Less Traveled By

Originally scheduled for publication to this blog last Tuesday (the day the UFO sighting took over our home page), the following "guest post" about a hike through the Lower Mill River Conservation Area in Amherst was written by Josh, a follower of this blog. When we're not talking about UFOs, Head in the Clouds Amherst reflects on the weather, seasons, and the myriad intersections between life and weather. We also keep a journal about Puffer's Pond and the surrounding area. We welcome submissions that relate to weather and life in Amherst and the surrounding area.

View through the trees, Mill River Conservation Area (1/8/2013)
Photo by J. Wolfsun

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.                            - from the poem, "The Road Not Taken"                             by Robert Frost

Last week, on Tuesday, a friend and I began our routine trek to Puffer's Pond. But about halfway along the road that arcs beneath the tall, bared trees, she stopped and pointed across the street at the steep hills piled with leaves. "What's over there?" she asked. I had a foggy recollection from my toddler years, but nothing concrete. I continued to walk along the street. "Well then, let's find out," I heard behind me. I looked and she was already dodging between the leafless branches.

When we reached the crest of the path -- which was narrow, about a foot wide -- I immediately remembered what was beyond the next ridge. "The quarry," I said out loud. My wayward guide responded, "That would make sense, these hills are definitely man-made." We scrambled to the top of the widest peak, where we paused for a moment and watched the sunset shimmer through the branches and pine needles.

The snow crunched under our feet -- not deep or thick, but weirdly almost solid. Fallen leaves peaked out below the frozen surface, and as we continued to hike along the ridge, little snowballs rolled away from our feet, leaving tracks in the untouched snow.

As we half stepped, half slid down the side of the last hill, Puffer's Pond came into view. Almost completely deserted of people, the ice did show some signs of melting -- but not significantly. Tracks revealed where visitors before us had walked the diameter of the pond, clear from one side to the other. The air was cold, but my fingers only really started to numb after about an hour.

Frozen surface of Puffer's Pond, looking towards the
Mill Street dam, 1/8/2013 (Photo by J. Wolfsun)

The sunset, as always, threw the trees into stark relief, and reminded me of summer days, when such a light-display would be reflected in the water. But yesterday, not even a hint of the painted sky was mirrored in the cool gray ice. We spotted a few dog-walkers, though Kelvin was nowhere to be seen.

We took the conventional route back, along the paved road. Save the moment when my friend tried to push me into a snow bank, the road was a far less exciting -- albeit, much faster -- path. And as I plunged my fingers into my coat pockets to find some heat, I thought of Robert Frost, whose trail we had deftly avoided on our way to the pond. I had walked that more familiar trail many times. One could say we took the one less traveled by. And that afternoon, it really did make all the difference.