SEC T I ON T H R EE
“ I sat up from the stump, strapped on my pack and
stepped back on the trail. I no longer resented the snow;
I appreciated it. ”
CHANG E OF PL A N S
Story and Photos by Drew YoungeDyke
We have a saying here in Michigan: If you don’t
like the weather, wait ten minutes. In recent
weeks that’s included a 70-degree temperature
swing (counting the wind-chill) between the polar
vortex and a melt followed by an ice storm. As
outdoorsmen and women, we have to be versatile in
our adventures.
For instance, I had big plans for Earth Day
weekend last April. Epic plans, like fastpacking
the entire 80-mile High Country Pathway through
and around the Pigeon River Country north
of Gaylord. Fastpacking combines ultralight
backpacking with trail-running. I even had plans
of setting the fastest known time (FKT) for the
trail. Those plans didn’t include, though, the
more than two feet of snow that dumped on the
forest just a week earlier.
With temperatures expected into the high fifties –
and sunny – during the four days I allotted myself,
I thought that the snow would melt enough to
run the trail after a day or two of snowshoeing,
and I could still finish that trail in four days
that most people take a week to complete in good
weather.
I should have known that you can’t force your
plans on nature. There are days in the fall, for
example, when I want nothing more than to still-
hunt deer all day, moving silently from tree to
tree against the wind, crawling through tall
grass, and seeing a deer at full draw before it
sees me. Sometimes that’s exactly what I do, but
sometimes the leaves are too dry, and the wind is
too still, and so I adapt. I sit still. A few years ago
changing my plans to nature’s conditions yielded
a nice 3 ½ -year-old 8-point buck on the firearm
opener in this same forest, which provided a year
of venison lunches.
I set out from the forest headquarters, seeing
a white-tailed deer where the trail crossed
through the Pigeon River campground. The river
sparkled in the sun. After pushing my pace for five
miles, snowshoes breaking through an ice-crusted
top layer of snow and post-holing every third or
fourth step, I sat down on a stump near where the
High Country Pathway splits off from the shorter
Shingle Mill Pathway loop. I ate a few protein bars
for lunch and calculated that if I kept up my pace
and pushed it until dark, I might be able stay on
pace to finish the loop in four days, the weekend
plus two vacation days.
When I planned this trip nine months ago, though,
this was not what I wanted. I wanted to run the
trail now covered with snow beneath me. I wanted
to dodge roots and leap logs fallen across the
trail, sleeping under the stars without a fire and
setting the fastest known time. That’s what I had
taken those two vacation days for, not this. And
I realized quickly that this snow wasn’t melting
anytime soon – certainly not within the time I had.
Then I thought about that hunt a few years ago,
about how I sat down against a tree on a ridge
instead of still-hunting, and was rewarded with
venison and a better outdoor experience than if I
had continued forcing my plans on nature. So how
could I adapt this trip? The answer was on my feet.
Instead of being frustrated that I couldn’t run
the trails I wanted to run, I could appreciate that
I was snowshoeing in my favorite forest on a sunny
Volume 03 No. 01 | 2019