The smell of green permeates the air as one strolls along the trail. Stopping to inhale of the freshness, one's eyes are drawn skyward. Platy bark of the Sitka spruce or linear furrowing of the western hemlock, it matters not which, for both carry our minds skyward as we stand within the cathedral of an old growth forest where ancient trees are a hundred feet tall and forty feet around. Not much remains of this special place but, here on Baranof Island beside cold snow-fed Lake Eva, we stood in awe. The trees themselves emit a musky bouquet. Where the land dips low, mud prevails. Here skunk cabbage grows in filtered sunshine. Its leaves are giants in the understory and their odor could be compared to that of a frightened skunk. Innocent looking in their likeness to maple leaves, the lush mid-story devil's club hides an impressive armament set to wound an unwary hiker looking for support from a sturdy cane-sized stem. Thorns and brittle glass-like hairs protrude from every vein and petiole, protection, not from us but from browsing herbivores. Variety abounds in species of plants, all with shape and form to please our varied tastes. Blossoms of white, yellow or magenta add splashes of color to the scene.
The musical tones of a cascading stream mingle with the eerie flute-like strains of varied thrush or the babble of a winter wren. Our feet were not the only ones to take this path. Bear, deer, otter and beaver all had left their mark. Our tracks meld with theirs and as we depart we leave our footprints on a place that imprints a memory in our hearts.
