Where The Fault Lies

The hint of sun beginning to rise at the start of the ravine hike.

They’d gone into the forest in the early predawn this August morning—just an old hunter with his walking stick, headlamp, and a young coonhound named Blaze. It was training season for raccoon in Upstate New York, and the old man and his faithful dog were anxious to return to the woods after a long absence.

Summer hadn’t gone as planned, and the old man blamed his luck. 

He'd badly strained his knee several weeks before. But by the grace of God, the injury was healing, slow but sure. He’d promised himself to take it easy, knowing he truly didn’t have much say in the matter. Furthermore, the terrain could be tricky even for someone far younger and with good knees. But the old hunter also knew if you ante up, you play the cards you’re dealt. In the end, it would be Blaze and wherever the raccoon roamed that dictated the path. The coon hunter was obliged to follow.

Nobody’s fault. Simply the way of things.

So man and dog went into the forest darkened following a familiar logging road. Less than a minute later, Blaze slipped beyond the hunter’s headlamp beam. The old-timer was forever amazed at how much this hound looked like his father, Seth. In his many years of raising litters, he’d never seen a pup who looked so closely akin to his sire, both sporting coats the color of a new-moon midnight.

Initially, Blaze swept south of the logging road—the “high side” of the hill. Smiling patiently as the young hound searched for a ringtail’s trail, the hunter ambled along the worn path, recalling the similar manner in which Seth had also hunted this forest.

Like father; like son, the old man supposed as fond memories flooded back.

After nearly a mile, his reverie broke when Blaze rejoined him, not locating a ringtail, or least ways a track the dog wanted to pursue.

“That’s all right, boy.” The hunter patted the hound’s head. “Let’s start back. Maybe we’ll strike one on the way home.”

On their return trek, Blaze swung northerly into a steep ravine carved out of the hillside through the millennia by the sometimes-raging stream the old fellow liked to call “Ryland Creek,” although that wasn’t its given name.

As the eastern sky hinted a soft pink, a barred owl hooted to be followed moments later by Blaze’s loud open bawl.

Listening to Blaze’s bark drift down the ravine, the old coon hunter knew his hound had finally found a ringtail’s trail. Further, by the sound of the hound’s voice, Blaze was running a cold track or attempting a “lay up,” where the scent was in the air but not yet discovered on the ground. It might be a while before this run was finished.

The old hunter wasn’t surprised his hound struck where he did. Besides a place for a cool drink, the creek sported minnows, frogs, and crawdads—a natural draw for any woods bandit. Well, you couldn’t fault a raccoon for being a raccoon, nor the coon hound trained to trail raccoon for following the track.

Nobody’s fault. Simply the way of things in the woods.

---

Coming 'round the bend!

Blaze’s subsequent bawls told the coon hunter his hound was moving the trail upstream. Slow-going as the terrain would dictate, the man figured he might just as soon make his way down the steep hillside now as ever.

Leaving the logging road, the man followed a game path that wended its way beneath the dense, oak-hemlock canopy and down the grade to that rambling creek. To his surprise, only twice did he experience a knee-jamming, might-best-have-let-this-injury-heal-a-bit-more moment.

Well, nobody can fault a ravine for being a ravine. Simply the lay of the land.

Standing in the creek while leaning on his walking stick, the hunter rested, listening as Blaze’s barks became more frequent. The young hound was warming up the track  and only several hundred yards ahead So, he travelled slowly upstream, knowing the algae-covered creek bottom could be as slippery as ice.

By now, the sun had popped over the eastern ridge. The man switched off his headlamp as gold light poured into that hollowed place that, while not a true “fault” in geological terms, remained a place filled with memories.

Then Blaze’s bark switched over from a track bawl to a treed chop. The hound had found where the coon had gone up. The old man listened intently. There was a certain confidence in the young dog’s voice, but something wasn’t quite right. Blaze sounded like he was moving somewhat although he continued his rapid tree barking.

“Could be the ravine echoing,” the old man muttered. Regardless, there was only one more stream bend to negotiate, and he’d have “eyes on” the young hound to discern what the mystery was about.

Two minutes later, the hunter looked up the northern hillside to see his hound, and all became clear.

In that early morning light, the old man watched as Blaze bounced between two red oaks about ten yards apart. One of those oaks, the hunter recalled, Seth had treed on years before. How much Blaze looked like his father as past and present collided in this magical place. This moment in time.

The hunter smiled, watching his hound dance between the two trees in the morning light, recalling he’d seen young kitten coon tracks less than two hundred yards further upstream.

---

Coon tracks taken earlier this summer. The track in the middle shows where I think mama's back foot slid. I had to be careful (even before the knee injury) as well as it was slippery!

“Treed that mama coon and her litter that she sent up another tree, did you now? Well done.” The old man sighed happily. The sunlight would drown out any hope of seeing the amber reflection of a raccoon’s eye in his headlamp. So, the old called Blaze down that long hill. When Blaze joined him less than a minute later, the main praised the hound for doing a good job.

“Well,” the hunter continued, “let’s head for the barn and breakfast, Blaze.”

Obediently, the young hound trotted ahead as the old man followed slowly in the hound’s wake.
It would’ve been nice to climb the hillside and see amber eyes.

But it wasn’t the sun’s fault to usher in morning.  

There was nothing to blame.

Simply the start of a new day.

---