the pool. A good place for trout I think. I stand for a moment, looking upstream, downstream, all around, listening and absorbing the impressions.Then it happens...as though timing or accident brings things into each other's orbit. A large black bear over three feet at the shoulder, as judged by the trees and rocks about, and over three hundred pounds. He crosses the downed tree, and softly comes to rest on the tan colored sand. A breeze from upstream gently flows by. The bear knows something is amiss. He lifts his nose into the air and sniffs. He knows another smell occupies the place. I stand still and wait, wondering which way the bear will go.After a few moments of random pacing, the bear turns and walks down stream, rounding a corner and vanishing into the alders. I would like to know more but I want to check the pool for trout. I like the colors of the water, the depths of protective Shadow and limbs. The hook sails across and arcs into the bottom. Then a bite and a trout is caught. I will have food for tomorrow. The day is shortening now, and I clean the fish and set off again, back to the broken trail to bushwhack and feed on berries, getting out by dark.