It was Tuesday, the last day of my spring mini-vacation, and I had it bad. You know, the urge to roam the forest. Yes, there was yard work to do, but I pretended there wasn't. Very early in the day, the girls were gone and the dog was asleep when I went for the topo map. I needed a new challenge...being a long time camper, hiker, and byrd huntr, I have walked countless trails in my home state in the pursuit of those activities and also for no reason. I studied every line on the topo map, nothing, under water, been there, too close, too far. Finally, a dotted red line emerged, winding through the middle of the Chengwatana State Forest. I could get there in 90 minutes!Hundreds of square miles of mostly overlooked near-wilderness along the east central border. I had never hiked that particular trail, so I grabbed my gear, left a note and map coordinates for DW and headed out. I know the area, so I opted for my full rucksack instead of my standard PSK. Exactly 10 pounds of everything I would need to survive in the boreal forest. It was 80+ degrees, a little hot for a northern boy, but the sun felt good and the sky was the color of topaz gems with whispy mares tails as the silvery setting. In my pockets and belt, I had my Leatherman Wave, a mini Bic, a brass compass, my walnut walking stick, and a 9" Remington belt knife. I carefully studied the topo map and got my bearings and walked for miles along the forest tote road, at one point seeing a bald eagles nest. A little farther down the trail, I saw a majestic swan floating in a reflective pool. It didn't seem real. I came upon a large pool of water that spanned the trail, not at all unusual for a boreal forest trail. I looked to see what other creaturss had passed this way by the tracks in the mud. I have to admit that even after all these years, the sight of large fresh wolf tracks still send a shiver up my spine. There were also the characteristic spoor of the wolfe, full of deer hair, and the tracks of a young doe in that mud. I wondered if she made it to her feeding grounds. I continued along the trail now several miles from my truck. There was none else around, normally a good thing, but years of childhood conditioning are not easily forgotten, and I walked with silent apprehension. The wide brim of my canvas river guide hat helped direct sounds to my ears, and I could hear some commotion in the woods; crows, and yes wolves. I thought I saw a flash of grey 50 yards into the bush, and I instinctively checked my knife. It was there, but only one fang against so many. The yipping and growling seemed to be getting louder. I stood for a minute. There was so much trail left to explore, and a few hours of daylight to do it. Would I let a few wolves get in the way? The sounds became more ominous; one of them had scented me, not a difficult task in 80 degree weather. Summoning my common sense, I reluctantly turned back. As I walked away, the sounds became less, and I started looking at my surroundings again. Myriad bright-hued butterflies flitted around like so much self propelled confetti, while birds in their spring plumage sang their ancestral songs. I peered into a deep pool of bog stained water and saw hundreds of creek chubs. Life in the water, life in the air, life springing from the earth, life is good, and I'll be back.