JOHN PEPIN

“Time will tell just who has fell and who’s been left behind, when you go your way and I go mine,” – Bob Dylan

There’s been a shift that I’ve noticed, a tilting of an axis somewhere that has slid the chessboard toward the edge of the table.

The switch was borne of a fever dream of sorts, with the temperatures and humidities climbing to readings uncommon for these Great North Woods.

Then, in a matter of hours, like a darkness falling over the landscape, the change occurred. It was as though someone at the far end of the house pushed a big creaking door open and cold air, desperation and longing slipped in.

Like a bag full of hungry snakes dumped on the floor of an old barn, the cold air spread quickly to every corner of everything, seeking out any remaining warmth to immediately consume it through its yawning jaws.

The altering assumed a jerking motion stiff and quick enough to pull my head around and leave me with a pain in the neck. Almost in an instant, a ghost of autumn seasons past puffed up in front of me and hissed.

It swayed back and forth its head curled like a cobra’s.

I stared back wide-eyed and startled, thinking to myself, “Where did you come from all of a sudden.”

It seemed like a summer bubble around me had burst and I began to see things with new eyes, recognizing things I had been blind to only a moment or so ago.

There were trees in the woods I walked through that had already begun to change the color of their leaves, albeit only a little so far.

Each night, thousands and thousands of birds were flying over, gathered into flight squadrons or ambiguously shaped flocks, some mixed with several species, others homogenous in their ranks.

All were headed in the same direction – south, away from here, before the bare teeth and snarls of wintertime arrive.

With recent rains over many days, the creeks and roadways were more overgrown than usual with bushes and branches and other types of greenery everywhere.

Treading the little creek-side paths left me with vines wrapped over my wrists and waist. Tendrils of other plants clung to my shirt sleeves, and I unexpectedly ran my hand through some stinging nettles.

The sky today is cast, not in the azure, cyan and teal of summer, but the colorless gray pewter and lead that often defines autumn.

We dwellers of the North Country know that these gray skies can produce a simple cold chill, a shower of cold rain or sleet or even snow.

The deeper into the year we go, the more likely outdoor fall football games will include play affected by wild weather and sloppy field conditions.

In walking up this wet, two-track, I sense a sweet smell in the air that I don’t place immediately. It’s astounding to me how quickly my brain forgets things like this as seasons change.

I walk a little farther and then stop. I sniff the wind and finally recognize the smell as the early autumn scents of the woodlands around me.

I sit on a rock and notice a couple of leaves dropped prematurely, likely by the gusts of a storm, lying still in soft, sugary sands on the bottom of the creek in a quiet pool.

There’s purple thistle and black-eyed Susans leaning over or drooping toward the water. Only a couple weeks ago, they were standing tall and straight.

I think at this time of the year, the roads get used to their being wet. They hold the depth and size of their puddles much longer than they do during summer heat.

In the autumn time, even on sunny days, the backroads in these woods are usually wet and their mud is cold to the touch.

A group of warblers makes soft chipping sounds as they hop among the branches looking for insects to eat. Even though they are in much more drab fall colors, I recognize a black-and-white warbler, two black-throated greens and a veery.

The most esoteric autumn sign, which is difficult to really put into words, is the feeling or sensation of fall in the air. This goes beyond a chill in the air or the changing color of the leaves.

It’s a sense of excitement and resignation swirled together, with at least a pinch or two of hesitation and apprehension for what stands to follow.

There is a certain buzzing or electricity in my body when it’s time for grouse hunting. It’s a great feeling, even though it is often typified by days when the sun might be shining brightly, but it’s still cold enough for a warm coat.

By then, the mud puddles may be covered with ice lenses, especially early in the day.

I remember these conditions from my earliest years walking to and from elementary school each day. It’s the time of year when I had to put my bike away in the basement and we’d help bring the snow shovels and scoop up to the front porch.

We’re not quite there yet, but what I’ve felt today in these woods lets me know that those days aren’t far away.

The days are noticeably shortening.

I’m still seeing a few bats in the sky before dark.

I think I completely missed the nighthawk migration this year, unless there is more to come. I read a report last week of 15,000 coming down the Minnesota coastline.

Another thing I can see that I missed doing this season is picking wild raspberries and blueberries. I found some earlier in the season but never stopped to pick enough for a pie or anything like that.

I suppose there will be a few more times left to cut the grass before the fall’s leaf raking and bagging begins. Ugh.

When we were kids, we used to love to rake leaves into piles and then jump into them or ride our bikes or run through them. It was so much fun. I remember neighborhood games of Hide-and-Seek where often I’d hide in a pile of leaves.

Once I got old enough to own a home and had leaves to rake off the lawn, I kind of lost my enjoyment of raking. The fun now is mulching leaves or blowing them into bags with my riding lawn tractor.

Fall is also an exciting time to pursue spawning salmon and steelhead.

Even if I don’t end up catching any, seeing them in the river is tremendously exciting and fun. I love watching these huge fish on spawning redds and, dramatically, seeing king salmon taking their last listing motions before flopping over on their blackened sides on the river bottom.

It’s amazing to watch the cycles of nature playing out throughout the year.

I guess recognizing this shift in the seasonal scheme of things always seems to catch me off-guard and at least a little by surprise every year.

I think this is because I focus a great deal on being present in the moments as they exist. I try not to look too far ahead or back at any time when it comes to nature.

The rest of my life tends to be preoccupied with those aspects of time. When I am fortunate enough to carve out time to be in nature, that’s where I want to be.

For me, it is especially important in those times not to be distracted, but instead to focus on what is happening all around me. I try to use all my senses at once to soak up as much information and activity as I can.

In that way, I keep my mind, heart and soul open for discoveries and teachings that nature often provides.

I know that if I am closed off by heartache, headache, cluttering of irrelevant details, angst, struggles and drama of daily living, my chances to learn or experience new things will be greatly diminished.

I know I’m likely to miss a hawk perched on a limb above the trail or a moose sauntering out of view off to my right down an old logging road if I am consumed with my brain knotted over some inconsequent problem that troubled me earlier that day.

Deep breaths taken often in the woods are a great help when trying to transfer my outlook and viewpoint when shifting out from society into nature.

It’s like a shedding of skin, clothes or other covering when entering the wild country to open myself up to whatever there might be to learn from nature, life around me or echoing through the heavens.

In those times that I can clear myself and connect, there is nothing more sublime.

I hear an undistinguishable crashing sound and turn my head just in time to see a big doe in mid-jump headed up a rise above the creek.

I give her a nod and turn in the other direction.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.