A week has passed since my last visit to White Clay Creek. I found myself anticipating this weekly hiatus from college life. With the spring semester heating up, it is nice to dedicate some time for self-care and reflection. Armed with my newly acquired eyeglass, I return to the same closed trail in search of a new mandala for observation.
Immediately upon hopping the downed tree at the mouth of the trail, I am greeted with the repercussions of the heavy, yet short-lived snow storm received earlier in the week. The melt was now responsible for flooding an area of about two-hundred square feet. It sits as a pool of ankle-deep water about ten feet above the adjacent creek. The stillness of the day allows the surface of the water portray a near perfect inverted reflection of the flooded forest and speckled-blue sky above. I stop and revel in the sight just long enough to spot the multitudes of skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) thriving despite the recent temperature fluctuations. Their thermogenic nature and affinity for saturated soil, allow these young cabbages to tolerate everything the late winter months can dish out. I contemplate harvesting a sample for closer inspection with my hand lens. I lean closer just as its pungent odor fills my nose. I elect to forego the opportunity and continue down the trail.
A few hundred yards upstream from last week’s sandy point bar, I come along a cut bank at the neck of a meander. The bank has been fully eroded at a seventy degree angle allowing for me to hang my feet off the side and look straight down at the flowing water beneath me. This creek lies dormant, seemingly devoid of all life signs. Most of the fish that call it home must be reintroduced annually as part of the Delaware Division of Fish and Wildlife’s stocking program. Last fall, one thousand pounds of rainbow and brown trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss, Salmo trutta) were introduced to various locations along White Clay Creek. Since most trout are a cold water species, they have a very hard time surviving the hot summer months. This, coupled with competitive sport fishing, puts these species’ living populations in a constant flux. A fresh surplus of trout are ready to be introduced in anticipation of the opening of the spring fishing season. Come March 2nd, the fly fishermen will be as numerous as the fish themselves. This realization leads me to believe that this is the last week I will be alone on this forgotten stretch of trail. I may even ditch my eyeglass and notebook for my hip waders and fly rod, but that is yet to be seen.
I now shift my attention to a rocky section of washout a few yards away. I could spot a few nice skipping stones so I decide to slide down the bank to toss a few rocks. Among the gravel I can spot a few minerals which I recognize: rose quartz and amphibole smoothed by the river, and thin flakes of mica chipped from a larger parent. These rocks are common for this area and drew no immediate attention. However, after skipping a few downstream I picked up a piece of layered bituminous coal. I pull out my eyeglass and put it to my eye. The inspection of this glossy black lump reveals many small fragments of organic matter which have yet to fully decompose. Each compressed layer represents years of heat and pressure within our Earth’s crust. Seeing this in the field, engaged my inner geology nerd and provided a truly enriching experience.
I skipped a few more rocks as I allowed the stress from this week to flow away like the water before me. These trips to the woods continue to shape my psyche just as the creek shapes the stone, slowly but with an unrelenting certainty.