'On Pilgrimage'Buoyed up by yesterday's hugely successful art workday, I do what any self-respecting artist would do. I take the day off.
Well, not totally true. It's not the whole day, and I do still follow my daily routine. I just replace the 'three hours of art' part of the day with a hike in Hammock Hills.
It is another gorgeous day, (promised by the red sky sunset of last night), and I am eager to go farther afield. Farther than the coffee shop, farther than Red's hardware, the grocery store, the harbour. Farther, but not off the island. That would be a day trip, and I think three hours will do.
I feel the need to walk amongst the trees. The village roads are tree-lined, but Chester and I are confined to road's edge. I know there are taller pines farther north (three miles or so) and this maritime forest, on the Pamlico Sound side of the island, is calling me.
To justify this, I call it a Pilgrimage. Which it really is, as walking on unexplored (by me) ground, I will free my mind and heart and be renewed with freshness and vigour. Or at least, work up and appetite.
Hammock Hills Nature Trail, part of the Cape Hatteras National Seashore, is a well marked trail with boardwalk, signposts and information on flora and fauna. But being March, it is not terribly busy. In fact, there is no one. I hesitate at the start of the trail, but Chester is off and away, and I am comforted by three facts.
He is a hundred pound (protective) black lab.
We are unlikely to run into anyone.
There are no bears in Hammock Hills. (Or any large animals, for that matter.)
And that is how it goes. We follow the boardwalk, Chester with his nose to the boards, me stopping to identify trees and shrubs. We turn into the woods when the boardwalk ends, becoming a sandy trail well marked and easily followed. The atmosphere changes, becoming still and enclosed, darker with tall straight pines towering above. It is like entering a cathedral, the music is bird song, the hushed movements that of small creatures. Out again, on the sound side, to a platform overlooking the marshy edges of the western shore of Ocracoke Island, and the bird activity is captivating. I could sit here all day, my legs dangling over the edge, gazing through the grasses and buzzing insects, over the flat still pale grey water.
The trail circles back through the maritime forest, the ground dune-like but sheltered and nurturing. We see a tiny bright green lizard-like creature, a Carolina Anole, basking in the warmth of a dappled sunny spot on the boardwalk.
It's taken less than an hour, but I feel a huge sense of accomplishment, refreshed and hopeful. Hardly Santiago de Compostela, but this camino has led me somewhere too. We have circled back to the beginning, but as with any journey, we are changed by it.
We head back to the village, but as an afterthought, stop on the east side to catch a glimpse of the open sea. Calm, glittering, orderly waves, sun high above. We slip down to water's edge where I wade to knee depth, Chester eying me carefully. I reach into the churned up water, seeing something rolling about with the waves. I pull out a scallop shell, nearly flawless, about four inches across.
Well, that's appropriate. The scallop shell, symbol of pilgrimage.
'Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory (hopes true gage)
And then I'll take my pilgrimage.'
-Sir Walter Raleigh
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