Learning From the Wild Side

I had some of the audience laughing, even before I stepped onto the stage, or, bridge in this case. As I hesitated at what appeared the only way to cross this creek in Cuyahoga Valley National Park’s backcountry, two Pileated Woodpeckers loudly cackled at me from the cheap seats high above. The White-breasted Nuthatches were a bit more discreet with their low-keyed chortling.
I had two choices: cross here or turn back. The latter was not an option. I suppose a third choice was to hike along the stream bank and find another place to get across. For some reason, a 40-pound pack tells you to hike in the straightest line possible. The bridge it was to be.
From the tracks in the mud I could see I was not the first to use this span. In fact, the sheen on the bridge treads, left by the scuffling of many hiking boots, told me the bridge was safe. Or so I wanted to believe.
The treads were supported by two, unmatched trees, slightly bigger than what I’d call saplings. I was too high up in the forest for this to be a beaver project, although it had that random order about it. The 36 treads were obviously hand-hewn. No two looked alike. What was I to make of this rather unkempt, unpredictable link between my past and my future?
As with most wilderness situations, it’s best to go with your gut. I was skeptical of the bridge when I first spotted it from 100 feet back up the trail. On closer inspection, however, I could see that its strength and beauty were in its diversity.
There was no applause when I unceremoniously navigated the bridge; just my grateful thanks for helping me cross the stream—and for the life lesson.