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Coon Branch

A short spot of old growth forest on the west side of the Whitewater River was preserved from the sharp teeth of chainsaws. The story of its saving is worthy of more than a paragraph. It is our destination on this beautiful Saturday in mid-June, serenaded by two Swainson’s Warblers and a Red-eyed Vireo as we enter shady woods. Down by the Whitewater bridge, a logjam of river-washed elder trees, compliments of Hurricane Helene, makes the passage to the Foothills Trail appear all but impossible. (It’s passable.) The entry to Coon Branch Trail at the same location appears impassible, but humans, not to be denied, have worked around the debris, though the trail itself grows narrow from lack of use. A limb the width of my shoe, skewered into the middle of the path, reminds us of widow-makers in the canopy. Snails and mushrooms and ferns and mosses and huge trees and creek crossings capture the attention; not until we turn to return do I notice the poison ivy we’ve walked through. So much for total awareness.~K