a walk in the woods the ghost on the shore

Begin walking from the carpark, the site of a once thriving town servicing goldfields along the Lyell Creek in the late 1800's. Drive yourself (allow 40 mins) if staying in Murchison. The journey takes about an hour and is via the spectacular Buller Gorge, setting the scene for the rugged wilderness environment in which you are soon to be immersed. I may never know the answer, but at least I have found the tools to ask the questions.Meet your shuttle vehicle this morning (if staying in Westport) and transfer to Lyell car park and campground, the southern trailhead for the Old Ghost Road. My presence here is temporary, the figure remains vigilant. In that moment, I found my connection to the land, a space marked with unspoken distress and complicated frameworks. We are simply vessels adrift in a vast murky ocean, casting dim lights to guide our way through the darkness. The ways we envision our lives proceeding are subject to an array of forces undeniably outside of our control. Mortality rates, their very way of life altered in an instant.įutures are always held in jeopardy. Nearly every village post-exposure experienced large By the 1670s, Saura tribesĮxperienced regular encounters with European explorers who brought with them Seasonality played aĬritical role in their food sources, especially given the abundance of acornĪnd hickory nuts in the late fall and early winter. They grew corn by the river’sĮdge and hunted bass and bream throughout the year. Hanging Rock prior to any European contact, creating two large villageĬomplexes known as Upper and Lower Sauratown. Saura ancestors were believed to have migrated to Intimately with the Dan River by utilizing its nutritious qualities and Also known as the Cheraw, the Saura lived Wander through were named for the Saura Indians, who historians believe to be Like a curse throughout this land, one not commonly observed in the carefulįolds of the crimson peaks. As I held my knees and struggled for breath, the eyes lingered, and the darkness thickened. I hustled across a narrow bridge and burst forth into the open forest below, leaving the tangled rhododendron behind. I felt eyes everywhere, an unnerving feeling when deeply alone amidst the frozen understory. I gripped my pack tighter and began leaping over stones along the path. Perhaps it was the darkness, perhaps it was the light, but I could not shake the feeling of being watched. Who were they, and where did they go? My pace hastened to match the fleeting day, my heart racing faster than the beat of a raven’s wing. My palms were dirty and my thoughts ran heavy. They had vanished, taking my balance with them, and in an instant, I too felt a collision. A sizable branch from a chestnut oak plummeted to the ground, flattening the space where I thought the figure once stood. A glimmer of reflecting light averted my eyes from the figure a loud cracking thud brought them back. Shrouded in fog it was clear they were close, although from my distance I could see nothing distinguishing about them. As I clenched around the overlapping bark, my eyes caught glimpse of a dim figure to my right. Rounding a sharp corner, I reached out to grip the trunk of a slender white pine. The trail circuitously wound through these beacons of light, guiding a seamless descent into the quiet valley below. It felt as if someone had poked holes in a darkened box to allow fragments of intense glow to guide the way. Slight glimmers of evening light bounced off the neighboring trees to illuminate small patches of earth along the surface. Venturing down the Magnolia Springs trail, amidst the tangled rhododendron, I could not help to stare longingly into the progressively setting sun. It was the root that did me in, or so I thought. I rolled over onto my back, propping myself up with my elbows in hopes of seeing what I believed I just saw. Dirt and debris riddled the inside of my nails while semi-frozen mud adhered firmly to my skin. Cold, resistant stones nearly shot upwards to meet me, the weight on my shoulders lifted and thrown three feet to my front.

A walk in the woods the ghost on the shore