Walking the other evening on basically one street from my end of town down to Highway 1 and back completes roughly a two-mile loop.
In those two miles, within most of what amounted to an eight block stretch, just before dark, I came across 23 deer. Usually in groups of two or three, but there were some larger herds. It was cold, there were fresh raven tracks in the glow of the fresh white snow that lined the edges of the dry paved streets and coated the sidewalks in a new blanket.
I shaved off my beard and mustache so my freshly shorn cheeks were stinging as the temperature dropped more and the wind picked up its intensity. I tend to walk with my earbuds in and my head down this time of year, listening to Audible versions of audiobooks and concentrating on not stepping on ice or snow where there might be treacherous slipperiness underneath.
Since I’m focused in that way, I’ve walked up on deer standing in the street or sidewalks, usually last year’s fawns who are now nearly full grown. They are silent and I’m not making a lot of noise, so I’ve been startled more than once to find one blocking my path. Glancing quickly around for their mother is usually my second response after stopping abruptly. So far, I’ve only been greeted by stares and a blow or two through widespread nostrils. I suppose that everyone has grown enough and made it through enough cold weather hardships that a quiet walker doesn’t pose much of a threat even if he is less than two yards away. I’m not sure as I don’t have much insight into whitetail’s inner thoughts.
Walking facing traffic and staying as close to the edge of the street as possible or on the sidewalks that are clean and dry allows me to make pretty good time.
I’ve found that combining exercise and reading (listening) makes for a very enjoyable relationship with the book. It’s similar to how I used to listen to albums while reading physical books. I’ve begun to associate blocks, houses and landmarks with sections of the stories that I’m listening to.
Sometimes I listen to old favorites and sometimes I’m reading brand new books. Regardless, the books are making the exercise enjoyable and the exercise seems to be enhancing the books enough to make me look forward to the time.
Ely remains a town where concrete isn’t the ruling factor. Landscaping, trees, sections of brush and undeveloped land, trails, and the Superior National Forest rubbing up against the city limits all combine for a peaceful, natural experience that we can enjoy while walking.
I’m always curious about the ravens, no matter what I see them doing or what evidence of their activities they leave behind. Watching them bob and weave and dance around in a group naturally makes me even more curious and leaves me with more questions. Following their luminous tracks in the last lingering shreds of daylight I wonder why they were walking along this street in the first place.
Sometimes their tracks go on for what I would consider a great distance for a bird. A block or so… What were they doing? Listening with their head cocked to one side and walking?
Enjoying a brisk jog just before dark?
Their unmistakable prehistoric looking jointed bulbous tracks are huge as they meander through the snow, seeming not to stop, except perhaps for a young whitetail… Who knows. I know that I enjoy our walks together. Even if they’ve already come and gone before I get there. Perhaps you too can track what I’m putting down here.
