Racing Light, the Soft Power of a Day's Walk - by Charlie "Linguini" Duane
Selection 5 from the chapter "Reflections on the Circle."

Raccoon

With my schedule calling for 6 more miles per day, a sense of urgency put me in a bit of a hurry.

As I walked around Upper Goose Pond (near the Mass. Pike) late in the morning, a disheveled raccoon made a left turn onto the trail and shuffled stiffly ahead of me. He paused to fish around with his claw under a log. His action caused me to catch up within 15 or 20 feet of him.

Seeing me, he arched his back like a cat and hissed with a sort of clucking noise. If he could have spoken, he might have been saying, "Look, I'm having a very bad day, and if you provoke me, there's no telling what I might do." Having warned me, he irritably resumed walking up the trail.

We proceeded in the same direction, with him appearing not to notice me as long as I stayed 20 feet back. Presently the trail and the perimeter of the pond came to a bend. The raccoon disappeared behind a knee-high rock, presumably to descend the bank for a drink of water.

Quietly and cautiously, I tiptoed to the bend and peered around the rock. Seeing nothing, I scooted ahead on the trail. No sooner had I taken three steps, when the raccoon ran over the bank at full speed, chasing me with a crazed look in his eye.

Suddenly I was running and he was gaining on me, getting close enough for me see the foam on his mouth. Spotting a sapling tree growing on the bank of the pond, I leapt upward from the trail, pivoting on the tree like a fireman, in hopes that the raccoon would jump off the bank after me.

In a flash, the raccoon ran up the tree toward my hands, so I let go and dropped maybe eight feet into the brush on the edge of the pond. With one foot in the water, I scrambled to my feet, preparing for the next onslaught.

The raccoon had climbed the tree. He reversed direction, walking straight back down the tree. Fortunately, he returned to the trail, whence he came. I wasn't sure, but I might have heard him mutter, "Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed."

A pair of fishermen in a nearby boat looked to see what the commotion was about. With false bravado I shouted in a shaky voice, "Bet you never saw a hiker run like that!" The incident caused no damage, beyond some scratches on my elbow and feeling of disorientation.

The next person I met afterwards was a remarkable grandmother. She never told me so, but I later learned through friends that she was thru-hiking the trail for her deceased son.

One-Braid had told me to "Listen to the trail." Perhaps the trail was teaching me to treat it with more respect... We don't conquer the trail. It lets us pass.

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